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)