The End of an Era: On Maxwell's, Hoboken, and Embracing Change

I haven't written a blog post in a long time.  I could look back and blame the start of a blogging hiatus on the anxiety and dread of a painful break-up, the hustle and bustle of a new job, the relative lack of a passionate cause behind which to throw my words, or my general self-criticism of the inherent navel-gazing associated with writing a blog nobody reads.  But whatever the cause, carefully crafted personal essays and pontifications have been absent from my life for some time.  I even neglected to renew the domain for my blog when the notice came up last month.  

So what brings me back for the moment?  The news of Maxwell's bar and lounge closing hit me hard tonight.  It speaks volumes about the state of the music industry, not to mention the state of the town I have called home for the past four years.  Maxwell's was an establishment that drew me to the neighborhood years before I lived here, and one I expected to draw me back for years after I left.  The neighborhood has changed, as we all do.  But this particular news hits home, literally, in a way that seems... final.  

In the four years I've lived in this town, I've seen dozens of shows at Maxwell's.  I brought friends in from out of town to attend concerts there, I discovered new artists there, I felt at home there.  I would stop in for a beer or a dinner even without a show to attend, as it always had the vibe of the kind of bar I wished Hoboken had more of.  There was authenticity, there was excitement, there was live, original music, and there was even decent beer.  It may sound funny, but I was always proud of Maxwell's.  I would brag to my friends about heading there for shows when Hoboken had become worthy of rolling eyes in other contexts.  Call me sentimental, but it seems poetic that the same week that Maxwell's owners announced they will close their doors at the end of July, I, too, have signed my exit slip from the town.  

I recently chose to leave Hoboken for the other side of the river, despite loving my spacious, affordable apartment in a quiet, residential part of the town.   When I accepted a new job last year that placed me in the thick of Manhattan, I had been anticipating this change of scene.  The flavor of the town had grown stale, although the square mile I spent the second half of my twenties falling in and out of love with had taken such a beating in the hurricane that I almost felt guilty saying goodbye.  But alas, it was time to cut the cord and move on.  I found a new, unpretentious, authentic neighborhood I hope to someday call home, and finally signed a lease last weekend.  I have been looking nothing but forward to the new digs and the opportunity to start fresh and foster new connections.  The impending closing of my most beloved establishment, though, has really shaken me up.  It is fittingly appropriate and heartbreaking all at once.  Hoboken, I love you, but things will never be the same.  

This isn't a love letter to Maxwell's, it's not a farewell letter to Hoboken, or a criticism of the shift in neighborhood and lack of spirit.  It is a thank-you note.  I am grateful for all of these things. Our environment shapes who and what we are.  It defines us, and I am as much a part of them as they are a part of me.  But as I move on to the next chapter in my life, it is sad to reflect upon the end of an era, the loss of an establishment, and a severance to one of the few connections I expected to hold strong. 

I had hoped to sneak in one last show at the venue before they closed, but unsurprisingly they have sold out most of their final acts already as news spreads of the club's demise.  So, I am left with nothing but nostalgia; great memories sprinkled throughout the latter, better half of my twenties.  

Since it seems fitting and I don't expect to be blogging much after this, I'll bite off an old cliche.  My all-time top five shows at Maxwell's in chronological order:

Tokyo Police Club

(w/ Vampire Weekend and Ra Ra Riot)

8/11/07 

What?  What's that you say?  It's astonishing that I was at this show.  It's astonishing that Vampire Weekend AND Ra Ra Riot opened for Tokyo Police Club (and I had never heard of any of them at the time).  This show would be at the Barclay's Center if it were happening in 2013 and not 2007.  The value a local music venue rooted in the community brings to the table is immeasurable when you look back on shows like this.  

Sondre Lerche 

3/6/10

I've written about Sondre before, but this show took place on the evening of Hoboken's St. Patrick's Day Parade.  For Hobokenites and their friends, this is a day reserved for the utmost ridiculous debauchery.  Within two years, the parade itself would be cancelled and residents like me would flee to Vermont (in 2012) or Brooklyn (in 2013) for the day or the weekend just to avoid the riotous crowds celebrating for no actual reason.  I willingly participated in the festivities on the day of the Sondre Lerche show, and probably overindulged before attending.  But I remember the show well, and my friends who came along were impressed by Maxwell's and even more by the intimate setting in which they got to see a favorite artist.  It was a lovely show with a game entertainer who got the best out of what I might have expected to be a raucous crowd.  I was proud of the audience for holding itself together that night, and happy to show off my local haunt on the official holiday of the Mile Square.  

The Head and The Heart 

2/12/11 

A band KEXP had been pushing as the next big thing, who I had only a vague recognition of, blew my fucking mind at this show.  They became my (and everyone who came with me that night) favorite new artist for the summer, the soundtrack to two of those attendees' wedding album, and a staple in my love of live music.  The Head and the Heart's first show at Maxwell's will be one that I truly never forget for the sheer beauty of the moment of seeing a band who was, at the time, transcendent and unknown and so full of energy and love of music that it was infectious.  We sat for dinner at the table next to them that evening, and I knew just barely enough to recognize they were the band we'd come to see.  By the end of the week my friends would be reciting their names to me.  There are few moments in life that stand out as brightly as that evening.  

John Vanderslice (cancelled)

11/4/12 

I'm cheating a bit here.  This show was on my schedule for months, and I have seldom enjoyed a concert as much as the last John Vanderslice show I had seen at Mercury Lounge. (He really is one of the best in the business).  But on the heels of the most devastating storm to hit the Northeast in a long time, and certainly the storm that rocked Hoboken the hardest in it's own history, this show was scrapped as residents were still returning to flooded homes, ruined cars, and powerless blocks.  I spent the evening with roommates and neighbors scraping together a meal out of the few leftovers we could gather after a week of scavenging and a pitiful, barely edible order of chinese takeout from one of the few restaurants that had reopened (the ShopRite would be closed for 4 more months, and the rest of the groceries and bodegas had been emptied out for days).  Another trip down memory lane on the night of a show that never happened, and now never will.  

Yo La Tengo

12/12/12

(I never realized the date of that show until now. Hmm.)  I had heard tell of the Yo La Tengo Hannukah shows for years and never made my way to see them.  I was gifted a pair of tickets for my birthday and am grateful to have gotten to experience the hosts of a 7 day concert series steeped in tradition for what we now know was the last time.  A bittersweet memory and great band that had roots in Hoboken and at Maxwell's, I'm sure they're reeling from the news this week much more than I am.

Frank Black

2/21/13 

Had I known this was the last show I would see at Maxwell's, I would have stayed for the last few minutes (it was a school night!).  But the former Pixies mastermind opened with "Wave of Mutilation" and "Where Is My Mind" before diving into a solo set of hits from three decades of genius rock, melodic grunge, and sickly sweet pop, and that is as good a memory as I could have asked for to close out my time at the club.  

In the words of Hoboken's prodigal son, "I've loved, I've laughed and cried.  I've had my fill, my share of losing.  And now as tears subside, I find it all so amusing.  To think I did all that... " 

Thanks for the good times, Hoboken.  

The Revolution Will Not Be Organized

The corner of Liberty and Broadway seems a suitably symbolic intersection for the collision of Wall Street transactions and liberal demonstrations.  Inside the square block of Zuccoti Park in Manhattan's Financial District, a group of citizens known simply as "Occupy Wall Street" have, well, occupied the park.  The contrast between the suits of Wall Street and the unbathed, dreadlock-laden demonstrators creates an ideal setting for a demonstration hoping to take aim on the economic class discrimination that many citizens feel has become increasingly oppressive in the past few years.  Where better than the global center of commerce to bring a voice to the masses who feel betrayed by the bankers whom they associate with the economic bubble bursting and increased unemployment rates throughout the country?  

The movement has, indeed, started to receive national media attention, spawning similar grassroots efforts in other cities throughout the country who hope to replicate the success of the international protests that have taken place in the past year throughout Europe and the Middle East.  This, in and of itself, is largely a success.  Igniting conversation in the political arena is the true objective of any demonstration.  Those most passionate about reform want to see change, they want representation.  They want to bring to the left what the Tea Party has brought to the right.  From the outside, the picture is clear and the message is resounding.  

In reality, the site of the protests, which has become a downtown attraction over the past few weeks, has as much resemblance to Shakedown Street as it does to the uprisings in Europe.  Surrounding the perimeter of the park are men and women, mostly young, but of all ages and demographics, holding signs and chanting and participating in drum circles.  Cameras from tourists and news stations and passers-by point in every direction.  But when the focus shifts to the inside of the park, the scene is quite different.  A few centers of information pertaining to 'the cause' as well as press releases and legal advice for protesters (many of whom -approximately 700 according so some media sources - were arrested for marching on the Brooklyn Bridge last weekend) are scattered throughout the park, the rest of which has become a commune littered with sleeping bags, cardboard boxes and other materials used for make-shift shelters.  There is a small collection of books in a library, a list of volunteers assigned to cleaning duty, and areas for food, clothing, and garbage.  In fact, the whole operation is largely reminiscent of the camps one might expect to see at an overnight music festival in the middle of summer.  

All of this does not work to the benefit of the protesters.  They run the risk of becoming complacent, of buying into themselves and forgetting their cause.  I witnessed a small rally at which several members of the occupation were chanting (echoed by their peers for amplification in lieu of a microphone, which was a surprisingly effective speaking/listening exercise that should be replicated in the classroom - for future consideration) but their message was largely unclear, and the focus turned frequently back to the details of the camp itself.  

Taking a step back from the scene, it appears the occupation is largely working.  The Occupy Wall Street protest has caused city officials to actually shut down Wall Street.  Not the economic center of trade, but the street itself.  Normally a walk-able section of downtown, gates and fencing have been put into place and small walking paths have been allotted for pedestrians, but it appears that the streets have been closed for the foreseeable future to prevent protesting outside of Federal Hall.  Police officers flank the fences in every direction, and two were positioned on horseback in the center of the square.  I kid you not when I say that this occupation has changed the entire feeling of the financial district.   

While the protests lack the organization and coherence of message that they need to refine in order to avoid becoming a caricature of themselves (as a friend of mine put it upon seeing the park), there is one resounding message that has made its way onto the signs and into most of the media:  

We are the 99%.  

The motto refers to the fact that 1% of the taxpayers in this country are recipients of tax-sheltered incentives and the vast majority of the income in the country while the rest of the citizens face record high unemployment rates and financial crises that are unmatched in recent history.   And it is a good place to start.  The reason Occupy Wall Street is getting the attention and replication throughout the country is because this message resonates with most of us in the middle and lower class.  

I was fortunate enough to catch a small glimpse of the things that they are doing right on OWS this morning.  In what she donned an 'Un-Columbus Day' reading, an elementary school teacher from one of the public schools in Manhattan read the children's story 'Encounter', which is a Native American point of view retelling of Columbus' occupation of America.  It was an apt analogy and a perfect setting.  In fact, before taking off for Liberty Plaza, I started the day with this thought: "Columbus Day: Reflecting on the foundations of our nation; from free world to slaughtering natives. Seems like good day to show support for Occupy Wall Street."  A group of young children from the teacher's school joined in the conversation, and even hung around to make signs and march around the park.  It was an exceptional display of education, and a valuable message for those students and any curious onlookers.  If only the revolution had a teacher at the helm.  

This revolution will not be organized.  And until politicians adopt the best interests of the 99% and begin bringing these issues to the forefront of their political agendas, the revolution won't have much of a chance.  But they are beginning to force the conversation.  And with a little guidance, and some forethought, they can be making even bigger stands.  I hoped to join the marchers and protest in support today, but there were no marches to join and no messages to shout.  If the citizens who occupy Wall Street are hopeful that they can impact political change, they need to agree on how to do so.  

We are the 99%.  We will vote together, we will work together for the future, we will come together eventually to solve these issues. We have to.  That is the message that needs to make its way into the homes and lives of the rest of our peers. I'm not sure that sitting the middle of the park is the best way to send that message, but at least it's a start.  

If I Had a Music Blog: Wilco will love you, baby.

Wilco - The Whole Love
Released 9/27/11

I entered college right around the time when the internet was on the precipice of becoming a new social medium.  I managed to get through two full years of higher education before the dawn of the Social Network.  We had AIM (oh, AIM), and we had email, most of us.  And there were various enterntainment websites with updated content and chat rooms.  Blogs did not yet exist, at least not in name.  But the inevitable onset of world wide web browsing was at its peak, and so not only could we find and share new music through local and global servers, but we could also finally access thoughts and opinions from around the country within seconds.  A music geek with an ethernet connection in his dorm room was far more dangerous than a kid in a candy store.  Discovering new artists, reading about what the rest of the world was doing... it took some work, but it was all there for the taking.

All this to say that I vividly recall stumbling upon two bands right around the same time that would forever change and shape my music catalogue.   The first was a little known duo from Akron who exactly no one was talking about and who had just released their 2nd album of mostly original music which would take 8 years to make it into nearly every commercial on television and release a Grammy-winning album (The Black Keys, for those playing along at home).  The other was a band who had been kicking around for a few years but had yet to break into any sort of mainstream success, despite being nominated for a Grammy award for Best Contemporary Folk album in 1999.


That band was Wilco.

By 2001, they had built a solid repertoire of carefully crafted, kitchy, catchy folk-pop gems soaked with heartfelt lyrics. They had also just recorded the album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, which was set to be released in a pre-9/11 world as a genre-busting epic, the band's humble transition from folk artists to, simply, artists.  It took over a year for the album to finally make it onto the scene, and it was met with just enough critical acclaim for all of us trolling the internet to discover on top ten lists as the next great album that no one was listening to.  So I listened.  And listened, and listened, and listened.  Revisionist history would dictate that everyone was listening to Yankee Hotel and loved Wilco's music and knew they were destined for greatness.  In reality, when they popped up for an outdoor concert on the lawn outside the student center at Penn State in the spring of 2003, there were literally hundreds of fans singing along.  In a week in which I attended a nearly sold-out headlining show in Central Park in the pouring rain, it is hard not to be gleefully astonished by their rise to greatness.  If ever a band deserved to ride the wave to acclaim and success, it is one with Jeff Tweedy at the helm.

I could go on and on about Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, but nothing I could say would capture the album as well as the documentary I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, a must-see for any fan of Wilco, or of musicianship in general.  Wilco made a name for themselves with that album.  It is perfectly executed, expertly crafted, soulful and filled with emotions and melodies that will simultaneously break your heart and lift your spirit.  It is as perfect for sunny days as it is rainy days.

Wilco followed this calculated epic with A Ghost is Born: a loose, free, fun album of noise and jams and pop songs that ride the same highs and lows with a little more tongue in their cheeks.  This album was clearly made by a band who felt they had established enough acclaim and respect to try to play around and see what happens.  Jeff Tweedy, the heart and soul of the band, has even admitted that some songs are written merely as a playground for a cool guitar solo, while others are of the more thoughtful and introspective ilk that one should expect from a master craftsman like Tweedy.  Years later, Wilco, The Album expanded on this cheeky attitude, bringing more finely tuned pop songs and ballads to this self-aware, self-referential collection.  Absent from both of these albums were the transitions that made Yankee Hotel Foxtrot a true concept album. While they each brought new elements of design and experimentation, neither was greater than the sum of its parts.

Sky Blue Sky, the album sandwiched in between Ghost and Wilco, was another how-to manual of pop-song perfection.  With a 60's glow and a flare for the harmonic, Wilco remained true to form in bringing new elements to their sound and style.  The Wilco from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was a ghost from the past, but this new band was even more confident in challenging themselves to evolve and expand into new territory.  Sky Blue Sky felt more whole, more meaningful and introspective than some of their other recent work. Listeners were rewarded with another album that was equal parts melancholy and joyful, heartfelt and airy.

After a decade of sonic expansion and success both on the road and in the studio, what's next for Jeff Tweedy and company?  The Whole Love is exactly what we should expect from Wilco at this point, which is to say that it is nothing like what we might expect.  It is incredible that Wilco still has a bag of new tricks to play with, and yet each song surprises and pleases in new ways.  The album is thematic in its intention, each element is unique to itself and yet the songs mesh together seamlessly in a bold, dynamic mix of the highs and lows, bright and dark components that have become seemingly effortless for Wilco to accomplish.

In a strange way, The Whole Love draws parallels to The Red Hot Chili Peppers' Stadium Arcadium, in that each album is a take-it-or-leave-it meditation by a band at the top of its craft.  The latter is a genre-busting tour-de-force for John Frusciante that explores the furthest reaches of a band's ability. (I defy anyone who is surprised by Frusciante's departure following Arcadium to give that album another listen and tell me it wasn't an obvious send-off to a guitarist who was clearly demonstrating mastery of every imaginable skill he could bring to a middle-aged outfit that was struggling to keep up.)  Each song is a new challenge to the band, as in "I wonder what it would sound like if the Chili Peppers were a funk band? An emo band?  A punk band? A modern rock outfit? A wayward commune of troubadours?".

 In a similar vein, Wilco stretches its style on The Whole Love and explores new territory each step along the way.  The first track, 'Art of Almost', finds the band in its most electronic, progressive territory to date: a seven-minute meditation on possibilities which find guitars and synthesizers singing, humming and screeching in a modern-era jam-band kind of way, complete with a driving distorted guitar riff and pushy drum beat with Tweedy's ethereal vocals floating above as it slowly evolves into the most aggressive rock Wilco has yet to put to tape.  This is followed by the stylistic 'I Might', a more Wilco-ish take on the crafty pop song we've learned to associate with the band, complete with Tweedy's signature 'doot-doot'-ing and accompaniment from concert bells.

Listen to: Wilco -  "I Might" 

 The album delves into some predictably quiet acoustic ballads, like 'Black Moon' and 'Rising Red Lung', and swings unexpectedly into psychedelic pop with 'Sunloathe' and 'Capitol City', the latter of which evokes the type of sweetness and strangeness one might expect from Wayne Coyne and the Flaming Lips.  'Standing O' finds the band at its surf-rock-iest, and the love ballad 'Open Mind' is primed for an acoustic performance by Tweedy on his next solo tour.  Wilco finds more solid ground in 'Dawned on Me' and 'Born Alone', a pair of upbeat radio-ready pop gems with enough 'ooh's and 'aah's and whistling in the chorus to make Rivers Cuomo shake with jealousy.

Watch: Jeff Tweedy - "Dawned on Me" (Acoustic)


The Whole Love ends with One Sunday Morning, a subtle, twelve minute journey filled with heartfelt emotion that sits diametrically opposed to the opener, with acoustic guitars and pianos that swell and feature Tweedy's gentle side.  As ambitiously and loudly as the album opens, it slowly draws to a close with a recursive reflection on life and love.

On The Whole Love, Wilco surprises more often than not.  As many steps forward as the band takes with its upbeat style, the more quiet pieces still lack the depth and resonance of previous outings like that of 'Poor Places' from Yankee Hotel.  Nevertheless, The Whole Love may not be their next masterpiece, but it may very well be their most ambitious album yet.

If I Had a Music Blog: A Tale of Two Sondres

Sondre Lerche @ The Bowery Ballroom
with Nightlands, Kishi Bashi
June 4, 2011

Sondre Lerche displays more energy and passion for his music than any post-modern Brooklyn-dwelling artist should be willing to share in public.  Without an air of irony or detachment to his music, the Norwegian born Lerche has made a name for himself through catchy pop-tunes with heart-on-the-sleeve lyrics and an innate sense of composition.  He gained popularity after putting his craftmanship to good use composing the soundtrack for the Steve Carrell film "Dan in Real Life", in which he also appeared with his band "The Faces Down".

Lerche is a confident, amusing stage presence with a penchant for talking and poking fun at himself during shows.  He is as comfortable alone with his guitar in solo as he is with a backing band, and looks to genuinely enjoy himself in both settings.  I've seen his solo act at Maxwells and Joe's Pub in years past, and in a smaller intimate setting he enjoys engaging the crowd and chatting with fans throughout the show.

In terms of his music, the confidence Lerche exudes is a blessing and a curse.  In his best moments, as evidenced by nearly every track from his fourth studio album, 'Phantom Punch', Lerche's music is at once both soulful and snappy, bringing together elements of pop music and jazz riffs that build to a touching yet infinitely catchy string of songs.  He is unafraid to invite elements of disco, synth-pop, and countless other influences that span the past few decades of music and blend them into unexpected gems that delight the ears and have a broad appeal.

That confidence has allowed Lerche to experiment with more traditional 'American' rock and roll composition as well, resulting in ballads and love songs that wouldn't be out of place coming out of the pipes of a Sinatra or Michael Buble.  Upon sampling a few tracks from his 2009 album "Heartbeat Radio", a friend unfamiliar with Lerche's catalog went so far as to remark that his sound was "kind of girl-y" (this from a female friend, for the record, so as to avoid any chauvinistic implications).  While the title track from the album is a snappy, rhythmic anthem that both evokes nostalgia for the days of radio and cries out against the direction modern radio has gone, many other tracks represent this confidence of Lerche's, his abandon, taking his music in a direction far from the clever crafted tunes toward a less defensible conglomerate of sing-songy ballads.

That to is to say, at least on the surface, Sondre Lerche's songs are hit-or-miss.  The time and effort Lerche puts into each song is evident, occasionally to a fault.  I would never criticize any of his songs from a structural, compositional perspective, but that doesn't meant that I necessarily want to listen to them. If that seems too judgmental, I'll be the first to endorse Lerche's music in general and to recommend spending an evening watching him at work.

As the lights dimmed on the Bowery Ballroom last night, I hoped to watch Sondre prove my friend wrong by spotlighting some of his more distinguished efforts with the accompaniment of his backing band, comprised of opener Kishi Bashi on violin and synthesizer, Dave Hartley (of opener Nightlands) on bass, and superhuman drummer Dave Heilman.  Instead, the band opened with a handful of softer, sweeter ballads both old and new.  Intended as a showcase for his new album, the opening tracks showed Lerche at his most heartfelt and melodic. Yet, it wasn't until 'Airport, Taxi, Reception', the first track from the album "Phantom Punch", that the band really seemed to find its groove.

With or without preconceived notions of his music, one can see a dichotomy in Sondre Lerche.  His penchant for intense, rocking, heartfelt pop-songs, his stage passion, and his charm make him a life force of a musician and a show worth spending a Saturday evening on.  The less secure, crooning singer songwriter with a curiosity of ballads and love songs can still hold a tune, but often falls flat from a pure entertainment perspective.  Either way, Lerche remains a lovable fixture among the modern music scene, and I look forward to more of his work, even if it means filtering out some of the sap.

If I Had a Music Blog - The Head and The Heart

I'm about to reveal a pretty big secret to you.  Unless you're a close friend, I've been holding out on you.  Yes, even you, estranged Facebook-lurking friends who have just a little too much access to my personal thoughts despite never sharing thoughts of your own. The truth is, I was a little selfish this week, and I think I've been karmically punished as a result.  Consider this post my penance.

What does it mean to 'discover' something new?  We all have our own sources: trusted friends and acquaintances with similar tastes, blogs and websites from which we gather the information that shapes and molds our ever-evolving pop-culture sensibilities.   In this modern age of social networking, we place too great an emphasis on being the first to share information. We tend to want to take ownership of the things we like and want to keep them for ourselves.  As a result, we often trick ourselves in into feeling proprietary about the art we enjoy, and rather than be happy for the success of our favorite artists we snub them as they gain esteem.

But sometimes, when we really are among the first on the scene, it is hard to let go of that feeling.

I can't take credit for 'discovering' the Seattle-based quintet The Head and The Heart.  To give credit where credit is due, I first came across this band from the excellent I Am Fuel, You Are Friends blog, and I can't even take credit for finding this blog on my own.  But I did listen when THATH was just a blip on the vast musical radar that pervades the internet, and I was quick to take to the band's bright, clean melodies and breathtaking harmonies.  When the band scheduled a show at Maxwell's in February, I made a conscious effort to recruit friends to join me for their show.  I took pride in sharing my appreciation for the band before the show.  And I was even more aggressive in my support for the band after witnessing their sublime performance in person.

If you've somehow missed the boat on this group, go listen to a few tracks, and then listen again, and come back and read the rest of this post after you've kicked yourself a few times for being late to the party.

I've been to quite a few concerts, large and small, and shows at Maxwell's tend to have a certain intimacy that is often absent from its sister venues across the river.  We Hobokenites appreciate the disdain New Yorkers have for PATH-ing it into the Jersey slums for concerts (though, sadly, not for cake), and Maxwell's stands as a hidden gem, a diamond in the rough, in the city that begat Sinatra and baseball.  Never, though, have I been lucky enough to happen upon such an unknown band that was so superb in concert.  The Head and The Heart won me, and everyone fortunate enough to witness their show, over for eternity.

The self-titled debut album from The Head and The Heart has started to make serious waves in recent weeks, as the band headlines shows across the country, selling out small venues in cities large and small.  The aforementioned FuelFriends blog even hosted the band at a house party before their SxSW and held a special recording session in a nearby chapel that captures the haunting beauty of the outfit to an even greater extent than their album, recently re-released by their new Sub-Pop Records label.

Even as they gained accolades spreading their post-modern gospel folk music to delighted critics and indie-rock circles across the country, I somehow managed to maintain a small feeling of pride and ownership about the band.  I watched closely as they continued to show off their diversity and skill in countless renditions of the song 'Rivers and Roads', a genuinely touching, heartfelt anthem of love and affection that brings a chill to my spine every time the epic chorus of 'ooh's' builds to a perfect breakdown in which singer Charity Thielen spins the song's namesake into a vocal shudder of emotion.  And take my word for it (you'll have to... but I'll get to that in a minute), the songs are even more touching, more heartfelt, more whole and full and beautiful in person than they have any right to be.

I should have known better.

Earlier this week, The Head and the Heart announced via Facebook (on which they have, of this writing, around 20,000 followers... compare that to fellow Seattle-ites Fleet Foxes with over 450,000) that they would be performing a show at Mercury Lounge.  And here's where it all comes apart.  Suspecting the tickets might be harder to acquire this time around (they didn't sell out Maxwells until the night of the show in February), I kept this nugget of information to myself, inviting a few friends to try to score some tickets with me, but neglecting to share my newfound adoration with the rest of the internet world until after I had the tickets secured.  I refused to invite more competition to the table.  Mercury Lounge only fits about 250 guests, as it is, and so it would be a challenge to get tickets to a high-profile act. Still, I was confident that with my advanced knowledge of the show I would be able to get tickets as soon as they became available and appreciate the group in a small theater one last time before they take to the festival circuit this summer and become the next big thing.

The show sold out in seconds.  The box office held some tickets to be sold on site, and, by the time it became clear that the online sales were off the table before I could refresh my browser for a second chance at tickets, a phone call to Mercury Lounge proved fruitless as well.

I'm ecstatic for The Head and The Heart.  They are immensely talented and deserving of the appreciation that befalls them.  I can't be angry that an earnest, hard-working band of musicians gains the popularity they rightfully deserve.  And yet I can't help but feel a tinge of jealousy, a bit of ego, perhaps, that lets me think I've somehow earned the right to see them again.  Call me selfish, and I suppose I'll have to take solace in the fact that I was among the few who got to experience this band at all on their first headlining show on the East Coast.  But still, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit disappointed.

So, in good faith, I share with you my love for The Head and The Heart.  I can't promise I'll be there to tell you about their next trip to the area (though all signs point to it being their Friday appearance at the Dave Matthews Band Caravan on June 24th).  I can promise you, though, that if you give this group a chance, they will not fail to deliver.

Listen to  The Head and The Heart 'Rivers and Roads':

• Doe Bay Session
• Parking Garage Session
• Tunnel Session
• SxSW Session
• Chapel Session

If I Had a Music Blog - John Vanderslice

John Vanderslice with Damien Jurado

5/12/2011 - Mercury Lounge

A few summers ago, a good friend challenged me to put together a summer playlist of songs, an annual tradition of his that I was happy to indulge in, and which inspired me to spend countless hours seeking out new artists and tracks to include in the compilation.  The result was a 'double-album' of songs categorized into cheery, beachy, dazed and confused "Summer Days" tracks and warm, ethereal "Summer Nights" counterparts (see below).  Among the highlights of the new tracks I discovered was "D.I.A.L.O", a satellite radio indie-rock station darling from a little known veteran rock outfit fronted by John Vanderslice, the band's namesake.  Their album Romanian Names had just been released, and while I enjoyed the music and it has remained a staple in my music catalog, I paid little attention to Vanderslice's other work.  

My Summer Mix '09 Artwork

When his current tour and upcoming set at Mercury Lounge was announced a few months ago, I snatched up a ticket (likely a product of my annual tradition of emerging from winter with a need to inflate my calendar with as many concerts as possible to make up for the endless months of hibernation and dreary attitudes that wash over New York City each year) and found myself diving into his newest album White Wilderness in preparation for the show.  The album itself is quite lovely, if not a bit gentle, but it brings the orchestral intensity and diverse instrumentation I anticipated on the heels of Romanian Names.  Knowing little about Vanderslice himself, his band, or his background, I expected a stage full of musicians and electronics and a set of clean, full songs.  

John Vanderslice - White Wilderness

I couldn't have been more wrong, and I couldn't be any happier about it. 

Mercury Lounge's small stage and tight, brick walls make it a bit claustrophobic for larger acts, and the few CMJ events I've seen there have struggled with the space.  The opener, Damien Jurado, accompanied by the gentle voice of Melodie Knight (of Seattle's Campfire OK), brought the fascinated crowd to a standstill, as his folk guitar and sweet crooning, with Melodie's vocals perched atop, conjured up breathtaking harmonies reminiscent of Fleet Foxes at their softest.  Jurado kept the crowd amused, chatting and cracking jokes between songs, but it was his music that kept the room fascinated.  Strong opening acts are always encouraging, and typically indicate a powerful headlining performance.  Tonight was no exception.  

Despite my expectations, John Vanderslice took the stage accompanied solely by drummer Jason Slota (a human tour-de-force, as it were, with an arsenal of percussive toys including a synthesizer and glockenspiel) with guitars and a handful of his own gadgets in tow.  From the onset, he promised an entertaining evening filled with audience participation and surprises, and he didn't disappoint.  Noting the small stage setup the duo had prepared, Vanderslice invited the audience to fill a half-dozen chairs set along the back and side of the stage, for those with obstructed views.  With his charming, youthful energy and wit, he insisted that as soon as the first person gathered the gall to join them on stage, droves would follow.  This offering was just the first of many invitations the band bestowed on the crowd.   I wish I were more familiar with his catalog so I could include a set list, and I will edit this post if one appears on the web post-haste (post-post?), but the songs took a back seat to the energy and antics of the band on this evening anyway.  

Vanderslice runs his own studio, tiny telephone, in his hometown of San Francisco, and his show feels like an invitation to join him in a studio session with a hundred of his closest friends.  Songs would start and stop with the band interjecting, pointing out their own mistakes, telling tales like a VH1 Storytellers set, and joking with the audience.  John teased at one point that at their last stop in Buffalo one song lasted 25 minutes, and in retrospect I'm not sure he was exaggerating.  He invited two audience members to join him on guitar and vocals for a track, had saxophone and clarinet accompaniment from friends in the crowd, invited both of the artists from the opening act to join him at different times, and turned Mercury Lounge into a goofy house party of talented musicians playing loose but exhilarating tunes and having more fun than anyone ought to for fifteen bucks in the East Village.  At his best, Vanderslice is soulful and energetic and clearly enjoys himself on stage.  He was rightfully effusive in his praise for Slato throughout the evening, and the duo had clearly done their homework in reworking the orchestral opuses into manageable tunes, albeit with plenty of stops along the way - all of which the band embraced. 

Tiny Telephone Studios

The highlight of the evening came when Vanderslice and Slato picked up an acoustic guitar and floor tom, respectively, and formed an un-mic'd stage in the center of the crowd.  Flashlights and cellphones lit up the middle of the floor, and the otherwise hushed audience joined in occasionally for a camp-fire style sing-along for a few songs to bring the night to a close.  As the lights came up on the lounge, the band invited everyone to stay for a dance party, and despite the late hour (the headliners came on around 11 and the lights came up at 12:30am) I was almost tempted to stay and see what more could possibly transpire.  

It was an evening full of shattered expectations and pleasant surprises.  I look forward to diving deeper into the John Vanderslice discography, and I can say with certainty that I will be first in line for tickets the next time he comes to town.  

If I had a music blog, I hope I could garner as much enthusiasm to write about every show as I have a day after spending an evening among John Vanderslice's circle of friends.

John Vanderslice - Convict Lake (MP3)

Damien Jurado - Arkansas (MP3)