Event Reviews: April 2008

Rekha is a one-woman movement pushing hip-hop forward while successfully re-introducing Punjabi folk music to an American music culture, one show at a time.

A master songwriter and relentless showman, Davies has always had a knack for the chord change or lyrical turn that can snap you back into focus and cause you to rearrange your life.

Karl Denson is a man who flat out knows how to get down, and who always brings an uplifting vibe. Combine that with the supreme talents of the rest of the Greyboy Allstars, and you have a recipe for musical magic.

As a musical entity, Bodies of Water don’t sound like anyone else. They are known to mine Ennio Morricone’s western riffs, tip a hat to Tropicalia, and borrow as much from old gospel groups as they do from today’s current music scene.

Playing without a singer/frontman means that the band operates without a “leader” as it were -- something they’ve spoken about in countless interviews. Watching them perform is like watching a collective in motion.

Their voices rose up as if being resurrected from a long, deep sleep, and echoed out through the tiny bar-turned-sanctuary, mesmerizing the crowd. With that brief a cappella introduction, the gospel according to Fleet Foxes began to unfold.

After experiencing two opening acts defined by imagination and verve, what a downer it was to hear the rote rockisms of Sons and Daughters.

It turns out Iron & Wine can rock out with the best of them: the force of it almost knocked me out.

These days, the Drive-By Truckers are nearly revolutionary in their refusal to treat their music as ironic, as some kind of joyless, angsty joke. No, the Truckers live for this stuff.

There is a sense of fin de siècle in the music of Beirut, as though it is prophesying the death of an era in which American music for the most part shunned external influences.

I'm racking my brain trying to come to some grand conclusion about the message they're sending about emotional isolation and modern technology, but it's hard to stay reflective when the guys on stage are barfing up marshmallows on some poor girl's head.

What the insiders know that the casual listener often misses is that Lekman's lyrics are spot-on: that perfect mix of wit, acerbic observation, and frank melancholia that the guys can identify with and the girls find utterly romantic.

Nationality aside, these acts share very little. Born Ruffians create tight, yelping guitar pop, while Cadence Weapon is a music-critic-turned-rapper whose beats boast a lot of vintage synth and video game bleeps.

Taken together, the two were a perfect post-World Music ticket -- the half-Japanese Todd and the Swedish-born Argentinean González both lay bare their multicultural roots with gentle instrumentation that hints at a world of influence while each remaining idiosyncratic musicians in her or his own right.

Linkin Park’s ostentatious crowd-kissing really was unwarranted because so much of the band’s music was compelling as well as lively in performance. The music stood out on its own; there was no need for band members to “keep it real” with the crowd.

Since its inception, the Sex Workers Art Show has advanced the conversation about sex work by opening the lines of communication and throwing a number of wrenches into the idiot side of American sex culture.

A populist tyrant of the stage, Almqvist gratified himself while fulfilling the whims of the masses at the same time. When he screamed, so did everyone else. When he demanded clapping, the crowd enthusiastically obliged. When he broached the sacrosanct and requested cheers befitting of the hallowed Prince, no one cried foul.