Another Unnecessary Unholy Two Gif

If you're in one of the many scenes holding benefit concerts for the Letha Melchior Rodman Cancer Fund, you should probably go (as well as buy as much Dan Melchior music and art as you can) -- as it may just result in a historic occasion. Alright, so maybe history wasn't made, but in this young year, and in a Columbus that can't seem to rouse itself out of a winter mentality (even when there isn't a winter), it was quite a magical night. The call to help the Melchiors was first made by El Jesus De Magico (read my recent interview with the band here), who decided to "reunite" or simply jam for the cause -- then came the call for support. I'm not going to go into details, but between Psandwich, a seemingly reinvigorated Guinea Worms, a transcendent voyage from El Jesus, and a nihilist (not to mention sonically controversial) nightcap from the Unholy Two, it was the finest Friday of music I've seen in this city in quite some time. Of course, these are all bands/dudes/friends I've believed in for years, but for some reason this gathering went above and beyond.

 Don't believe me? Thanks to the thankless efforts of Mr. Sperry you can find all of that night's sets right here. I suggest listening to that January 27th in full -- to get the full effect. Keep it up Columbus.

The New Psychedelic Horseshit (For Now)

In the midst of recording and creating and spanning time -- Matt Horseshit has recruited a new member, who Wednesday night was responsible for manning strangled guitars, rhythm guitars, and Casio-control. When the three of them all lurch over their stations, it gets incredibly real. I think Matt was just trying his best to top the transcendent Gang Gang Dance show from the night before. "It's a competition." This is likely the line-up you'll see when the band hits the road with a brief stint with the Swirlies.

Pink Reason "Blossoms" in the Garden

I almost wish after the release of Shit in the Garden, Kevin Failure, the man behind Pink Reason decided to drop the Failure. This is not failure -- in any stretch of the imagination. Not that he has to return to the birth-surname of DeBroux (though that's a luxurious last name), but something that doesn't express such....despair. After my extensive Agit-Interview with Kevin Failure (believe me, this only half of the length we talked) it sounded like a clearing. Listening to SITG over and over -- there sounds like a clearing. And not that there was ever a reason to take it personal, and bum-out on the bummer vibe of his first epic release, but Cleaning the Mirror was never a record you sat around a listened to during Happy Hour with chum at your side. You didn't have to literally take it personal, but you have to (usually)listen to the thing in late-night isolation.

SITG? I can suggest it to relatives. I can link it to jangly sides from the '90s from bands like the Swirlies or the '80s like the Wipers...or Nirvana even, whose Cobain would likely name-check both bands in 1994. This has become especially true in the last week or so, when Debroux has taken it upon himself to get the music to the people, on the stage. Gaining Matt Horseshit (on guitar), Rich Horseshit (on drums), and Shawn (a TV Ghost defector), in the course of a few days, and directly forming two Columbus shows out of the rag-tag bunch was a huge step for the record. Monday night at Carabar was a bit awe-inspiring. It was all of SITG and then some....lumbering on as Pink Reason songs tend to do, but in that hypno-chugging a whirlwind of psych-skree emerging from the once tepid ether. Fully Engaged. As you can see in this video, for what is perhaps the crowning moment (so far) for DeBroux, "Sixteen Years."

WexStone

Unfortunately more gratifying than the Akron/Family. #nationaltreasure

I Saw Mark McGuire

A quick one. As I'm having a increasingly hard time trying to keep describing the shift in noise for those who have never set foot in the Skylab. I've been participating in the space more frequently in the last year. John Also has revived the once-lagging infrastructure of this fine establishment. I'm not there nearly enough though. I suppose the last show was the Unholy 2 release fiasco. One of those shows that doesn't end until sunrise. One of those shows you leave early because you just can't hang anymore. I suppose that not the usual at Skylab, as the Mark McGuire show was over and done with before midnight. Though you had the feeling no one would mind if it went till sunrise.

Here some mental notes that I took down:

Moth Cock of Kent, Ohio. Perhaps my favorite besides Mr. McGuire. Can't see what's going on frmom the back, but I'm imagining a clarinet or oboe through twisted electronics which produces a slow, guttural, almost ethereal bellow. Something else is going on. From the clip provided it's string damage on the floor, but I can't hear a guitar -- it is wailing though.

Comet Bodies of Cleveland, Ohio. There truly was nothing offensive from this Clevo duo -- basically leaning over machines, twisting knobs, making one long increasing cosmos trip. The lights in this place really accent the retro-futurist synth-ascensions of this "band." Seems like people go crazy for Fuck Buttons for no particular reason, and then kids go and make their own similar soundscapes. Beats not required apparently -- so I'm hoping Comet Bodies listen to Popol Vuh.

Nexus 2.11.11 - Skylab ringleader John Also. Sounded great from the choking/smoking room. Given the name, this was a one-night occasion.

Mark McGuire of Emeralds, of Cleveland. It's rare to see an Emerald outside of Cleveburg and European festivals. So it was a treat for Columbus to host him. Though I'm sure these guys have been down the Skylab pipeline in different configurations for years now. Since McGuire's last solo endeavor was a bit lite - and heavy on almost pastoral psych lines -- and since Emerald's last record was a loud, brash, melodic, and mammoth landmark in psychedelic music -- I wasn't sure which McGuire I'd get to see? Luckily he played it a bit of both. The house-noise-scene's Keller Williams (or Manuel Gottsching) would start the same with each of his four? five? compositions, laying out a rhythmic line and loop it. Repeat -- only shifting in a different direction -- sometimes giving the structure deeper grooves -- sometimes laying on a regal face-melting solo. It never became rote. It only got stronger. He tends to be a master of this domain. As if he spends hours a day doing this in the mirror, with headphones, getting higher and higher. Alas, it ended after about 20 minutes. Kind of scant for the epic night I expected from the Emerald. This is but one man though. Was it worth the 2 1/2 hour drive down here?

Pretty sure he played this one:

I Saw Guided By Voices

I've seen Guided By Voices countless times, in countless settings, composed of countless members filling roles. But this was classic. The "band" that made the magic. That I'd seen in supper clubs, arenas, public parks, places as intimate as Canal St. Tavern and a post-office in Tipp City, OH, USA. This night, in 2010, in October, in Columbus, was not an ideal location -- but that is another sub-story, for another time. It couldn't dampen the atmosphere or the songs or the sense of community in the room (people I haven't seen in a decade). Of Bob Pollard's million-strong songbook, he's a master at whittling down a Top 30, a spotless laundry list from that classic era. This would be a setlist most bands from the "era" would kill for on the reunion circuit. Superchunk/Sonic Youth/not even Pavement could match what was heard on this Saturday night. This was a time capsule -- one that I'm content to unearth as frequently as they'd like...and Pollard can keep writing. I've been saying he's in another renaissance and hopefully in his '50s, a renaissance proportional to this classic line-up. I could go into Mitch and Toby (amazing medley there) and Demos and Fennell, but that would only repeat a sentiment I've extolled for years. This was the band.

Thanks again to Mike Sperry - the pro who caught this on tape for all to have. Download the whole show here.

I Saw Best Coast (and Strapping Fieldhands)

Re-examining Crazy For You (perfect title, btw), my foot went directly in mouth. After seeing Bethany Cosentino and Best Coast live, a band crush developed -- foot has been yanked through skull and out the back of my head. It was likely a journalistic grudge that kept me from being smitten. There were weeks spent tracking down America's latest sweetheart too busy for an interview. Her songs are instant hummers, almost too simplistic to commend. Her story -- from mediocre noise troupe to Spector-spit Girl-Group pop, too easy to shoot holes through. So, an interview with America's latest Cali stoner tart would be comprised of questions about week and the Ronettes (or even baser, the Viv' Girls). Mind numbing gnawing you wouldn't want to read for the nth time.

An impromptu "interview" with Cosentino backstage at her recent Columbus show revealed an evolution I didn't expect. She's well aware of the simplicity of it all, how a set is composed in five minutes shuffling around the same 13 songs in a more pleasing manner than the last. I suggested "Bratty B" to lead things off. It's easily Cosentino's most simple ditty, the catchiest thing you don't want to catch yourself singing. It might result in an endless string of rhymes, over and over in your head the day long -- the sign of a wonderful piece of songwriting. Done before? A million times. But having kids in dorm rooms cop your stuff as bohemian acoustic fodder is another level these days.




Who wants to gamble, this song will end up on American Idol this year?



Best Coast's focus, or blurred vision of the classics, is a flawless design. She shimmies and smiles in time with the songs -- her co-writer, Bobb Bruno giving mammoth riff behind her light strumming -- and Ali K. (formerly of the Viv' Girls) plays the role of minimal, shamble-pop drummer to perfection (an indie mercenary/franchise kicker). It's evolution from two years ago -- and you either prefer both (the raucous and wild/the sparkle and sway) or sit cross-armed on one side of the fence. The amount of stranger sweat I was doused in gave me pause to think most kids prefer the sparkle and sway. I enjoy either if it's done right. She's right by me.

Unfortunately the hoopla got in the way of enjoying the revived Strapping Fieldhands. I'm thinking these guys should'a played an early set as well, but the lack of consumption might have dulled them? Stumbling in at their beginning was my end on a school night. I got to see about 10 songs, all pulled from the past, still as obtuse and toppling over with wonderfully antiquated pop. Thanks to the diligent efforts by one Speery, you can relive that entire set RIGHT HERE. They haven't seem to lost a beat, though a vacuum of years have gone by. Witness them doing a personal favorite, "Ben Franklin Airbath" in the year 2010.

I Saw Wooden Shjips

Dear Diary,

I know it's late on a Monday night, but I had to go see Wooden Shjips. I saw Wooden Shjips. I love Wooden Shjips. I often say things when I'm "out of mind" like "The Wooden Shjips are America's best psychedelic band" -- cuz they are, and there aren't many truly psychedelic bands anymore in America. Even fewer purely psychedelic bands in Columbus.

They played in CDR's basement. This was the perfect setting. It sounded amazing. But it should. They record a lot of amazing sounding records down there. I hope they burn me a copy of the show. They were recording it. I hope they make a vinyls of the show. They were recording it.

They also recorded the set by Times New Viking. Beer was a $1 and shots were only $2. Not a lot of "columbus" people were there. I've seen the TNV many o' time and I can't honestly say they've ever sounded better than that night. It's nothing "talking," it's not kool aid.

Pretty sure Matt Horseshit played too. Broken-hand blues, by himself, and it was equally as magical. Though the up-lights were on, and those few people were shufflin' in, so you couldn't really concentrate on what he wuz trying to do by him lonesome. I really loved it. It felt like an amazing night then.

I had to leave early Wooden Shjips. Your light show was boss. I wish they'd hung up blacklight posters (no I'm serious). But no one knew, and Columbus did you lousy (don't worry, they don't understand). Come back, and we'll put it in the same place, with the same people, and they'll probably record it again (but I'd love two live Wooden Shjips albums recorded in Columbus), and if it's the same intimate crowd it will persevere, but if we convince 100 more people to come (cause your the best psychedelic band in America) then it will transcend a happening. That's what this felt like. Achieved the mission. A happening. Just wish a lot more people came under the same spell.

Good night.

I Saw Blue Oyster Cult

Seems like I've had myraid opporunities to see Blue Oyster Cult live over my lifetime. Who knows if I didn't see them in some field circa 1978 and the parents don't remember. It's possible. They've been playing in fields and arenas and stadiums and gymnasiums (and likely a ton of biker bars) since 1968. It's a wonder that in 2010, Eric Bloom and Buck Dharma -- the guitar wizards (twin leads second to only Thin Lizzy) who invented the Cult, still play the lead. And play it with a everlasting fervor. I'm sure it was face-melting during the Tyranny and Mutation tour -- it wasn't here. I'm sure it was fist-pumping "Heavy Metal Parking Lot" in the Summer of 1981, with "Burning for You" on the radio -- waiting outside Hara Arena -- it wasn't here. But they played everything and more, with utmost precision and clarity (a few steps slower maybe, not during "Buck's Boogie"). "Hot Rails to Hell," "The Red and the Black," the hits. Funny it felt like at this, the Obetz Zuchinni Festival, next to a dirt-weed race-track, grease carts and life-threatening midway rides, out on the ball diamond, these legends could get a response with instrumental songs with eight minute solos. In Obetz, and I suppose most of middle America -- "Godzilla" appears to be the biggest hit (though "Burnin" reached 4 on the charts), lots of Godzilla cut-outs for $2 at Wal-Mart in the new millenium and no "time to play b-sides." I truly appreciate their penchant to channel the old version of this band, but honestly, now, even with families around, airbourne cold sores, meth heads in sweat pants, and heavy cops, the band doesn't look or sound that far removed from that past. Burn out the day, burn out the night.

The Ohio Express at the Ohio State Fair

While waiting for DEVO at the Ohio State Fair -- thereby breaking a long-standing family tradition of experiencing the OSF in all it's endless glory, the schedule just wasn't all that this year, you didn't miss any mind-blowing foodstuffs this year Jeff -- we meandered on over to the "side-stage" usually reserved for lion tamer shows and half-hours with comedian hypnotists (no, for reals). This year, the Ohio Express claimed the 6:30 slot. Much more intriguing than Ra Ra Riot. Who knows how many of the 8 days of the Fair the Ohio Express played this stage, but when we rolled up, we were shocked by the comfortable nostalgia of a Steely Dan number. No connections were made intitially.

The crowed was a total of 23 or so -- all scattered about in 1945 fold-up chairs, ratty and scratched. You can smoke at the Fair still (I Was) -- but this was depressing, Grapes of Wrath, non-ironic trucker hat, smoking. Scattered about. Once the Ohio Express started explaining themselves -- as the 2003 - Present touring version of the mythic pre-fab "real" Ohio Express -- and played a "neu" song, the crowd dispersed like a Keno (Bingo) bust.

See, this guy, in the front, was the drummer of the original "fakes" that toured the country as the Ohio Express. They never actually "wrote" Ohio Express nuggets, like "Yummy Yummy Yummy" or "Chewy Chewy" (below), but they acted like it. And in 2003 when they "re-united" the original "fakes," it stood. They can play "bubblegum" with the best of them. And apparently, in Germany, they are huge, writing new material, and lip-synching songs made 50 years ago. It was intriguing when everything came together and you can imagine the legend of the Ohio Express and all of the resonance it has actually had -- Simpson Reference Trumps All.

(P.S. The Ohio Express had one more hit in 1970 -- played by what would become 10cc. Buy all 10cc records you can find.)

I Saw Yo La Tengo

Assuredly it's the enormity (coupled with the flora and fauna that surrounds)of the Ohio River that constantly provides awe and a certain type of magic when attending a show at Newport's famed/historic Southgate House. Don't get me wrong, I love Columbus, even Cincinnati, but there's something about being on the other side, hugging the border, mixing with the locals in these hallowed halls, on the wide, hilltop, front porch, that provides the perfect environment for a rock show. All that aside, Yo La Tengo provide their own sort of magic, something that transcends nostalgia, and most definitely trumps the flood of '90s indie acts looking for the payoff that comes from reuniting years after calling it quits. Think about it. Ira Kaplan, Georgia Hubley, and James McNew, have never called it quits. And after almost 25 years of continuous records and touring, they don't seem to show signs of age. On this Saturday night, the trio weaved and bobbed and flowed through a tidy set of hits and current favorites, that was never short on soulful energy and genuine love for the songs they write and play. If there's a more earnest and grateful band in rock today, I'd love to meet them.

In seeing this particular set (of Yo La Tengo I believe I've seen five or six over the years, never disappointed), the band leaned heavy-ish on their latest album, Popular Songs. It's one of those that I think will hold sway long after we have forgotten about it, seems a lot of press already did. That's likely because they tacked on an additional record of three longish fever dreams to an already spotless album. This is Kaplan's Motown/Mac record, and behind the keys on this Saturday night, he proved his experience in soul -- this is entertainment, not a Spoon concert. This is "in the round" showmanship, switching back and forth between Velvets strum and blistering guitar solos, to organ folly and crisp summer pop. Ira Kaplan > Thurston Moore and Georgia Hubley > Kim Gordon. Them's the facts kids. Couples were dancing, heads were bopping, faces often melted (especially on the rousing one-two of "Big Day Coming" and "Nothing to Hide."

I always had my love/hate relationship with Sonic Youth, but after seeing this life-affirming performance from Kaplan, surgical destroying his guitar then lulling it back in baby's arms, I'm convinced he's the pre-eminent axemen of multiple generations. Who else ends their shows with songs from Neil Young, Gary Lewis (which they learned on the stage), and Sandy Denny? Even your parents would appreciate the craftsmanship and sincere professionalism that goes into every single YLT performance. At least for today, they are my favorite band -- still going.

Here Comes the Hammer...and the SledgeHammer

There's truly nothing like a night game in Great American Ballpark -- especially when the home team is coming back from the All-Star Break in first place and you're celebrating the last time the Cincinnati Reds won a MLB Championship. Has it really been 20 years? My bro and I saw some Nasty Boys, a little Sabo, and a lot of winning. I Love Winning.



Ironically enough -- the last time I saw MC Hammer, I was 13 years old, and it was in U.S. Bank Arena, right next door to GABP (with Vanilla Ice no less). On this night, after years of ridicule for excessive bankruptcy and his eventual cultural currency headed the same direction, Stanley Burrell, was destined to regain some of that glory, if only from a small stage in right field. Even if it wasn't the summer of 1990, a time when "U Can't Touch This" ruled the charts, it sure felt somewhat magical to be a few yards away from the guy. He may have aged, but it has been gracefully. Gone are the pants, the luxurious gold chains, the blast pots and elaborate stage lights. Hammer instead sported a Reds track suit/jersey combo, some blipster spectacles and a bandanna, which he needed to keep off the sweat. This man can still dance with the best of 'em -- in fact the guy should probably have his own dance competition show, but that's beside the point. With a cadre of back-up dancers in tow, Hammer proceeded to make the ever increasing crowd to go bananas for even the slightest set that he put forth.



You can't fault the man for knowing that his post-game show was going to be the highlight, so this was just a taste -- "Let's Get it Started," a bit of the Death Row mishap "Pumps n' the Bumps," "Have You Seen Her" complete with falsetto'd soul singers, and "They Put Me in the Mix." Alas, no "Turn This Mother Out," but it was a "free" performance, a taster for what was to come later in the night. Not once did he look out of breath, not once did he hawk a new song, not once did he seem too big or too jaded for his Cincinnati audience. Maybe that's why I adored him so much way back when -- he is a true showman and seemingly genuine person. For the better part of the brief set, he was out in the crowd, letting people dance around him, shaking hands, taking pictures, all the while belting out his "positive" pop-hop. Please Reds Organization -- do something like this again. This was easily the best pre-game I've ever had in the park.

(A Multitude of YouTubes of Hammer at GABP)



But the game....? How can we forget the Reds of the present? It was our first time in the Bleachers, and I must say the view and atmosphere is unlike any other in GABP. It's a bit rowdy, which I loved (especially yelling "steroids" for Rockies starter/has-been, Jason Giambi)being right behind our favorite LF Johnny "Sombrero" Gomes. It made for a celebratory game from beginning to end. I don't think I'll ever venture from that section the rest of the year. It just feels right up there. And the SledgeHammer? Well, after Bronson Arroyo pitched a magnificent 7 innings, he got into some trouble. In came Arthur Rhodes with two on and no out. He walked a batter, but then went on to pop-up, and strike out two in a row to end the inning. Talk about a hammer....it was likely the most electricity I've ever felt in this place.

I Love Winning.

Reflections on the Parking Lot Blowout 2010

(photos courtesy of Matt Slaybaugh)

It’s hard for me to say what hasn’t already been said about the 5th annual Columbus Music Co-Op's Parking Lot Blowout. This is a glorious event, at which I had the pleasure of volunteering this year. If the Comfest Gestapo were in attendance they have learned a thing or two about how to plan a party. Perched right next to the Surly Girl Saloon, the PLBO is essentially placed upon an alley that doesn’t seem like it should be able to accommodate such an event. At times last Saturday, when that alley brimmed to capacity, doubled with the blaring July heat, it was a struggle to get a good view of what was going on up front. Sound issues were also apparent – but I couldn’t tell since I’d never seen the Gibson Bros. before. The communal vibes alone were enough to discard complaints about such things. To me, what the Gibson Bros. were doing was reflective of the entire day/crowd, and that was having a sloppy good time. Ripping through bluesy psychedelia with little regard to coherence and form, the Gibson Bros. emanated yet another ray of Columbus nostalgia too important to ignore. I imagine this is exactly what is was like back in the day, the only difference being Jeffrey Evans would stand and strut the way Jon Spencer does now.

This weekend I learned to truly love and respect the New Bomb Turks with all my heart. If there was a preference when I was younger, it was for Gaunt, and the Turks were merely the other punk band in town – with a few good records. Over time, ‘cause you know it heals everything, I’ve grown to love just about everything the Turks have done (except for those album covers, woof). The two shows I had the pleasure of partaking Friday and Saturday, just secured my adoration. Of course it was the weekend of Eric Davidson’s newly minted genre – “gunk punk” – and as forefathers to that movement the Turks displayed the tenets of “gunk punk” in a fiercely destructive whiplash over a two day span. Destroy Oh-Boy!! Isn’t that right? Not sure if it’s Sam Brown that truly makes them tick these days, but NBT have gotten better in the time being away – managing to keep the vitriol and goofiness intact, while blending in a hidden nuance and refinement that can only come when punks start manning day jobs. Davidson doesn’t look a day past 27 and his antics remain as obvious and endearing as ever. And in the folds of a NBT reunion, there was enough Gaunt love (killing myself for missing Necropolis’ doing Sob Story front to back) in these rooms to feel that spirit rise up as well.

What I did get to see up close and personal were sets from the newly formed EYE and the reunionized duo, Fat Girls by the Snack Table. Back in the day when sets by the Fat Girls were commonplace I can say with absolute dismay that I never got to witness one. I’m kicking myself in regret – as it sounds like Gretchen Tepper and cohort (apologies for not knowing your name) took Kim Deal’s wing to the Pixies and turned it into a rec-room full of broken down synths and ham-fisted riffs. Hilarious that Tepper, a raging NBA fanatic (a shot for Manute Bol?), dedicated most of the set to dissing LeWrong instead of ex-boyfriends and healthy lifestyles that normally inhabit the songs. To say that the Fat Girls were ahead of their time back in their day is an understatement – this stuff dwarfs any of the Le Tigre electro-schlock with a looming shadow of melody and welcome discomfort. To see them re-living re-making the model of songs past was just as entertaining as the blips and beats beckoning the crowd to get closer and quiver along with them.

EYE on the other hand, is the future – and gives credence to my theory that the Columbus metal freaks constantly evolve into hybrid monsters eclipsing their previous bands output. EYE consists of two parts Pretty Weapons and one thundering monolith from Teeth of the Hydra et al (goodness, can we get a Lack retrospective together next year? an LP re-ish?). A recent run-in with an ex-pat metal overlord, who was in town just to catch a canceled Pentagram show, was perhaps a omen as to what to expect from EYE, as their slogging, throbbing, pulse was like molasses dripping from the hash pipe. This was Pentagram on 33 1/3 if you ask me, usually vocodered out into darkened hills and valleys, worshiping the night sky and abandoning the stars. While not knowing much of their material (I was an EYE virgin, mind you) I found it easy to keep up. The undulating swing between pure doom drone and sick little hints of prog had me thinking King Crimson at their most sinister and Sleep at their most distracted. Translated that means this stuff is potent. I need to see this in a cramped, sweaty, dimly lit club sometime soon. Vinyl please – soon.



Yup. I booked it during Scrawl. Just never explored them all that much. And after a night and a full day’s worth of music, I was too cooked to make it to the Oblivions. So, I’ll keep it at that. Everything else (from my beer pouring shift, to the other volunteers I was fortunate enough to work with, and even the Late Night Slice sauces) was absolutely kosher beyond compare. Though I’m gearing up for the CDR BBQ (coming soon), I’d likely be happy if this was the end to my summer – but alas, this summer is endless.

I Saw Beach Fossils

If you read my previous review of Harlem, about when they rolled over (and sucked) in Columbus, then the scene is pretty much already set for my review of Beach Fossils. It was another lonely Monday night at the Summit, while outside it poured rain until 3rd St. was flooding. Perhaps that kept the kids at bay, at least for a little while, because by the time Dustin Payseur and his band of tightly clothed followers took the stage the club magically filled with those very same kids who were whopping it up for Harlem last month. These were kids I didn’t know. Kids that make me feel young and old simultaneously. Kids that think hats are an acceptable accessory at places other than baseball games and the beach. Really, what’s with the hats? Is Nathan Williams the cause of all this?

I’m assured though that Wavves are not in the slightest responsible for Beach Fossils. Payseur, whom I had the pleasure of speaking with last month in the Agit-Reader, was raised on classic R.E.M., Beat Happening, the Feelies, Orange Juice, Josef K., Pavement b-sides, transcendentalism, Buddhist meditation, haiku, meadow romps and swift breezes, tofu, quinoa, IKEA, Robert Frost, black tea, and ephemeral loves. Does that cover it? I knew that live his recruits tended to speed up the process of enchantment found all over his debut album. While that’s certainly true as there was a particularly manic energy that had the kids up front dancing and shaking (in ways I’ve never seen before – where do they learn this?), the constant was kept in Payseur’s phrasing and playing. Every note from each the two guitars politely crossing paths at just the right moments and intertwining like a cutesy embrace when the opportunity presented itself. Twee as this may sound on paper, it was actually somewhat hypnotic and mesmerizing. I wasn’t expecting this much chemistry from such a young band, so much matured and idyllic songwriting from a kid just getting his wings. And the kids who ate at the band’s bare feet knew as well, that this was a sort of pop utopia, as they went a bit bozo when it came time to play “Vacation,” “Youth,” and the crowd favorite, “Daydream.” I would do this every night if I could. Just look at those song titles – if that’s not heaven on the sand I don’t know what is. Beach Fossils restore faith in the notion that the young are digging into real genuine ideas instead of computer generated trend fodder. There wasn’t a keyboard in sight.

Comfest 2010 : A Violin Too Far...

While I'm surprised that I'm pretty much in agreement with my nemesis/colleague Chris Deville and his assessment of this year's Comfest, I'm not surprised by the absolute lack of creativity found on my lackadaisical Saturday on the grounds. I was already a bit nonplussed by the Entertainment Committee's being strong-armed by the law, the Comfest mafia, the community surrounding Goodale Park, to cut-back hours significantly, therefore cutting 30 odd bands in the process, but once I looked over the line-up, I was even more bewildered. This was not Columbus' brightest being represented. There were some ringers, but it was mostly glad-handing to bands that have been playing the same tired sets for years and a few newer "fresher" faces who had no business being there even if they are tearing up the Peach District.

Quite honestly, and I say this with the straightest face I can, the Shazzbots early Saturday morning set, packed to the gills with the hardcore under-10 set, was the closest thing I saw to originality in my entire day. Maybe childrens' indie-rock is where it's at -- you get to dress up in wacky outfits, take on new personas, use props, act a fool, and write excellent songs about numbers, bugs, and cats named peanut butter. Please go check out this video for "Everybody's Talking 'Bout 5" to see what I'm saying. And bonus, your fans have to be escorted by mom or dad, so that's double the audience. At 10 a.m. the Shazzbots had a bigger crowd than any band I've ever watched played the Treehouse. From what I can gather the 'bots are made up of an imploded Poophouse Reilly -- a band I frequently smirked at despite having the absolute worst name in Columbus music history, but are now tearing up the Wiggle's circuit looking to make inroads with Yo Gabba Gabba. I'd really like to get them in a dive bar at midnight -- just to show the jaded what it means to have a good time on stage. (If you're reading this Shazzbots, I'm serious, seriously).



Shazzbots serve as a nice segue into Super Desserts, since they of the kinder-core, have actually blossomed somewhat into a full-blown orchestra. On this sunny afternoon they required nth number of members up on the Bozo stage to translate the whimsically sharpened melodies found on new album Twee As Folk. Like it was stated in that Alive article, the Desserts taste best in small echo-plexed rooms, but I was amazed at what they accomplished so far away from the intimacy of five-feet of audience. They couldn't use their indoor voices this day, so it had to be epic. Right?

From there, especially during my shift on the off-ramp stage, it went completely downhill. One violin after another after another. Now -- the Super Desserts are completely exempt here because they are an orchestra of sorts, and what they do is mainly of the acoustic variety, rarely, if ever amplified, even through a PA, but there is no need for violins in rock music (I wouldn't call the Black Swans "rock" so don't get all bunched up kids). But what I saw were bands influenced by -- I don't know??? -- Sufjan Stevens, the Decemberists, Bon Iver (heard a Bon Iver cover btw, gross!!), Grandaddy. Goodness, this went on for four to five hours. Monolithic Cloud Parade, Historians, Old Worlds, Trains Across the Sea -- it was like a Paste Magazine come to life before my eyes. None of this was original or creative or hopeful or hummable or catchy or memorable. Fuck...it was sickening the amount of skinny jeans and goofy hats accompanied those violins up on stage. I did see some "property of Ohio State University music program" stands back stage, so maybe that explains all of the sheet music, but it's no excuse for the awful tastes these kids have. We have done the next generation a disservice, and I'm not exactly sure how it got to this, but we need to really step it up thirty-somethings.

The next act -- Wild Goose Creative -- was neither a band nor a collective, it was two overly cherubic hustlas who were neither "wild" nor "creative." What the audience was subject to hear was a diatribe about why "they" deserved to have time on the "entertainment" stages that weekend. They constructed a solar-powered jukebox? Couldn't that have been spoken on the "solar" stage? Then came the Peach Tree District's vaudeville/improv bullshit, which included a failed flash-mod, bad hipster-mocking comedy, and bland karaoke -- followed directly by soft-shoe Joe and the Trains Across the Sea with a rousing rendition of the Wonder Years theme song. Are you kidding me? While I'm all in favor of these non-profit organizations (of which I don't think the Peach Tree kids are one?) organizing and doing deeds for the whole, this stage was meant for "rock" and there were two hours of suck in place of that "rock" this year. And while I know the hours put in by the Comfest entertainment committee, and applaud them for the gargantuan task of booking and slotting all of these bands (not to mention putting up with all the bitching), I do think this year's slight could have been alleviated if they just went out and asked the "best" bands to play. There's a huge list of artists who could have done this -- just saying. Where the fuck was Envelope? He's like the de facto mayor of this city.



All I saw after that debacle that was worth writing home about was Flu Faker. Full disclosure - friends of mine - but about the noisiest and most original act that graced that stage all weekend. Alas, I didn't see Descendre or Shin Tower Music or 13 yr-old folk phenom Rain, but I did get to hear more than my share of shitty covers. And I'll be there next year, so, step it up community.

Tree of Snakes -- The Crown Jewel of Columbus

How exactly is someone knighted in Columbus? If there is such a process I’m sure it involves drum sticks and PBR swill, lots more kneeling and a lot less swordplay and royalty. Once someone figures that out, I’m thinking the first Sir, would be Sir Jeff Fernengel. While we’re at it, we should probably knight all members of the Tree of Snakes – Anderson included. Though the drummer was missing last Saturday night (replaced by Dave “Sugar Bear” Treneff), the Snakes showed why, even in this reunion configuration, are an asset to the Columbus music community. We had our own Ramones when they played the circuit, now we have nothing close. Again, the slump is upon us. When searching for bands to fill an early July show, I’m tapped for suggestions. There are the usual suspects – but nothing new. Cruise through the latest “alt” weaklies for coverage on our local scene (and while I can’t complain all that much about the national coverage) and you’ll see that those “writers” have absolutely nothing to work with. Local mercy applause – fluff pieces. Super Desserts notwithstanding, but they aren’t exactly fit for late night debauchery, not quite “rock.”

At least, if the Snakes were still around, they would be a go-to band to fill a party bus, soundtrack a barbecue, weddings and birthday parties. We would look forward to the fortnight regularity of seeing Fern and his buds get “dicey” with the Beverly Hills Cop theme, tell jokes about the Browns, and retard the imagination with colorful stories of alligator dentists and trusty swordfish. This “reunion” at the Carabar last weekend was so enjoyable -- it was if it was choreographed the night before. They even had their own Flavor Flav in the form of JDub, prancing about in his underwear. The hits just kept on coming and new songs (which I imagine you can see on the reg with Fern acoustically) poured out as easy as the swill was handed out before the set. Never have a watched a band have so much fun on the stage, that fun just oozes over, perma-smile all the while. So I’m not sure where this post will take us? To beg for them to return? To beg CDR to beg the Snakes to release another record? Hell, I’m tempted to organize a Kickstarter to get the Ottoman Empire Strikes Back pressed on vinyl. Would you donate?

The New Horseshit - Now With More Shamans

The rumors were spreading. Rumors that Matt HORSESHIT had booted his rhythm section, but not the cardboard kick drum. Rumors that the sampler was broken. Rumors that the reason shows were getting cancelled (ok, it was only one show) was because a roadblock had been met head on. I don’t think it was as much of a set-back, as much as it was a retooling, a reimagining of the PHS branding and vision. Maybe it was the comraderie felt in an impromptu invitation to assist with sound on Times New Viking’s weekend romp to England for the Pavement curated All Tomorrow’s Parties? When they returned the rumors turned into hyperbole. Mr. Horseshit was ditching keyboard duties and acquiring two new band members in the form of Ringo and Kim (Adam and Beth, they need official PHS pseudonyms now). And after one practice they’d be heading up Oldfield’s way for a Saturday night showdown.

Of course it was rusty as expected. The beat though was automaton, almost robotic, something never felt in a prior Horseshit set. That alone allowed Mr. Horseshit to shamble freely with a comfortable base to stand on, a solid state to allow for improvisation, pure jam. Flanked by Beth on whittled and droning guitar shards or bop-inflected casiotones – Horseshit suddenly became a lot less gimmick and a lot more shamanistic. Not that I’m ever opposed to the gimmick of samples whirling around the space, cracked and fragmented, fizzy and euphoric – that’s what made Horseshit “psychedelic.” Matt has always put extra slime and grime into the electronic sections of his sets. Here, there were completely new songs, as if something as pure as “Can’t Get Enough” (the hit that started it all) had been sitting in a jar of decaying meat over the years – and now was the time to let the stench permeate the air, crush any thought to ignore what was happening up there. Wish this was one I taped. It was organic and raw, never once looking uncomfortable or “supergroupish.” This is not a gimmick, this is not a one-time deal methinks. This will grow and grow and push PHS into a new era. Funny how the two best bands in this town just continue to lap all the rest. They’re headed on tour this weekend. Check here for those dates/confirmation this all was not made up.

P.S. I still love Rich Horseshit.

My bedtime – on a Saturday no less – did not allow the crushing that followed from Puffy Areolas and the Unholy Two. Another time. Buy those records kids.

Nodzzz on an Easterrr

Easter was a glorious day in Central Ohio this year. I spent it eating sushi, watching the excellent How to Train Your Dragon (in 3-D), and spending some quality time with the misses. By the time this "early" show came around, I was hard-pressed to head out. But I owed my attendance to the Washington Beach Bums (the Beach's new signature party band), the hyper-kinetic Outer Spacist, and Nodzz - the dudes who came all the way from Oakland. When it started there was barely a soul at the Summit. You could've put a confessional in the back room and taught Sunday school by the Alan Jackson booth. It was baseball's opening night, which is really just Yankees-Red Sox cash-cow/jerk-off cause we all know the Cincinnati Reds play the first official game of the season (you knew that right?), and the Nodzz guys are just as geeky about baseball starting as myself -- so it was a bonus to talk to the trio about the upcoming MLB season.

Midway through their set, you could tell Nodzzz would'a been happy playing all night. They claimed it was the most fun they'd had in some time -- being on the road for weeks can be bleak I'm sure. Even if there were only 35 paid on a Sunday night, Nodzzz showed how they've perfected their brand of nerd-pop heroics. It's not as dunderheaded as you might think upon first listen, these are expertly crafted, and quite complex songs they do. It's worth your while to check them out if you haven't already. Not exactly sure why they haven't blown up as much as they should. They could drink those Vampire Weekend kids under the table. Let's not even get me started with Surfer Blood. Ugh.

Faust Surprises in Old Age

I didn't expect much from Faust. I didn't expect a solid ratio of original/hired members or old/new compositions. So hearing a haunting version of the gaseous "Jennifer," no matter the arrangement, was thrill. Here's a full review.

I thought of this as a once in a lifetime experience, but then again, the more discovered and exposed Faust becomes (Pavement just announced them in their line-up for ATP), the closer I believe they'll get to the "authentic" Faust. Considering the "band" was more a concept, a reactionary form of dadaist art, defining "authenticity" is really impossible. That's especially true when found Uwe Nettelbeck passed last year. The myth still live through, through the first 4 Faust LPs and bit of film such as this.



(Editor's Note - I named this here blog after their country jam hut in Wumme, Germany.)

Endless Boogie on a School Night

For starters, I should not have gone to this. On a schools night, after two plastic buckets of overpriced Budweiser at the sweaty and solid Arctic Monkey's show (journalistic hardship), but it's hard to turn down a Psychedelic Horseshit show, especially when they're opening for Endless Boogie at the last minute. Not sure when PHS will get their sea legs back and get off the house music -- love it, but after hearing Too Many Hits for the very first time I prefer a rambling band behind the brother. I was already a bit blotto anyways, so it didn't make much difference. Those infective blips are worth any lost sleep.

BUT....it was the nonchalant mosey to the stage made by Endless Boogie that proved the night's worth. Nicely (scantily) attended for a Monday night in Columbus, I only lasted through the first two 15 plus minute openers before submission -- a 70 MPH date with 71-N. I decided not to research too much into what is exactly going on live with these guys. They are Matador affiliated, record obsessives with a sweet tooth for kobe beef. The magic is in the magic man, the axe in the front, who reminded me of any of the guitar gods scribbled on the trading cards that come with the Galactic Zoo Dossier. I'd rather remain ignorant to anything the man has done before -- hopefully some forgotten blues-psych metal LPs will be re-issued when the time is ripe. Oh wait, there are three perfectly groovy Endless Boogies records to keep me occupied into my '50s. And two of them, the first two, priceless artifacts well worth tracking down. I can't be sure but I think they led off with my favorite "Stanton Karma," though after a while it all blends into one-mammoth solo that never breaks for conformity or uh...squareness. I need to make it out on more school nights.

Live through this: