{fv_addthis}

Latest Blog Posts

by Dave MacIntyre

13 Oct 2009

One of the greatest benefits of live band journalism/photography is the exposure you get to artists that are not yet in the mainstream. In most cases, these artists are opening acts who perform their hearts out attempting to make a lasting impression and ideally, warm up the audience for the acts that follow. Such was the case Saturday night at the El Mocambo in Toronto when the UK’s the Brakes (known as BrakesBrakesBrakes in North America due to a Philly based punk band’s claim on the truncated name) started the evening with an adrenaline boosting set of super-catchy pop songs. Fronted by former British Sea Power member Eamon Hamilton, the band formed in 2003 and has toured with the likes of Belle & Sebastian and the Killers, their experience evident both in ability and crow-pleasing interaction.

Next up was Glasgow’s We Were Promised Jetpacks, labelmates of the night’s headliner The Twilight Sad. The four-piece was immediately greeted by a wild group of cheering fans, whistling and clapping before they even had instruments in hand. They performed a tight set of shoe-gazey heart-felt melodies, all through which their fans openly sang along.

The room became electrified when headliners The Twilight Sad finally stepped on stage. After what I had just witnessed, I expected nothing short of an epic performance. Musically, the band sounded equally good live as when studio produced, covering songs from both Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters and the recently released Forget The Night Ahead, but their stage presence lacked the group unity the two previous bands exemplified. Band member interaction was virtually non-existent as each performer stood in expressionless stoicism throughout the entire show, with the exception of singer James Graham who, in his attempt to convey the angst and melancholy of the lyrics, sang on his knees and, at times, beat the drum set with his own stick. His whole performance felt too contrived, unconvincing and was more distracting than anything. Looking behind me to gauge how the rest of the room might be feeling, I wasn’t surprised to see the crowd had thinned considerably and those who were still there didn’t appear to be really into it either. By the end of the set, which concluded with a solid five minutes of feedback from the strings and Graham standing motionless staring off into space, I was ready to go home as well.

by Bill Gibron

13 Oct 2009

For many a devoted Talking Heads fan, 1983 was either the best year ever for their favorite band, or the telltale beginning of a slow and often painful end. It marked a break with Brian Eno, the producer extraordinaire who helped guide the group’s seminal albums More Songs About Buildings and Food, Fear of Music, and most importantly, Remain in Light. It was the moment when David Byrne went from wiry wizened frontman to egomaniacal despot, shaping both the sound and the visual representation of the music and its members until their break-up eight years later. They even scored their first Top Ten hit that year, “Burning Down the House” becoming a favorite among the burgeoning MTV generation and fratboys everywhere.

It was also the moment in time when the foursome expanded into a nine-piece and let director Jonathan Demme film their performance art like concerts. Twenty-five years later, Blu-ray technology is ready to reintroduce Talking Heads’ seminal Stop Making Sense to fans far too young to recall the group’s post-punk no wave reverie, or its eventual spiral into shameless squabbling and infighting. For nearly 90 glorious minutes, the band reduces the stage to a symbol-filled symposium on musicianship, craft, sonic bliss, group jams, individual acumen, and balls out greatness. It also offers enough sweat-filled dancing to inspire even the most stoic member of the fanbase to get up and shake their groove thing.

Honestly, the new digital update really isn’t necessary. From an audio and visual standpoint, nothing can beat Demme’s definitive work. Redefining the concert film for decades to come, the filmmaker manages the stage in ways that today’s modern quick cut stylists can’t even comprehend. Instead of using multiple angles and editorial overemphasis, Demme lets the lens linger. He follows certain segments of the band as a song simmers, allowing bassist Tina Weymouth or drummer Chris Frantz to steal the spotlight. Original fourth Jerry Harrison is often seen trading keyboard fills with former Parliament-Fundadelic ace Bernie Worell as backup divas Lynn Mabry and Ednah Holt give Byrne a running in place rave for his vocal mania. With Steve Scales bringing the percussive noise and Brothers Johnson sideman Alex Weir working his six stringed magic, the movie is a collection of creative calling cards, skills all rolled into one amazing amalgamation of harmony and heroics. 

Byrne has to be credited for the “design” of this show, utilizing a highly suggestive structure that sees the band grow from its original minimalist art school roots (the frontman solo, followed by the gradual inclusion of bass and drums) to is then current multicultural co-op. By the time “Found a Job” arrives, we have the initial Talking Heads available, the entity that turned a hardcore CBGBs into a head scratching experience with this rhythmic preppy posing. Slowing adding more “spicy” to the mix, we eventually find all nine touring members onstage, driving such amazing songs as “Life During Wartime”, “Once in a Lifetime”, and “Take Me to the River” to stunning rock and roll heights. The highlight for many remains the infamous ‘big suit’ sequence, set to another classic workout from the Speaking in Tongues LP, “Girlfriend Is Better”. Quickly becoming the film’s most iconic image, it is also the first indicators that Byrne was bypassing the rest of the group to focus on his own ideas and image.

In fact, it’s easy to see Stop Making Sense as one man’s attempt to exorcise his celebrity demons while searching for his true ‘self’. Byrne plays many “parts” here, from solo showman to solid sideman to over the top center of attention. Each persona comes across organically and naturally, an outgrowth of the music being made and the lyrics being sung. Sometimes, Stop Making Sense is nothing more than the skill of perfect recreation. Many of the early numbers resemble their album counterparts, down to specific sequences and changes. But once Byrne is free to follow his own growing insanity, the paranoia becomes part of the subtext. Soon, as the rest of the group is headed into overdrive, he is reluctantly reduced to playing sideshow geek, given over to his insular flash dance-ability and transformed into something almost inhuman. As a journey through one man’s many mental states, Stop Making Sense is an eye (and ear) opener. It’s also Byrne unhinged and unhindered by the nature of playing nicely with others.

From a presentation standpoint, the Blu-ray doesn’t change much. The film still looks great, the slightest amounts of grain resulting from Demme’s lo-fi shooting style. The lighting was also intense (per Byrne’s instructions) leading to a loss of color throughout. No need to worry, however, the remaining imagery more than makes up for a lack of rainbow brightness. The 1080p does reveal more detail, like the copious amounts of perspiration generated by the band, or the various technical adjustments going on in the shadows. The aural reproduction is equally adept, the DTS HD Master Audio mix providing tons of dynamic display. As for added content, the new format mimics the old DVD by providing some bonus songs (“Cities”, “Big Business/I Zimbra”) and a commentary track featuring Byrne, Weymouth, Frantz, Harrison and Demme (all recorded separately, sadly). The best new bit is the 1999 press conference for the film’s theatrical rerelease. Several years since the break-up, the band is personable yet tense as they take questions from an audience eager to dispel myths while creating new ones.

In fact, Stop Making Sense is the kind of concrete legacy maker that’s hard to live down. Should they ever reform - and the mountain of animosity between the band members is a hell of a range to overcome, even for professed professionals - recreating what they accomplished back in the early ‘80s would be a daunting if not impossible task. The reason this concert film remains so revered, the explanation for its lasting impact and appeal remains that clichéd concept of capturing lightning in a bottle. When they took the stage in 1983, none of the band could envision the reception they’d receive, or the fact that it would be the last time they’d perform together until the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony in 2002. In many ways, Stop Making Sense would come to represent the apex of the group’s appeal - both commercially and as a personal concern. From then on, things got very complicated indeed. Luckily, we have this reminder of when things were practically perfect, a rarity for almost any artistic collective. That’s the magic in Demme’s movie. That’s the brilliance of one of music most memorable acts.

by Eleanore Catolico

13 Oct 2009

Basement Jaxx reveals their new video for the song “Scars” from the album of the same name. With a rosebush like the plague, Basement Jaxx collaborated with Dutch Artist Jan Van Nuenen to make the video. “Scars” gushes with herbaceous fury circa 1989’s Biollante from Godzilla vs. Biollante (and yes, I did just make a Godzilla reference).

by Eleanore Catolico

13 Oct 2009

Last week Kraftwerk released a remastered discography of some of their most inspired albums: Autobahn, Radio-Activity, Trans Europe Express, The Man Machine, Computer World, Techno Pop, The Mix, and Tour de France. Beginning in the early ‘70s, Kraftwerk engineered addictive melodies and industrial beats that helped shape the sound of many relevant electronic acts today, including New Order and Hot Chip. Watch a live performance of “Computer Love” from 1981, a song that captures the melancholy of their aural tectonics.

by Eleanore Catolico

13 Oct 2009

Nigerian-born, German-based soul artist Nneka is set to release her US debut Concrete Jungle. Nneka derives her sound from the likes of Bob Marley, Nina Simone, and Erykah Badu. In Concrete Jungle, Nneka’s voice is the resounding instrument of hope driving the record, shifting from palpable desire to invigorated fury. Listen to Concrete Jungle‘s first single “The Uncomfortable Truth” and check out her upcoming U.S. tour dates.

Nneka
The Uncomfortable Truth [MP3]
     

//Mixed media
//Blogs

'Fire Emblem Heroes' Is a Bad Crossover

// Moving Pixels

"Fire Emblem Heroes desperately and shamelessly wants to monetize our love for these characters, yet it has no idea why we came to love them in the first place.

READ the article