Cruising Lake Erie with Hall and Oates

I visit my mom's stone cottage on Lake Erie for a week every summer. She lives in a private circle, on Catawba Island in north central Ohio, that has two driving forces: 1) Slow-burn partying and 2) Carefree attitude. Most of the inhabitants are at least semi-retired and live on island time, which means drinking can start at 10 A.M. and boat rides are just as prevalant as car rides.

Two houses down from my mom is Mike and Mary's summer place. They are fun loving, slightly preppy socializers, and their presence always makes my visits more fun. One morning this week, Mike walked over and said, "We're going out on the boat. If you want to come we're leaving in 15 minutes." We did. The lake was choppy, the boat was fast, and the breeze and spray were refreshing.

After dropping off a pair of stone glass earrings, nearly obliterating a dock of kayaks, taking a long swim, and consuming a few adult beverages, we headed back to Catawba. Mary uncovered the boat's speakers, Mike plugged in his Shuffle, and we unexpectedly had a soundtrack.The first three songs were tunes from Abandoned Luncheonette , the first major Hall and Oates album.



The only Hall and Oates song I know is "Maneater," so I had to ask who it was.

"Oh, this, it's Hall and Oates," Mary said, maybe with a twinge of embarrassment.
"Oh, really? Nice," I replied.
"Kellen just loves music," my mom filled in.
"Oh, well, we used to love Hall and Oates back in college," Mary said, enjoying the reflection now that she knew I wasn't hoping for something more modern.
"Oh yeah," I said calculating years mischievously. "Did you ever see them live?"
"Oh yeah, five or six times," Mary answered.
"Only cost three dollars back then," Mike added from behind the wheel. "We saw them at the Bowling Green Student Union."

Five years ago, I would have scorned Hall and oates, but it sounded good on the boat. Is their sound permeating music now more than it did five years ago? Or is their just something about sunshine, cold lager, and breeze that made my ears greet "She's Gone" more affectionately. I didn't have too long to ponder. As that third song began, Mary yelled up to Mike, "Put something new on honey." He obliged. The next track, "My Humps," started blaring.

New Concerts Announced

On the eve of a show I am sad to miss, several upcoming shows have been announced to pacify me. Frank and Lizzie are going to The New Pornographers w/ The Dodos, while I chill in my mom's cottage on the shore of Lake Erie. This is the pain of taking a vacation from Denver; if you are gone for a week or more, you are bound to miss a good show.

The biggest announcement is Gorillaz at Wells Fargo Theatre on the same day as Of Montreal and Janelle Monae. That's an enticingly small venue for Gorillaz, and a giant conflict for me. I already had my heart set on the Of Montreal show. There's also the impossibly distant Best Coast w/ Sonny and the Sunsets at the Bluebird. I'm not sure how much Best Coast's new album will grow on me though, now that the first wave of hype has been capitulated by Pfork's BNM designation. Did Pfork feel forced to hand that out?

On the wings of Paul McCartney

We rolled up to the Pepsi Center V.I.P. valet and six people tumbled out of my Yaris into a thicket of Audis and Mercedes. Zolla had obtained a parking pass. We were drinking Dr. Jack out of soda fountain cups. A first class operation.

Normally, I avoid expensive arena shows, but Lizzie scored six free Paul McCartney tickets from work. We were thinking nosebleeds, but as I ducked into our section my eyes lit up. Our seats were in the center of the arena, about ten rows off the floor. Because of a kickball game, we had just enough time to settle into our seats and gawk at each other in disbelief before Paul came out to thunderous applause.

I wasn't raised on the Beatles like some lucky souls and they've never been my absolute favorite band, but they do have a permanent place in my top ten. Once I started buying vinyl, my love solidified. I would sit for hours in Memphis listening to and discussing their records with my roommate Chris. I mainly went to this show to be able to say I've seen Paul McCartney. I also saw Ringo's All Starr Band at the Taste of Chicago. You only get so many chances.

Paul starts his shows with about a dozen of his solo songs. I don't know these at all, but they were entertaining. His talented band mainly jammed out of Paul's way, but the animated, crooning drummer, Abe Loriel was having the time of his life and held my attention for long stretches. There was also a mustachioed wild man dancing about five rows back, who continually bounded up and down the steps in pure ecstasy. These displays of passion provided the vital energy the show needed to go beyond just being a museum exhibit.

While the first section of the show was going on, we talked a lot about the songs we wanted to hear: Kathy wanted to hear her favorite Beatles song, "Yesterday," but we couldn't quite remember if it was a John or Paul song. Kyle, maybe jokingly, wondered if they would play "Band on the Run." I was hoping for "Lady Madonna" and someone else wanted to hear "Blackbird."

They slowly eased that way with "The Long and Winding Road," then "Blackbird," which got us out of our seats for the first time. The final half of the three hour show was mainly dedicated to Beatles tunes, punctuated by a six song double encore. The first was quick and refreshing (Daytripper, Get Back, Lady Madonna). The second thoroughly fulfilled any wishes for the evening. Kathy received "Yesterday." The awesome you-are-there video of a rollercoaster for "Helter Skelter" perfectly blended new and old technology. And the show ended with "Sgt. Peppers/The End."

Seeing a nostalgia act has been a mixed bag for me. The cream of this crop is polished, sober, and rich enough to do what they want on stage. Paul acted as if he were on a long victory lap and we were all lucky to be there. He's Paul fucking McCartney. He can do what he wants. And if he wants to play for three hours, tell a dozen anecdotes and jokes, use pyro-technics, and generally act as if we were all in the world's biggest parlor instead of a giant stone box, well, then, we were all lucky to be there. I saw Eric Clapton last summer with Steve Winwood and he didn't say a word to the crowd.

Converse - All Summer (Corporate Synergy!)

In our fractured listening environment, how do artists gain and retain notice? Artists spend their summers logging long miles on the endless festival circuit, but their inclusion in a bout of corporate synergy can sustain them like a monk with a bushel full of nettles.

Like Converse's "Three Artist.One Song" project, which does what it says, then hosts an event of further promotion. Plus, now I know what shoes to buy.

Does this sully artistic integrity? Who cares if the song is good.

Set Times: Mile High Music Fest

The Mile High Music Festival daily schedule has been released. Some mild conflicts, although the chance to see DBT, MMJ, RRE, and DMB on Sunday allows me to fulfill all my acronym fantasies.

There is a Cougar Stage, but no Puma Stage. Is that sexist?

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Just Announced: JJ Grey and Mofro with Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears

Three years ago, I saw JJ Grey and Mofro on a sleepy night in Memphis. Mofro's mix of swampy North Florida soul and juke joint funk gave two of my friends a reason to call in sick to work the next day. He downed several glasses of bourbon, hurled dollar bills at his horn section, and pushed his band over the bridge song after song. We shook our asses and hollered for more. JJ Mofro could put two steps into a paraplegic, so if you like dance parties don't miss them.

JJ Grey and Mofro will tour this fall with Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears, our generation's hipster James Brown. The two bands will play Colorado five times including a Friday night stop at the Ogden on September 17.







Check the "Looking Forward To" page for other upcoming shows in Denver.

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Pitchfork Music Festival Awards

I rolled down to Pitchfork Music Festival Saturday and Sunday with my step-sister Austyn. We happily used public transportation, and we weren't alone. Each day, the Metra was packed with obvious Pitchfork attendees, including our favorites, Gage and the uber-hipster who spent 20 minutes Saturday tying his shoelaces just right. The Green Line was even more crowded with hipsters, and apparently tons of people rode bikes. Pitchfork did a great job putting on a true city fest with cheap tickets and minimal carbon footprint. Now, to the awards.

Best Line: "I'm sweating more than a pregnant nun standing in line to meet the Pope."

Energetic, bearded and history conscious Titus Andronicus frontman Patrick Stickles let this slip during one of his stream of consciousness bouts of banter. Titus Andronicus' hard and heavy set provided a needed jolt on Saturday, but this award is really for the Pitchfork Festival organizers. This is one of the best organized festivals I've ever been at. Using a tiny space to its maximum power by alternating side by side main stages and tucking a third, smaller stage behind the food tents, Pitchfork ensured that fans could easily see at least part of pretty much every performance if they were so inclined. The food and water were cheap, porta potties clean, and hassles non-existent. Even the too-long free-water line had a solid view of the Aluminum Stage. On a hot and humid Chicago weekend, Pitchfork deserves serious props for keeping everyone safe and happy.

Best Rock Band: Wolf Parade

Pfest was dominated by chillwave and electronica infused bands. There were a few blasts from the past and some hip hop mixed in. However, there were only a few pure rock bands. Wolf Parade's blistering jam on set ending "Kissing the Beehive" proved you don't need a laptop to rock.

Best Mass Exodus: From Panda Bear to LCD Soundsystem

I spent about twenty minutes at a disastrous Animal Collective set at Bonnaroo a few years back, so I didn't have high expectations for Panda Bear. However, I was curious and hopeful. However, Panda Bear only played one thing that I would classify as an actual song; the primary sound he emitted was more of an ambient buzz. Within ten minutes, hordes of people began to leave the Connector Stage to jockey for position at the Aluminum Stage next to it. Rumor has it, Panda Bear gets terrible stage fright and played the entire set with his eyes closed. Apologists say, "It's headphones music." Then don't play at a music festival.

Best Dance Party: "Daft Punk is Playing at My House"

LCD Soundsystem came out in attack mode. With disco ball turning, lights flashing, and the occasional glow stick flying, the first half of LCD's set produced a gyrating mess of dancing bodies. The band was tight and rocking. This was my first time seeing LCD and they brought the party. The peak for me was "My House," because it's my favorite LCD song and it came near the crest of that first wave of dance party goodness.

Best Evidence of Non-Hipsters: Crowd Surfing

Everyone has been 17 and wanting to crowd surf. People want to have fun and crowd surfing seems like fun. I even tried to convince Austyn to crowd surf. The Pfest crowd surfers didn't bother me as long as they followed two rules: the weight limit for a crowd surfer is 175 pounds and the age limit is 17. If you break one of these rules you are an asshole. If you break both, it is my right to grab a hold of your ankle and pull your fat old ass to the ground.

During live music, hipsters are supposed to stand still and occasionally nod their head. Is it a grand surprise, though, that Pfork's brand is becoming mainstream?

Best Reason to Throw a Water Bottle: Idiots dry humping on recycling bins

The only thing that aggravated me the entire weekend was the cluster of morons dry humping on a recycling bin during the second part of LCD. I could have pushed my way to another spot, but then I'm the asshole. When one of these idiots turned away from the stage and took out his iPhone, I pegged him with my water bottle from twenty five yards away. Right in the chest. Almost knocked the iPhone out of his hand. I was proud of my accuracy, but pissed he didn't take the message.

Best Peaked Trend: Neon-stem sunglasses

I lost mine white-water rafting last week and I won't buy another pair. The dizzying amount of blue, green, and especially orange (my color!) stems was stomach curdling.

Best Impending Trend: Jorts

Maybe this will quickly peak, but I can't get enough of the cut-offs. My only hope is that people are wearing these in the spirit of Tobias Funke. If not, I can't support them.

Best Sharon Osbourne Recruiting Target: Lightning Bolt

I'm not sure if Ozzfest still happens, but if it does, Lightning Bolt should be there every year. Lightning Bolt is a masked, insanely propulsive drummer and a bored dude making guitar fuzz. I've never seen drumming so persistent and even from the distance, I was a bit scared.

Best Stage: Balance Stage on Sunday

After rotating from stage to stage on Saturday, Austyn and I stayed under the shady oak trees of the B Stage most of the day. We missed Best Coast and Washed Out, but arrived just in time for Local Natives.

My expectations were too high, and Local Natives only half delivered. I wanted "Sun Hands" to be bigger and bolder. I was hoping for Aged Cheddar and got Colby.

Surfer Blood was accessible and breezy--an ideal afternoon fest set.

Here We Go Magic overcame their lame name with on-stage camraderie and Jennifer Turner's head bobbing bass lines.

Neon Indian was locked in and delivered waves of sound and flamboyance.

Then Sleigh Bells.

Toughest Decision: Sleigh Bells vs. Big Boi

Sleigh Bells is the sexiest new thing. Big Boi is royalty. Both were parties. When Major Lazer sampled "Riot Rhythm" my decision was made.

Second place: Local Natives vs. Beach House

Best Mosh Pit: Sleigh Bells

Visceral. It was so not-loud that the crowd chanted LOUDER after the first song. Alexis: "You want it louder?" YEAHHH. Austyn said she couldn't really hear her singing. Derek is only onstage so people remember it's a two person act. But, that was far and away, the most fun I had all weekend. Visceral.

During Neon Indian, Austyn and I ran into Gage who led us on a charge to about the tenth row, where we hit an unmoveable mass of devotees. We waited patiently as Alexis traipsed around the stage in pink sunglasses. The sound check for Sleigh Bells should take two minutes, but it took twenty. Then my brain stopped complaining.

From the first note of "Tell 'Em" until the last beat of "Crown on the Ground" a jubilant mosh pit erupted in crushing pandemonium. There was one girl incredibly barefoot, and a couple kids trying to escape, but everyone else was happy to be in the hyper-kinetic mass. Austyn lost her sunglasses, but recovered them, perfectly intact, except missing both lenses. We emerged soaked in sweat and beaming. I was still buzzing 15 minutes later.

Best Moment of Honesty: "Do you guys have our album? Because it's only 32 minutes long; we don't have anything else to play."

Allison poured her heart into the performance, even stage diving during closer "Crown on the Ground. But when the crowd chanted for "One More Song," she ashamedly apologized to us before leaving the stage. They didn't have any song to play for an encore, and this is why I chose to see them over Big Boi. I don't know what they can do for an encore.

Best Reason to shop for records, sit under a tree, and leave a song early: Pavement

Pavement after Sleigh Bells was like chasing a shot of Bacardi 151 with a cup of orange juice. Pavement sounded great, but I went to Pfest for the zeitgeist not a greatest hits album.

HAWT LIST #Another new page

So, of course you want to know what I think is hot in the world of hip music, huh? Of course you do. I am starting another new page called the HAWT LIST. It's like rankings.

1. Big Boi - The anticipation for Sir Lucius has been building like a pack of bees on a jar of spilled honey. Starting with "Shutterbug" then "Tightrope" I have neither wanted nor been able to get Big Boi's stuff out of my head. A total sonic separation from dre3 makes the vivid genius more apparent, and thus more addictive. Upon the actual release, all expectations were eclipsed and hopes fulfilled.



2. MIA - For all the grandiose demonstration, I currently could care less about MIA's new music. I wouldn't say it's sagging like a couch on a college house's porch, but the ooh and ahhh factor might have left ol' MIA behind; shock factor still present. **Update: I gave it another long listen in a different state of mind, and holy shit, I will be listening a third time. Like right now.

3. Wavves - Nathan Williams is a classic demonstration of how easy idiotic self promotion and clever genre positioning can carry you a long way. Take a sample chorus: "I'm an idiot/I'd say I'm sorry/But it wouldn't mean shit." This works great as the hook to a Sum 41 song, but that would have deprived them of their priceless One Hit Wonder tag. Look, if he just played as "Nathan Williams" no one would give a shit.

4. Janelle Monae - It's too soon to tell how much growing power she has, but she has the diva quality to sustain a continuous, simmering HAWTNESS from this moment forward. I will have a beer in my hand and a rail spot in the middle of the first balcony before she goes on at the Ogden this fall.

5. Dirty Projectors - This might be late. I think there might have been more words written about the release of Mount Wittenberg, than Mount Wittenberg itself. If you haven't listened yet, let's change that.



6. Best Coast - Yeah, I admit it, next time I am in L.A. I will seek out a surfwave show.



7. Panda Bear - The buzz is just a little more than a trickle now, but that is about to change. Animal Collective may have shaved some of PB's rough edges from his experimentalism letting the Brian Wilson backbone of his sensibility poke through a little more. And Pitchfork is in a week.

(Waiting list: ceo, ariel pink-meh)

(Still simmering: Broken Bells, Sleigh Bells, cowbells-not, the roots-because they always are)

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Upcoming Shows

If you spend your time wondering how Muse has enough fans to play the Pepsi Center or lying to yourself that you don't want to go see Lady Gaga, I started a new page to list the upcoming Denver shows I am most looking forward to. Don't buy tickets before me though, that'd just be an asshole move. Or buy one for me. Yes, that's the move.

My list hardly includes the work week ruining run at the Ogden Theatre starting on Sunday, August 8: Hot Chip-->Crystal Castles-->Temper Trap-->Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes-->Blitzen Trapper. They better be handing out free 5 Hour Energy samples.

Here are some videos:









Yes, that Hot Chip joint reminds me of a Backstreet Boys video too. Hilarity.

Film on the Rocks...

Tuesday night I went to Film on the Rocks. We left halfway through Raising Arizona, when it started to rain, but before that were treated to the best music showcase Red Rocks has to offer this year: Grace Potter and Danielle Ate the Sandwich.

If you don't know, Danielle Ate the Sandwich is Youtube sensation, Lilith Fair ready Fort Collins resident Danielle Anderson playing ukulele. I commented that her music was a bit twee, which got a look of disapproval from Lizzie. Although I didn't like her subdued tunes, I would like to share a bagel and coffee with Danielle, who seemed like a rambling conversationalist. Plus, it's just cool that she's playing ukulele.

I was really pumped for Grace Potter and the Nocturnals. She has great pipes and a rawk girl attitude. Plus, she is backed by three longhairs straight out of Almost Famous and a bumping female bassist. I was wowed by them at a festival a few years back. They rocked, and the tunes were danceable, but I spent the whole night waiting for them to play their old songs, and they never did. It seems to me that they are a little to purposefully put together; Grace Potter definitely has the talent to hit it somewhat big, but right now the sound is halfway between corporate crowd pleasing and organic jam session. This is a tough tightrope to walk successfully (see: Robert Randolph and the Family Band).

The dichotomy here is between the glorified DIY and the constructed band. I don't know if this even matters. Danielle's set was more natural. Grace's was a bit erratic, as if she was throwing songs at the dartboard that is corporate radio, hoping one would stick. Her band's talents superseded Danielle's tenfold, but if music isn't coming from a place of passion, I will ultimately dismiss it.

Get The Led Out

I used to love listening to music on the radio. Mainly in high school. Right after I got my driver's license. Before I started thinking and listening independently. Nowadays, I still listen occasionally, when I'm on a drive and it's not worth the time to choose. I still embrace at least one corporate rock convention, and have adopted it as my own. Sometimes, I still gotta GET THE LED OUT!

Now is such a time--I'm typing as "Dazed and Confused" is about to start on Side 1 of one of my dustiest vinyls--and it reminds me of a story.

Back in the college days, when I was prowling the streets of Madison like an alley cat, a few of my buddies and I were holed up at the Plaza Tavern. This was probably a Wednesday night in the dead of summer, because there weren't but us, a dozen other patrons, and two bartenders present.

After a beer or two, I filled the jukebox and picked my four songs. My second selection was "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You." Just as the rolling thunder melted into Robert Plant's howl, one of the bartenders skipped the song. I didn't even know they could do that.

Me: Did you just skip the song.
Barkeep: Yeah.
Me: Why?
Barkeep: Now is not the time for that song.
Me: What? There's never a bad time for Led Zeppelin.
Barkeep: Well I don't want to hear it.

I was out of my booth at this point. It wouldn't have been the first time I was given the boot from the plaza, but I managed to sedate myself after ten seconds of glare down. Instead of a screaming match, I took my seat, enjoyed the next song, then put another dollar into the jukebox and played "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" four straight times. After skipping it twice, and jeers from the entire bar, the barkeep finally let it play and I won. If you count paying $1.50 to hear "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" as victory. Which on that night, I did.