Live: Sasquatch 2009

Music festivals have a tendency to become more about drugs and socializing than about music. That being said, here are the music highlights from this year's Sasquatch. I only attended Saturday and Monday, so Sunday is unaccounted for. Sundays was a 'rest' day. Unfortunately, I ended up drinking enough whiskey to turn the day into 'heatstroke' day.

Saturday:

Passion Pit: not sure what all the buzz is about. Seemed like a really white guy with a synthesizer trying to sound impassioned, failing. PA may have been malfunctioning.

Dent May: I knew he sounded good on record (I've called him Sinatra meets Ariel Pink a few times), but his stage present is also fantastic. He comes off as an adorable drunk. His band is super cute and all the song lyrics are prefect, funny, easy. Probably in my top three for the festival.

Animal Collective: There's really no point in explaining why I like this band. There set was prefect, I was on drugs, everything came together.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Karen O = still hot, great lyrics, songwriting, as always. She appeared younger and more girlish than I was expecting. I think the song "Maps" will be canonized over the next few decades.

Kings of Leon: This band rides the fence between the lands 'Americana' and 'critically acclaimed' rock. They're not astounding, but if you pretend that you still care about what is means to be 'an American' and what it means to listen to 'meaningful music' that people from the Midwest might like, the band sort of makes sense. Overall, probably too sappy/unoriginal for my taste.

Crystal Castles: Did not see them. Heard there were goths with pacifiers in the audience.

Monday:

Deerhoof: Is this band actually good? I can't tell.

Grizzly Bear: Never thought I would admit this publicly, but I think I like the Department of Eagles (related project) more. Grizzly Bear lacks the pop/rhythmic sensibility I need.

Santigold: At this point (2:50 PM), bored, stoned, too hot.

Fleet Foxes: This is one of my favorite bands and probably (next to Animal Collective) the band that will be the most popular in ten years. If they can record and tour three good albums (one down) they will probably be the most popular American rock band of my generation (b. 1987). They played two new songs and rearranged the vocal parts on a few others, notably "Mykonos."

Beach House: Besides a lot of PA problems, this set was amazing. A great way to close the festival: lazy, sexy, intelligent. Perfect summer melodies.

Girl Talk: Worst 'band' of the last five years? I had to walk through this show on my way to the parking lot. Terrifying.

Live: The Vaselines at Neumos / Herr Jazz at Vera

Ben stressed at center. Jake on the right. Photo via Keith Johnson and The Stranger.

Tuesday Night:

The Vaselines killed a set of pervy proto-punk for an audience of pervy proto punks [read: old] in Seattle. Notable moment: not being able understand the stage banter due to thick, arty Scottish accents, and being located on the all-ages balcony. I need more friends who are also 21+. But then again, old people seem to not be able to have fun without being totally trashed (last night's front row reminded me of this point, as most oldersters seemed to be either standing self-consciously or flailing wildly as if to recapture their youth via butterfly net). The songs were really tight, and probably a bit tired, but still totally worth the cover. The opening band blew hard, especially with their cover of Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" which left me (unironically) uncomfortably numb. They sounded like a sickly child of the AC Newman and Ben Bridwell. KEXP will probably play them all day today.

Last Saturday Night:

Ben Funkhouser, singer/loud mouth of teen sensation Herr Jazz happened to accompany me to Neumos last night. He mentioned many memorable punk rock quips, most of which I cannot remember. We talked about K Records for most of both sets. He did add Niko Case to the list of influences by the forgettable opening band.

Anyways, on Saturday Ben, Jack, and Jake played Vera with buzztacular onomatopoeia-prog-screamo band Ponytail. Herr Jazz are a very healthy, well-fed combination of big and jangly post-Johnny Marr guitar, energetic jazzy punk drums, smoothish bass, and angsty vocals about DIY snacking and trying to 'get with' girls who are older than you at Olympia house parties. Way to be heteronormative dudes. I loved Herr Jazz's set because Ben couldn't really stop himself from playing covers (Beat Happening and Bruce Springsteen) and talking about migrant farm workers while the rest of the band started to unplug guitars and leave the stage (though obviously when I say 'stage' I mean they played on the floor). Way to be a passionate person/go slightly over your allotted set time Ben.

Those kids are going somewhere if only due to the fact that they all seem to care too much about music, being young, and playing to crowds of enthusiastic music people. They have a full West Coast tour planned for the summer. And they're playing my parent's house in June. Serriously, come. Tween northwest prog-punk sounds better in a grassy backyard.

Surprise / Excitement: Wavves don't suck

I saw don't-give-a-fuck retro-punk band Wavves (aka Nathan Williams and drummer Ryan Ulsh) at the University of Washington HUB basement on Friday. I was really expecting to hate the whole thing, due in part to some over-buzz/backlash surrounding recent lives gigs seen by certain bloggers and Stranger music editors from Seattle.

However, the show was mesmerizing, even refreshing, for it's complete lack of substance. There was one memorable line of strange banter which had to do with prescription cough syrup. Other than that, it was pure thrashing. When he did speak, Williams sported the kind of nasty attitude that will probably get him signed to major label, if he wants, though he is now on reputable indie Fat Possum.

The music was as bad-ass and heavy as I could possibly expect from a San Diego surf/punk stoner act. Contradicting much of what I have heard and read, Wavves are more than a GarageBand recording project for lazy music kids/burn-outs because they sound amazing. They fucking shred. The equation, as it stands now, in my somewhat ripped mind is: Brian Wilson + Ramones + Metallica (with an artistic awareness of Sonic Youth, if not an actual comprehension) = Wavves. Not a terrible combination.

The thing I like most about Wavves, is imagining myself listening to their music this summer on sunny afternoons. I'm pretty sure it's a good sign for everyone involved.

Club / Death / Nostalgia: Last Club Pop

(Full disclosure: I have DJed and promoted this club night. Nevertheless, I can't help writing something about it. The three year ride has been too meaningful, and at times too meaningless, to ignore.)

The night was plauged by a mixer that kept shutting down, a really trashy LA DJ/closer with his own party-pix crew, at least one fight, my lingering sobriety, and the sticky nostalgia that probably comes from ending a long, mixed love affair with a certain time and place for dancing. Thursday night at Chop Suey was sweaty with dancing kids and 21-year-old me felt like it was time to move on from the 18+ scene.

The 'last Club Pop ever' was typically debauched and more crowded than usual. Stranger music editor Eric Grandy was seen smirking at the door around 11:45, then later dancing on the floor. Talent buyer and promoter Michael Yuasa stood outside, bumming my smokes and deftly flirting with everyone. Like you'd expect for a last-Pop-ever, a number of people seemed to come out of the woodwork, like ALT bro termites scattering across Capitol Hill. One particularly social bro, looking confused and out of place in a sea of queer club kids, introduced himself to me and a friend on the terrace. Not recognizing him, we asked "is this your first Pop?" in a tone that implied "are you an akward virgin?" Of course, he said no, but that he hadn't been for a year.

Taking the bait he asked, "Do you guys come here often?"

My buddy replied tersely, "Do you even know who I am?" before turning away and leaving the guy, by himself, right inside the 21- rope line that separates 'jail-bait' from 'social drinkers.'

It was one of those precious Pop moments that makes you sure you're a pretentious asshole, and also makes you competely OK with that. Can't wait for those chill party pix.

Live / House Show: The Country Lips

Last Saturday night at 9 PM I was frantically trying to find something interesting to go within walking distance of my apartment. I live in a $500-a-room slum near the University of Washington, and it's two miles up hill to the nearest consistent music venue. I thought about biking to Ballard for a show at a marginal place called The Josephine; and I considered Ruff Jemz, a long-running dance party nearer to downtown that I never show up at, through I probably should. The time kept slipping by, I kept drinking and not figuring out transportation, and soul-filling music seemed to be less and less possible.

Around 9 a friend showed up and told me he was going to a house party in the University District. Not wanting to go to Ruff Jemz solo, and knowing that the Josephine was still miles away, I consented to go with him on the condition that I would bail and go to the Blue Moon or the Monkey if things got too, um, college. I had spend the better part of an hour pathetically looking through DIY house veunes for a cool show. This party seemed like the definition of defeat.

Much to my surprise, the house party was actually a house show, well attended and featuring a wonderful new country cover band called The Country Lips. Two other bands played, one called The Post Intelligencers, who sounded like entry-level college indie, and other who I barley even heard, let alone identified. But the Country Lips: this band is surely going somewhere, or more preiciecley, going strait to my heart and my liver. The band is esentially a combination of several bands including Song Sparrow Research, The Ragedy Annes, Doctor Doctor, and the Lonley H. I have seen all these bands before, and with the exception of seeing the Lonley H at the OFH a few years ago (being impressed at how young they were), I have not fully appreciated either their muscianship of the showmanship. These kids brought the roadhouse down with classic country tunes at what was essentially a typical undergrad house party. Classic songs like "Behind Closed Doors" and "On the Road Again" sounded as good as I've ever had the provlidge of hearing them. Country musuic in Seattle doesn't always seem like a good idea, but I think it usually is.

Live: The Golden Filter+The Presets+Copy/ Sebastien Tellier+Chairlift

Last night I saw the Golden Filter open for The Presets in Seattle. Both these bands would compose great video game soundtracks, if the goal of the video game was to make out with Italian UFO people from the beautiful desert planet of Astralia. I bet the game is already in production, with wire frames of imaginary humanoids and perfect textures in infinite pixels. All night, I kept seeing colors; the extensive lighting rig didn't let anyone relax for a second.

There is a remoteness and even a coldness of electronic music that scares many people away. On the other hand, that same musically-induced feeling of sonic alienation drew quite a crowd to Neumos. Folk rock is good for being happy and eating a full meal with people you care about, but sometimes people need to feel alone and just dance. I don't think the show sold out, but the devotion and intoxication of the 21+ scene led to unexpected dance/mashing that reminded me of seeing Franz Ferdinand in 2005 with a bunch of wild suburban teens. The Golden Filter played their practiced, shimmering, blogged-out minimal disco to much acclaim. The Presets closed the show with an hour of compressed vocals and binary beats. I missed Copy (Portland-based disco produced and brother of one of the members of Natalie Portman's Shaved Head) open, but I'd seen him before and dance music is mostly about how many people are out on the floor. It wasn't his fault, but he came on too early for a Tuesday night.

On Monday, the previous night, I spent the evening with the musical stylings of Sebastien Tellier at a smaller club in Seattle. I was expecting camp from the bearded, French, American Apparel-promoting, slightly pudgy, and self-described bisexual, and I was not disappointed. The man is a kitsch factory. For example, he leaves the stage after every song, apparently pretending to go snort something, but from where I was standing he was clearly just taking a swig from a water bottle. His music is great bombastic, swollen pop, but his stage antics are laughable. He has a great voice, but it's mostly obscured by the things his music has come to represent to a small segment of very self-aware, urban young people. In truth, I would have liked to see more young people at the show, the kind of imaginary young people that American Apparel uses to promote their products: bright, coiffed, sexy, and sharp looking. Mostly, the audience looked like older bloggers (and their friends) who had let themselves go sometime during 2006 in order to work more hours at Microsoft, Amazon or an ad agency (may I someday join their ranks). The opening band, Chairlift, probably contained the three most attractive people in the room. However, they either aren't that good, or their mix was completely off. I'll probably give them a second chance. They sounded enough like Wang Chung and I'm fairly superficial about these kinds of things.

Live/Bar: The Whore Moans at The Blue Moon

A few months ago I signed up to grip for a Seattle-based video production company. While on set for thirteen hours at a time, fantasizing about someday having a fun job that includes overtime and health benefits, I met Tristian, Mathiew, and Alex, three guys who do various related and unrelated video production gigs around town.

On Thursday I got a call for a video shoot in the University District. Alex was setting up a footage-grab for a live show at the historic Blue Moon tavern. We all met around nine, decided who was going to film who, and went out for a drink while the openers played. It was a fun evening and the Whore Moans were a fantastic bar band: loud and rowdy and sweaty. Also, this week the Blue Moon celebrated (read: drink specials) it's 75th year of being a fantastic dive bar, and this band provided the perfect Seattle garage rock soundtrack. While not particularity innovative, the band keeps things bumping with gravely bass lines, fast-enough drums, and typically saucy manchild screamo vocals sometimes in the style of Jordan Blilie (Past Lives, Blood Brothers). It was exactly the kind of uncomplicated rawk-lifestyle brand/experience I was looking for last night.

The Whore Moans are going on a full April/May US tour. I recommend seeing them while drunk and glistening slightly. It shouldn't be too hard.