Three Imaginary Girls - Iron and Wine

Imaginary roadtrip, Austin edition: up close & personal with Glen Hansard

imaginary victoria — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 16:12:13 +0000

27 Jul 2009

As stated last week, purchasing a plane ticket to spend two nights with the Wrens at Schubas may very well have been the best decision I've made in the last several years. However, changing my return flight last-minute so I could catch Glen Hansard and Sam Beam play a benefit show in Austin kicked that good decision's ass, right out of the park. All the way down to Texas, in fact.

Playing a benefit for the Midwive's Alliance of North America on an unsuspecting Monday night, Glen Hansard (Frames, the Swell Season) and Sam Beam (Iron and Wine) blew the roof off of the sold-out Paramount Theater with a few hours of literal perfection. Opening up the night on more of a split bill than a warm-up, Glen took us on an hour-long trip through his diverse catalog: some choice Frames tunes (like "What Happens When the Heart Just Stops" and "Lay Me Down"), new-fan favorites from the Once soundtrack (opening the set with "When Your Mind's Made Up" and the jaw-dropping, haunted, screaming perfection of "Leave"), and a handful of new selections for a taste of the upcoming Swell Season album (most notably a lovely track called "Paper Cup"). Spending the bulk of the set wedged behind the speaker stacks stage left, I had a birds-eye view for everything Glen let loose -- from sheer blissed-out joy to the anguished cries at the ends of particularly staggering verses, and circling back again.

Having been a dedicated Frames fan for years now, Glen Hansard's set was definitely the driving focus of my trip. But I quickly found out that Sam Beam was a force to be reckoned with -- as I settled into my seat, hearing the familiar strains of "Such Great Heights" and tracks off of The Creek Drank The Cradle, it became abundantly clear that Sam was no ordinary sad bastard. Gorgeous, verbose stories told through seamless lyrics, all layered together with a perfect vocal pitch and unexpected chord/key changes -- in short, the man came pretty close to knocking my socks off. Without exaggeration, and to the point where one lovely, haunted track had everyone in the surrounding rows (me included) fighting off tears; all set to the delivery of a loose, warm, friendly, thanks-for-coming-on-my-trip kind of vibe.

By the end of the night, every three-figure degree of heat was nothing more than an afterthought -- and if you've been to Texas at the end of July, you know that's saying a lot.

{A little imaginary bird told me that we might be privy to a Swell Season album preview, and some possible US tour dates in rOctober! Stay tuned for details, and be sure to stop by the flickr pool for more shots from Austin.}

No Depression Festival

heather b — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 14:27:36 +0000

11 Jul 2009

nodep09fest.JPG

No Depression Festival - Short Version:

It was hot. We ate barbecue. I drank a lot of beer and cider. Most of us had dirty, bare feet. Zee Avi is adorable. Jeff Fielder is totally amazing. Jessica Lea Mayfield is a lo-fi version of Jesse Sykes. Everyone loved Justin Townes Earle. No one much liked Patterson Hood. Sam Beam makes me swoon, EVERY DAMN TIME. Lesbians love Gillian Welch.

No Depression Festival - Long Version:

Due to bad traffic across the water, I was a little late arriving at the No Depression festival on Saturday but still managed to hear the last two or three songs by the very pleasant Zee Avi. I was interested to see her live, owing to the lore that has built up around her unusual entry into the biz and she pulled it off with very confident stage presence. I have to admit though, she does sound a little like Norah Jones to me.

The crew at Marymoor always run a fairly tight schedule, but I did manage to scope out the little string band (The Tallboys) under the trees between major sets. Boy howdy, they were fantastic! Fiddle, standup bass, banjo and guitar coupled with great nasal harmonizing and some percussive dance moves created a real bluegrass kind of feel in the lazy afternoon. I'm hoping that they'll play in town again soon because I would love to see them again. They sold loads of CD's and even though it was early in the day, people were dancing and clapping along. Good vibe. I found it amusing though, as we were all stood under the trees listening to bluegrass we were met with an overwhelming smell of curry coming from the nearby food court. That, and the banjo player was drinking Kombucha instead of moonshine, but hey...we ARE in the Pacific Northwest.

I was excited to see what this No Depression All Star Revue would be all about. Holy crap. After a short, glowing intro from Don Slack, members of North Twin took the stage with a high spirited rendition of "Give Back The Key To My Heart". They had good energy and were obviously having a lot of fun up there. The revue continued with Zoe Muth performing "Give Me The Roses While I Live" featuring a fantastic solo by Jeff Fielding (Incidentally, Zoe's CD release will be at the Sunset on August 1). This was followed by some Neil Young styling during Mark Pickerel's throaty version of "One More Cup Of Coffee For the Road" which was met with thunderous applause. The revue continued with the crowd-pleasing Kristin Ward confidently belting out a very honky tonk Emmylou Harris tune and then Star Anna giving it to us with a very swampy and electrified "Car Wheels On A Gravel Road". Exhausted yet? I was! But every act in the revue was better than the last, for true! Continuing, we were then entertained by Sera Cahoone and Ian Moore. The final act was a really good, sad bastard tune ("Dirt Farmer": lots of honky, not so much tonky) by most of The Maldives, encompassing a really good full-band quality sound with all the elements working together, providing a fitting end to the set. Whoo!

Following the revue, we hoofed it over to score some more booze before Jessica Lea Mayfield began. I was grateful for the dark and landscape-y guitar swells, they were different for this festival but still fitting. It's a nice departure after all the classic Americana we just got from the revue. Accompanied by her "brother and best friend Dave" on the guitar, Jessica sang with plaintive vocals that were reminiscent of Mazzy Star. I love that the music isn't even a little bit perky, and I'm glad not all the kids are taking their darkness to an electro/emo place. Most of the songs in the intense set had a desperate, kind of druggy edge but not in a negative way. The set seemed a tad long, since there wasn't much variation in tone, but Mayfield still garnered big crowd love on the finale.

One of the best sets of the day followed, Justin Townes Earle. Taking the stage in classic old-school suits and snake oil salesmen hair, he and his accompanying dude (Cory Younts) entertained the crowd with numbers "They Killed John Henry," and "Ain't Glad I'm Leaving" before dedicating their third song to Woodie Guthrie. That third song was so fast I couldn't keep up with the lyrics, but it didn't stop the crowd up front from dancing like crazy people. Shifting gears a bit, JTE then rolled out the more sentimental "Mama's Eyes". It was absolutely perfection in the dusty heat. The two men onstage were bantering back and forth like carnival barkers as they shifted back up-tempo and switched out strings for mouth harps and harmonicas (swoon) for their next frenetic, bouncy tune. The audience was all over the Younts, what a talent! JTE communicates well with the crowd, giving up the honest details of why he wrote a particular song about a train ride from Nashville to Jackson. It was amazing, harmonica dude somehow totally emulated all the sounds of a chugging train. I was in awe. Not so much that I didn't break away for more hooch though, and from afar heard Earle's finale, a truly lovely, stripped down version of "Can't Hardly Wait". Hot damn...LOVE HIM. For the rest of the day, everyone I encountered sang his well-deserved praises.

Unfortunately Jesse Sykes played her very deep and textured set during what I thought to be the hottest part of the day, and I was more interested in running through the sprinklers and finding a shady place to take a little nap. Eventually the sun's intensity faded a little and everyone woke up a bit for Patterson Hood's heartland-infused performance. There was lots of frisbee playing, lounging, drinking and consumption of HUGE sandwiches (seriously, this girl was eating a sandwich that was bigger than my whole head). Everyone was eating actually, I watched a guy eat beets straight out of a gallon drum. Yay. In between hot dogs, I took note of the interesting assemblage of people at the festival. Old, young, indie, corporate, children, lumberjacks, hippies...and all of them smiling. We live in a truly great place, y'all.

And then there he was, my bumbling, bearded boyfriend, Sam Beam. Iron & Wine. Sam reminded us that exactly one year from the day, he was on this same stage playing for the SP20 festival. He jokingly threatened to play the same set and screw up in the same places as last year, which he kind of did. But no one cared, we all love him. He's so funny and charming and clearly enjoys interacting with his audience. I'll just give a total fanboy rundown of his set list, otherwise this could get embarrassing:

Such Great Heights (spaced the lyrics again: "Didn't I mess this song up last year?")
Woman King - Naked As We Came (breathless)
History of Lovers (fumbles a bit: "Three chords is just too many")
Fever Dream (gritty)
Trapeze Swinger (had the audience in the palm of his hand at this point)
Jezebel - Lion's Mane (Perfect a capella on bridge)
New song with no name (heart filling)
Upward Over The Mountain (simply played with nice little riffs)
Boy With A Coin (awesome)
Sodom South Georgia (really rocked out the finale)
Flightless Bird (absolute falsetto perfection)

At the close of his set, Beam had the 2000+ member assembly stood completely silent for a moment, then everyone just went all crazy town. The crowd positively roared for more, but alas no encore.

Finally, Gillian Welch appeared just as the sky was painted with pinks and purples and dragonflies buzzed overhead. I have to confess I am not a great aficionado of Ms. Welch, but people around me were plenty helpful. All day long we bumped into crazed Gillian fans, some who had traveled from as far as Saskatoon and Alberta just for this show. Apparently she doesn't play up there too much.

She began very very softly but I quickly recognized the zydeco "Oh Me Oh My-Oh" in her opener "Miss Ohio". She dedicated her next song to one of her favorite dead folk heroes (Elvis) which included some beautiful harmonizing and was just simply a pretty song. They brought it down a bit but quickly brought us right back up with some simple banjo on Steve Miller's "Quicksilver Girl", followed by "No One Knows My Name" which totally reminded me of one of those old Sunday School songs we used to sing back home. The crowd was totally rocking out to the nice bluegrass jam that followed and then we were all stunned by the amazing slow-paced duet she sang with David Rawlings, "Throw Me A Rope". He's got a beautiful, soothing voice and it was the highlight of the whole performance for me.

The tempo picked back up again for a total reel that had the audience clapping along and oooh! noodling! At this point, Gillian told us a funny little story about meeting Loretta Lynn at the Grand Ole Opry: "You know, they just don't make the good diet pills no more!" followed by a big ol' jam. As I was headed to my car to beat the mass exodus from the park, Gillian got the only encore of the day, finishing with a great version of "Jackson" and "I'll Fly Away", finishing off a really wonderful, lazy summer day. Hopefully they'll be back again next year.

Win tix to the No Depression Festival

imaginary liz — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 14:42:27 +0000

No Depression has long been the place to get the inside scoop on the best Americana, roots and alt-country folks to watch - and we're pleased as punch that they've put all that know how into a full on festival of fabulous artists. The first ever No Depression Festival is set for Saturday, July 11th at Marymoor Park in Redmond. They've scored a stellar line up and you certainly don't want to miss: Gillian Welch, Iron & Wine, Patterson Hood & the Screwtopians, Jesse Sykes & the Sweet Hereafter, Justin Townes Earle, Jessica Lea Mayfield, a Seattle roots-music all-star revue, and Zee Avi. And we have a pair of tickets to giveaway to a lucky imaginary reader! Enter to win a pair of tickets by emailing us at tig @ threeimaginarygirls.com with "NoDep" in the subject line sometime prior to Friday, July 3 at 9am. Please include your mailing address so that we can put the tickets in the mail asap!

Lumberjack Rock

heather b — Thu, 14 May 2009 16:55:24 +0000

Chris B's Schmindie News Roundup and it's ensuing comments lit a fire under me to write this little blurb I've been meaning to get out for a while. While some, Chris B included, may feel this way:

I'm regularly asked to define schmindie, so, to me, schmindie is boring indie rock that gets the benefit of the doubt because it's "indie". Generally, if it has guys with beards and/or acoustic guitars, you're probably going to need to wake me when it's over.

I tend to disagree. I totally love me some good ol' acoustic indie-folk rock and I feel like there is so much quality stuff coming out of Seattle right now. For the past year or so, I've often found myself in discussions with other local music lovers regarding the post-grunge Seattle sound and I've heard it called several things: "Campfire Rock", "Trucker Rock", "Beard Rock" and now this "Schmindie" label.

Iron & Wine at Sonic Boom on 15th

heather b — Wed, 06 May 2009 02:02:58 +0000

Iron & Wine at Sonic Boom on 15th today! 6pm! What? I'm too late? oh...

Schmindie News Roundup

ChrisB — Tue, 05 May 2009 15:31:14 +0000

Judging by how fast tickets for The Shins' and Iron and Wine's two night stands sold out, everyone loves their schmindie. So, as a public service announcement, I'm compiling some schmindie-related news stories in one neat post.

Sub Pop 20: Iron & Wine

heather b — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 05:06:37 +0000

12 Jul 2008

sp20ironandwine.jpg

Ok y'all, everyone knows how much heather b. loves Iron & Wine, so needless to say this was my most anticipated performance of the day. Sam Beam took the stage just around sunset. When I've seen him perform in the past, he's had a backing band or at least his sister there to accompany him vocally, so it was unusual to see him alone on stage with only his guitar.

Also unusual was how chatty he was with the audience. In good form, he congratulated Sub Pop and also mentioned how much he enjoyed the Mudhoney show. After a little more audience banter, he launched into a nice rendition of "The Trapese Singer," varying the speed a little here and there. The lyric "...and fuck the man" was met with much crowd appreciation.

Now, I'm not normally a lyrics person, but I do make an exception for Iron & Wine. His words are just so profound, and in this setting, his acoustic guitar was just an accompaniment for his sentiments in this venue. His second song was "Upward Over the Mountain" off The Creek That Drank The Cradle. It was a little speedier than the album version, but the feeling of the song wasn't lost in the variation. One thing I always say about Iron & Wine is that the songs make you have memories of stuff that didn't happen to you, and this song is a prime example. I've never even had a dog! The acoustic presence was very clean and he whistled the refrain at the end.

Beam is a very gracious performer and involved the crowd quite a bit in his set. After quite a bit of difficulty launching into his 3rd song ("I haven't played in a while, this is embarrassing. Y'all are making me nervous! We'll come back to this one."), he gave up and started "Peace Beneath the City," encouraging the audience to clap along, continuing into a fairly country-fried version of "The Shepherd's Dog" and then finally lauching into "Naked As We Came." The audience swooned in a collective sigh over that one. It could not have been sweeter or more perfectly played, that's for sure. When he finished, Beam let us know that he finds the idea of people having sex to that song a bit unsettling and that he'd rather not know about these kinds of things. Heh.

Then finally, what I had been waiting for, "Boy With A Coin." I don't care how overplayed this song might be, I love it so much lately, so I was happy he finally played it (I knew he would). It was a pretty simple version, the spanish guitar trappings were faint and Beam is apparently quite rusty at playing live, but he had fun with it. The audience clapped along and overran him at the end, so he finished with a speedy little flourish and ended with a chuckle.

He opened the next tune by thanking Ben Gibbard, so we all knew what was coming and the audience were all squealing before he began "Such Great Heights." Unfortunately, he bricked on all the lyrics and the audience had to help him along! Once he found his way and hit that chorus though, oy... it was just so beautiful; his voice was simply made to sing this song. As he finished he asked, "I wonder how many people have sex to THAT song?"

He threatened to finish his set with some Skynard ("Don't ask for it, I'll do it!" but actually closed out with "Woman King," which I found an odd closer for this set, but who the hell really cares? After an abrupt ending to the song, Beam closed with a short "Happy Anniversary Sub Pop! Thanks for everything!" and he was out. Sweet.

Sam Beam loses his mind at Sub Pop Anniversary show (or maybe a little bit before).

Best of 2007: Erik G's favorite albums

Erik Gonzalez — Thu, 20 Dec 2007 22:12:43 +0000

Sometimes I think it takes me waaay too long to come up with my Top 20 albums of a given year. There are a lot of internal debates and arguments that really have no right answer. Really, you reach a point where all the albums are good but how to rank them gets to be quite the challenge. This year was chock full of good music (not matter what the naysayers might groan). I counted something like 175+ albums worth mentioning in 2007, and that is only a tip of the iceberg when it comes to everything that was released in the year. However, I did whittle it down to 20... well, 22 if you count my 2 EP exception (EP's don't count as real albums).

If you're interested in some sub-lists, like my albums "with apologizes" (albums I didn't hear but should have) or "best imports" or "most disappointing" (hint, the band who made it rhymes with Milo Biley), check it out here.

So, here we go:

#21 The EP's - Two EP's made me happy this year, and really, they would be in the top 20, but it seems unfair to me to include EP's versus albums. They're both UK pop, and they're both brilliant in their own cute way.

Los Campesinos! Sticking Fingers Into Sockets (Thanks to igLiz for this band!)

The Shepherd's Dog

Erik Gonzalez — Mon, 03 Dec 2007 01:34:03 +0000

8.9

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000TQZ7O4/

ironwine.jpg

Without a doubt, The Shepherd’s Dog is the most accessible album ever recorded by Iron & Wine. The arrangements for the songs are suddenly lush and full, the beautiful melodies are still there and heck, things get downright dancy at times, but Sam Beam has taken Iron & Wine into new territory. Maybe it was all the time spent with Calexico for the In the Reins album and tour, but whatever it was, Iron & Wine should keep on doing it, as The Shepherd’s Dog is one of the fascinating albums of the year.

Iron & Wine has made a name for it(him?)self by recording some of the most beautiful and introspective songs of the decade. The agonized beauty of Our Endless Numbered Days and The Creek Drank the Cradle made them both critical and popular (well, as popular as modern rock gets) favorites. So, the turn taken by Iron & Wine on The Shepherd’s Dog is even more remarkable, extending the sound of the band from restrained and subdued homage to the likes of Palace to a much more elaborate creature. Whatever the change actually is, it works remarkably well for Iron & Wine, like Dorothy showing up in vivid color in Oz. “Pagan Angel and the Borrowed Car” is a downright foot-stomper compared to the usual fare served up by Beam, with pianos, violins, guitars, maybe a xylophone (maybe not) and whatever else was lying around the studio. You can’t help but be impressed with the deep of melodies and harmonies that Beam puts together on “Pagan Angel...”

While that song is an upbeat number, “White Tooth Man” has a darker tone, but is still a robust arrangement, kind of like Neil Young Jr. in many aspects. Even some of the ballads are more full-bodied, like “Lovesong of the Buzzard,” which has a rich organ that drifts in the background as guitars and accordions take the lead. It's something akin of modern rock zydeco on morphine, if that makes any sense. “The Boy with a Coin” is darkly beautiful, with a playful rhythm combined with melancholic melodies, an excellent example of where Iron & Wine excel on The Shepherd’s Dog. And if you’re not convinced of the change, just listen to “The Devil Never Sleeps” and you’ll realize that Beam actually wants us to get out of our seats and move to his music (well, move more than reaching for that bottle of whiskey).

There are still some more typical Iron & Wine tracks, like the barebone “Carousel” and “Resurrection Fern,” which are gorgeous ballads, especially the latter, ripe with Beam’s vocal harmonies. “Innocent Bones” also pulls the throttle back (if you can believe anyone who writes that about Iron & Wine), with country ballad foundation below an Iron & Wine frame. “Peace Beneath the City” takes on a Tom Waits like persona with its dark, smoke-filled sound. Beam does go astray a little at times, like the oddly 70’s country rock sounding “Wolves (Song of the Shepherd’s Dog)” that borders on self-indulgent. The album closes on “Flightless Bird, American Mouth,” another rich arrangement that is propelled by intertwined piano and guitar.

The Shepherd’s Dog is the kind of album that can thrust Iron & Wine from the bedrooms of dejected lovers to the living room of the masses. Sure, it might not be likely to make Iron & Wine a household name, but the trade that Sam Beam made between the despondent sounds of his early albums and the fully realized textures of The Shepherd’s Dog is one that both he and his listeners win. The album is a cornucopia of majestic songs that begs for repeated listens.

The Shepherd's Dog is a cornucopia of majestic songs that begs for repeated listens.

New releases for the week, from Easy Street Records

Jflores — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 18:04:51 +0000

The Cave Singers' release on Matador is finally out! I LOVE this record to bits. They are hands down my favorites from this year's Bumbershoot and KEXP BBQ and the timing is just right for crisp Fall listening. AND they will be here @ QA Easy Street TONIGHT @ 6 PM for their record release performance, so come on down!

Tales from a Brave Ulysses

Joseph Riippi — Mon, 30 Jan 2006 08:00:00 +0000

XXVIII. "Sad-Happy Saturday Morning"

I used to play in a band called Starla. We were named after a Smashing Pumpkins b-side that I didn't hear until after I'd agreed on the name. It sounded like the name of a band I might hypothetically see written in 12-point courier on the face of a white background-ed record and think: This is something I could like; this sounds like the type of music I like, based purely and unabashedly on the name. We played several shows.

Saturday.

This morning I woke beside my girlfriend at 9 am. I walked downstairs five flights to find my newspaper already stolen. I remind myself to cancel the subscription and just buy it on Saturdays from the nice Iranian man on the corner, who, on other days, will sell me packs of gum for 35 cents or a copy of New York magazine if the cover looks interesting enough to warrant a foregoing of $3.95. Dismayed, I rock-climbed my way back up the five flights of hand-railing to my apartment; I collapsed into bed, forgetting that at the third flight I had thought it would be nice to stay up and listen to Radiohead's Kid A quietly on my turntable. It wouldn't wake her: not with the loud trucks passing as innocuous booms of thunder and gravel beyond the window. I woke again four hours later during the afternoon.

There was a sunbeam like burning gold tire tracks across my face. It jarred me into a shudder, and she rolled beside me. I sat up and rolled out of bed; I went to my turntable, just off her side of the bed, and was met by a tired and comfortable reaching arm, pleading that I not turn on the music. She wanted to sleep.

I started coffee and sat in the kitchen with a travel guitar. A "Baby Martin," as the tag had said when I purchased it six months ago after I'd moved to the city, leaving the much more expensive and luxurious acoustic guitar I had played with Starla in Seattle. (Two months after this purchase, my father would visit and bring said guitar with him, as he thought I would need, or rather, want it.)

Sleeping Girlfriend and I recently attended an Iron and Wine show. Sam Beam, the fulcrum and foundation of Iron and Wine, had been playing in support of the collaborative record recorded with Spanish-sounding-yet-not-Spanish-at-all Calexico. In the Reins, it was called. Sleeping Girlfriend and I had planned to go, Iron and Wine having a special niche in the history of our relationship — Sleeping Girlfriend had listened to almost the entirety of Our Endless Numbered Days (Iron and Wine's most recent full-length) on our first trip to the record store together; this was almost two years ago, when we were both still in college.

I'll admit that in college, whenever I really liked a girl, I would take her to the record store. "Let's just stop by here real quick," I would say, on our way out to dinner, a movie, or 'insert typical date patterning experience here.' This was my fearing-commitment way of letting said girl convince me she was undateable. While talking to My Friends the Clerks at the Record Store, I noticed the Sleeping Girlfriend listening to something at the listening booth. I asked if she wanted to get going (we'd been in the store for about an hour, and I had bought nothing; the used bins of LPs being found to contain the same contents as a few days previous). She wanted to finish listening to the CD. I said I had it at my place, and we could listen later that night. We left, ate Mexican food, listening to Our Endless Numbered Days on my then less-impressive stereo, and made out ferociously.

This morning, sitting fully awake in my kitchen, Iron and Wine has reached a new level of cultural and teenage popularity that had to be surely unexpected by the A&R folk at Subpop when they put out the record. This, I feel, had to do mostly with the inclusion of Sam Beam's living room cover of "Such Great Heights" by the Postal Service on the soundtrack to the awfully redundant and irrelevant film Garden State. I sat in my kitchen, and, while the coffee dripped and dripped, slowly figured out what three simple chords and picking pattern made up that cover. I played it, drank coffee, and when Sleeping Girlfriend finally awoke, played it again, but this time singing strange and stupid lyrics about where we should eat breakfast. I couldn't help but think what shame this would have brought to my Starla bandmates.

It's strange that the Happiness music inherently brings can always replace the Unhappiness of a stolen newspaper, or the subtle regret at getting such a late start on the day. Music is truly a Goddess of the Everyday. I am so thankful for learning to play guitar years ago, even if it was Dave Matthews who made me want so badly to learn. (I still believe "Crash into Me" is a fantastic pop song. Music snobs will deny it, but secretly we all embrace the sap of a Sad-Happy Saturday Morning.)

ulysses.gif

Tales from a Brave Ulysses is a traveling epic through modern art, music, and culture. In this installment: Sad-Happy Saturday Morning.

Tales from a Brave Ulysses

Joseph Riippi — Sat, 25 Jun 2005 07:00:00 +0000

XII. "Iron and Wine at Webster Hall; Friday 6/17"

When you are one of those people who value the anonymity of the crowd so very much that you are forced by some natural predilection to walk everywhere with headphones on, deciding what music to listen to on the way to a concert is a shitty, frustrating two minutes of walking down the sidewalk, furiously spinning the track pad of an iPod and being forced to actually participate in what the rest of the world is hearing. Balancing on the backs of monstrous gray whales spouting dark trees like water.

Last night I got home from work at about 7PM and sat down with a glass of wine. I went to Webster Hall's website to see what time the Iron and Wine show was starting, and found that, because the show was 16 and over, doors had opened at 6:30. What the fuck. I blame Zach Braff and that sort-of funny movie with a soundtrack that is directly ruining my concert experience. I don't even want to go to a Shins show anymore, not because the band is doing well, but because I'll have to stand next to some ugly 17 year old girl in new Express jeans and way too much glitter on her face.

Yes, I know I am a music snob. I know that that girl has just as much a right to be at a Shins show as I do, probably more of a right, actually, since I've already seen them so many times. But that doesn't make me feel better. If I had it my way, every band I wanted to see would play at the Crocodile, and the criteria for getting in would be whether or not you voted in the last election. If you weren't old enough to vote in the last election, there's always a Kane Hodder or Schoolyard Heroes show to catch (rock!) or if you forgot to vote, or just didn't, then go home, because I don't like you.

There's a line I love from one of my favorite records of all time, The Velvet Underground and Nico, where Lou Reed speaks/sings in that gravelly-optimistic tone of his, "Gonna take a walk down to Union Square / You never know what you're gonna find there." It was a line that made me want to go to Union Square as soon as I moved to New York, and, as luck would have it, Webster Hall is only about five minutes from the subway that takes me from my apartment to the place where I never know what I'll find.

I'm not run, run, running, but I am walking through the square, adorned with pride in a Mariners' cap I bought from a Lids in Times Square with money from my recent college graduation. I have about seven dollars in my pocket, four of which is in two dollar bills. Just enough for a beer, or just enough to buy a box of cereal and half a gallon of milk. Guess which I bought?

Stepping now towards the show, I take a wrong turn and have to turn around. I forget whether it's west of east on 13th street.

Now there, now there is a line, now there is another line to get in the side door…now there is a line at the bar, and now you are in the concert, at a venue to which you've never been, buying a five dollar can of Budweiser and thinking the lighting rig is much more elaborate than other venues of this size.

You imagine the 9:30 club in DC with the décor of the Tennessee Theater in Knoxville, and you think that's a good description. You imagine Neumo's in Seattle with the décor of the Paramount Theater, and you think that's as well a good description. Welcome to Webster Hall.

Sam Beam takes the stage, alone, and is met by a chorus of applause. This is his second night at Webster Hall, and he makes comments, Yes, he is feeling better, Yes, he will play some different songs, No, you don't have to shout to him which ones, to the people whom were obviously making a midweek weekend out of the Iron and Wine shows.

Beam is, in my obsessively critical and cynical opinion at least, best successful at his art when he is fully in the vein in which he is best known: Quiet, lo-fi, minimalist songs which echo in Southern Gothic themes. Pasted images run the narratives of the best songs of the night, particularly "Jesus the Mexican Boy" and "Fever Dream," while his more self-envelope pushing tracks, such as "Woman King" and "Evening on the Ground (Lilith's Song)" off I & W's most recent release, the Woman King EP, were pushed to rocking-ness by a band six members strong, boasting sometimes two drummers.

The confliction with which I left the show came from the fact that several of the songs performed that night had been notably changed from their original forms — not just in an adaption to being played with a full band, but seemingly a straying from genre entirely. "Bird Stealing Bread" was suddenly a song no longer off of the brilliant Creek that Drank the Cradle record, but like something from a Jimmy Buffet box set. "Woman King" was dark and menacing, and "Love and Some Verses" was no longer the sweet and sentimental mid-album release from Our Endless Numbered Days, but seemed rather to be pushed by Beam's arsenal of multi-instrumentalists towards a Nine Inch Nails tune. Dark, and then really dark, the line, "May I be weaved in your hair?" was no longer a lover's request, but a stalkers threat. "Some creepy ass shit," is how I remember putting it in my notebook.

But the set closed with "My Lady's House," another track off Woman King that is probably the most closely related to pre-Garden State Iron and Wine (I don't really have to remind everyone that his b-side for "Such Great Heights" by the Postal Service is now the wedding song of the hip right now, do I?) than anything else off Woman King. And just Beam and his wife sang the song, and it was beautiful as a black and white, flickering 1950's TV set image of a bird, stealing bread right out from under someone's nose.

You walk out of the club and reflect on how the show was magnificent, how "Jesus the Mexican Boy" and "Fever Dream" were beautiful to the point where beautiful just doesn't get any prettier. And you think about how Beam really made some huge moves from with his older songs towards really making use of his band. Was it bad, or just unexpected? It did make for a more dynamic set, and the crowd seemed to love it, despite the lack of "Such Great Heights" from the main set. But then you think Hey, maybe he played it last night, Hey, maybe that's what the encore was, because, yeah, you don't stay for encores since, Hey, if someone has to walk off stage to get my attention for the last song of the night, then the people walking off had better be Pearl Jam or Radiohead. And those aren't really encores, those are shit/smoke/fill-your-glass breaks.

You walk down 13th, then back up to Union Square. You never know what you're going to find there, and when you get there, you find a guy named Eddie, who just came back from the show too, and you talk about it. Eddie loved the Paul Simon-like, Graceland-esque version of "Teeth in the Grass," which on I & W's last record Eddie thought was a little bit lacking of "something." You think about it, and think, Yeah, that was pretty sweet. Good show. An evening well spent.

ulysses_7.gif

Tales from a Brave Ulysses is a traveling epic through modern art, music, and culture. This week's installment: Iron and Wine at Webster Hall; Friday 6/17/05.

Woman King

Joseph Riippi — Wed, 09 Mar 2005 08:00:00 +0000

10.5

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00070DLAO/wwwthreeimagi-20

womanking.jpg

The written word succeeds best when it is not approached as a narrative, but when it is approached as a mosaic of images and actions which when put together, form a complete idea, emotion, story. Poetry is essentially brief glimpses of a scene or emotion, painted or sculpted in words with a pleasing rhythm, pleasing brushstrokes. Novels can do the same thing but on a much larger scale, and usually employing more of a focus on a resulting narrative.

And because he approaches composing songs from a somewhat different angle than perhaps most singer/songwriters do, Sam Beam (aka Iron and Wine) is one of today's most talented lyricists — not because he writes stories in his songs, but because his songs paint pictures with brief images that serve as intimations to some grander, ambiguous idea behind what he is showing you.

Iron and Wine's most recent release is the six-song EP, Woman King. The songs on the record deal with some of Beams favorite images — the shapes of sleeping women, the wings of birds, a delicate noise of countryside.

Miami-based Beam taught cinematography and screenwriting at the college level for some time, and there is no hiding his photographic sensibilities in the structures of his songs. Polaroids of his imagination would be velvet and watercolored.

At once brilliantly intimate in his acoustic guitar and soft voice, Beam invites the listener to enter a surreal world on his new EP — more successfully on Woman King than on any of his previous records. Having already recorded the delicious Our Endless Numbered Days in the studio setting two years ago, Beam shows a new comfort in the ways of a studio as opposed to tracking over instruments himself — as he did on his first two releases.

The new record begins with the title track. Beam sings a call-and-response between images of an old, glorified South — "Blackbird claw, raven wing/ Under the red sunlight/ long clothesline, two shirt sleeves/ waving as we go by" — and a chorus which proposes the idea of a woman taking on the role of a king — "Hundred years, hundred more/ Someday we may see a/ Woman king, sword in hand/ Swing at some evil and bleed."

The record moves on to "Jezebel," a sweetly sinister ballad about the Biblical Queen of Israel who tried in the most evil of ways to impose her heathen beliefs on those she ruled. In Beam's world, however, Jezebel is shown as a helpless and lost individual being chased by a pack of dogs, metaphors for perhaps gods or perhaps her people. Beam asks, "And who's seen Jezebel?/ She went walking where the cedars line the road/ Her blouse on the ground/ Where the dogs were hungry, moaning."

Next is "Gray Stables," a song which recalls misty images of Ophelia and medieval forests in its harsh tribute to a "brave lady" — "Brave lady, I could see you through the mosses/ laid, shameless in the sun…gray stables and the horses of the/ righteous/ pray daily for the brave."

Then there is "Freedom Hangs Like Heaven," an epic track which takes Beam into the rock-and-rollingest territory he's ever been, all the while talking to the Virgin Mary, "carrying her babe" whilst the oil lamps sing to her, "freedom hangs like heaven over everyone."

The best song, however, the song which let me feel the blood in my veins, is "My Lady's House." It's a short and simple, acoustic guitar love ballad, akin to the tear-conjuring "Naked As We Came" from his last album. Halfway through the ideal finger-plucks on his guitar, a piano enters and takes the song into an entirely new aesthetic. The sweeping gorgeousness of the written words are complemented by the rhythm and timbre of the voice and instrumentation to make the verse when Beam sings, "It is good in my lady's house/ every shape that her body makes/ love is a fragile word/ in the air, on the length we lay."

For those fans already familiar with Iron and Wine, the six songs on Woman King will be the logical next step in an already impressive catalogue. For those who know Iron and Wine only for his cover of the Postal Service's "Such Great Heights" on the Garden State soundtrack, then the intimacy found in the soft recording for Zach Braff and Natalie Portman will only be multiplied in this brilliant EP.

The songs on the record deal with some of Beams favorite images — the shapes of sleeping women, the wings of birds, a delicate noise of countryside.

Our Endless Numbered Days

Joseph Riippi — Fri, 28 May 2004 07:00:00 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0001ENX54/wwwthreeimagi-20

ironandwine.jpg

I want your flowers like babies want God's love."
-From the song "Fever Dream" by Iron and Wine

Iron and Wine is one of those "bands" that consists pretty much of just one person, that being in this case Sam Beam, a film professor in Miami. He has a new album out called Our Endless Numbered Days on Sub Pop, and not only is it a fantastically solid summer-chill record, but the artwork is really cool.

But while it is undoubtedly a solid record, Beam's pretty much divided his fans with this release. His previous records, The Creek Drank the Cradle and The Sea and the Rhythm EP both came from the same living room sessions that naturally had a gloomy 8-track hiss sound to the background. With OEND, Beam headed to Engine Studios and producer Brian Deck in Chicago to do the new record the "right" way.

While some will argue that the cleaner and crisper studio sound eliminates the implied intimacy provided by the lo-fi recordings, others will find the switch a welcome one. Beam hasn't changed writing styles much, the songs are all pretty much in the same vein as the those on his previous records, so really the only change is that you can hear the squeak of fingers on guitar strings better.

somewhere in the back of their minds. Beam's whisperings on the same subjects, however, are more direct and my extension more heartfelt. When he's coming up with lines like, Tracks like "Naked as we Came" and "Love and Some Verses" carry this record out from the rubble of the average acoustic singer/songwriters who whisper about love and death whilst an aromatic candle burns between pictures of Nick Drake and Jeff Buckley"I lay smiling like our sleeping children/ one of us will die inside these arms/ eyes wide open, naked as we came/ one will spread our ashes around the yard," we have no fear of Hallmark knocking on his door anytime soon. I don't know how well a line like, "May I be weaved in your hair?" would do on a Mothers' Day card anyway.

That brings us pretty much to the tenth track on OEND, a song called "Fever Dream." And I confess to you, dear reader, that I am physically, emotionally, brutally, honestly, whole-heartedly, confusedly and blankedly obsessed with it. Upon reading that, I suspect some of you may be thinking something like this:

"I've read your columns and reviews before jerk-nose. I know you get all weird with 100-word sentences and words like 'blankedly,' (which I am pretty sure isn't even a real word anyway) when you talk about these bands I've never even heard of. Just tell me if the record sounds more like Matchbox Twenty or Outkast and I'll know what you mean."

If in fact you were thinking that, then apparently I am a psychic. Please contact me either by telephone or just by yelling really loudly in a westerly direction if that was really what you were thinking. Once you get a hold of me we can further discuss our future as money-making fat cats in the psychic hotline industry. Until then, I am going to continue on about this song which has so fixedly captured my emotions.

"Fever Dream" has few lyrics, but it needs few because the acoustic guitar line is so damned beautiful that when I played it for the first time in my headphones, my heart actually stopped so that it's noisy pumping would not distract it from feeling the utter loveliness of the song.

Leading up to the falsetto simile given at the beginning of this review, Beam does his best late-night-pillow-talking-voice to sing, "Sometimes I'll hear when she's sleeping / her fever dream / a language on her face" — enter Beam's falsetto and his wife's female harmonies for the orgasmic moment of ideal love, when we get to hear what the language on her face says:

"I want your flowers like babies want God's love."

Maybe I just like simile and metaphor, and that's why this kills me. But even listening to the song on repeat now outside a bookstore's pseudo-café in Williamsburg, VA on a Monday afternoon, I want to cry. I am convinced this song is a tear-inducing window to something good behind the wind that is making the leafy-green trees in the parking lot sway like rowboats on my grandmother's lake beneath Mt. Rainier. It makes me see what seemed at first to be imperfections in the shape of the gray clouds to really be perfections of gray. "Is it possible that every cloud I have ever seen up until now has been wrong, and this is right?" It makes me notice how I am breathing, how a toddler boy admires the height of his mother as he holds her hand crossing the parking lot, how the beautiful girl on the sidewalk's arms swing a little bit differently than the ways of other girls, or how that little pink lump in a stroller might someday become the first woman president, and I would never know I could have met her just now.

An old man with a walker just moved past me and smiled with his eyes at my stacks of paperbacks and other studying paraphernalia. He was wearing a hat that labeled him as an ex-Navy Seal. Now he needs a walker to make it from Food Lion to the pharmacy, but his smile was one of pure kindness in his old age — the smile of someone who is happy with where they are, the smile everyone wants to have. The same smile of a warm-smelling grandfather as he whittles you a statue out of wood with a pocketknife, the smile I probably have right now as I listen to the record again, struggling not to skip straight to track ten.

I confess to you, dear reader, that I am physically, emotionally, brutally, honestly, whole-heartedly, confusedly and blankedly obsessed with it.

AstroPOP! for October-November 2003

three imaginary girls — Thu, 30 Oct 2003 08:00:00 +0000

Libra {September 23-October 22}
Death Cab for Cutie truly are indie rock's Hall and Oates: not only do DCfC possess both rock and soul, vocalist/guitarist Ben Gibbard's dreamy tenor is so unabashedly romantic that it literally spells out the M-E-T-H-O-D of modern love. Please listen closely, Libra: your usual balance is upset by love troubles this month, so having Death Cab spell it out for you can only help. On just-released Transatlanticism (Barsuk), the band understands your dilemma. The spaciousness of the songs betrays a hyper-awareness of the forces that keep lovers apart: time, distance, and longing—"where disappointment and regret collide/lying awake at night." Still, the music is heartening, not hopeless, and the instinctive, eye-for-detail charm of "Lightness" proves that Gibbard knows how to create the mood for a little one-on-one. And that's exactly what would make Daryl and John proud.
Your astrological Halloween costume: Attach half a blonde wig to half a curly brown one. Tape on half a moustache. You are simultaneously Hall AND Oates!

Scorpio {October 23-November 21}
You keep catching something out of the corner of your eye but you can never see it straight on. Your ears prick up at strange, disembodied sounds but when you turn your head toward the noises, there's nothing there. Your sixth sense is acting all crazy, Scorpio, and it's got you spooked. Give the otherworldly spirits a taste of their own medicine this month. Blast It Still Moves (ATOP), the new cd by My Morning Jacket to stop the haunting. The Louisville, Kentucky five-piece spikes its high-lonesome alt-country with a not-of-this-earth creepiness: guitars drip with reverb, ghostly vocals are multi-tracked to oblivion. When singer Jim James wails, "none of this is physical/at least not to me," he'll not only call out your demons—he'll send them packing. So don't be afraid, Scorpio... but do keep an eye on your liquor cabinet: the members of My Morning Jacket are so good at driving away spirits that they might also exorcise your bottles!
Your astrological Halloween costume: Take an old white bed sheet. Cut two eye-holes. Boo!

Sagittarius {November 22-December 21}
Your imminent career change might temporarily set you back in terms of status and income, but in the long run you're going to be a lot happier following your heart instead of doing what's expected of you. Indie darlings Belle & Sebastian sympathize with your job woes, Sag. Having taken chamber-pop as far as it can go, B&S confounds fan expectations on new release Dear Catastrophe Waitress (Rough Trade). Veteran producer Trevor Horn (ABC, the Pet Shop Boys) seasons each song with a generous helping of 80's kitsch (check those handclaps and processed vocals on "Stay Loose"), and on occasion the new sounds prove hard to balance—the record teeters like a tray full of Denver Omelets in the hands of a knock-kneed newcomer at Applebee's. But B&S never drop that heavy platter: "Asleep on a Sunbeam" recalls the band's early co-op days, and in fact the vocal melody on "Stay Loose" is one of the strongest on the album. This month, Sag, let your heart lead the way, and soon enough your new employer will be telling you, "I want to give you the job/a chance of better pay/can you start today?"
Your astrological Halloween costume: Orange jumpsuit. Strap-on keyboard. Reflector sunglasses. Sure, video killed the radio star, but your Buggles get-up will kill the competition at the costume party.

Capricorn {December 22-January 19}
Your friend who refers to every fleeting fling as a "potential soul-mate." That co-worker who's constantly repeating "that does not compute." Your roommate's humorless analysis of "Newlyweds." Why is it that everyone—everyone!—is bugging the crap out of you this month, Capricorn? It's time for you to get some perspective so you can simmer down. Listen to the reissue of Trust (Rhino) by Elvis Costello and the Attractions. By the time this watershed 5th album was released in 1981, no one had bugged, bitter, and bothered nailed more than Elvis. Everyone—everyone!—from posh suburbanites to jealous lovers to Margaret Thatcher was skewered mercilessly on "Trust"—Elvis took bile to a level of professionalism never before seen in postpunk. Cutting lines like, "you'll never be a man/no matter how many foreign bodies you can take" kinda makes your aggravation at your roommate's Hilary Duff obsession seem like child's play, hmm? Doesn't it? Cap? Doesn't it though? Oh, wait. Am I bugging you now? You better give "Trust" another spin, Capricorn.
Your astrological Halloween costume: Wear a gray wig. Walk with a cane. Shake your fist at anyone having fun. Use your anger to release the "grumpy old man" within. "Get off my lawn, you no-good kids!"

Aquarius {January 20-February 18}
Fall is here, Aquarius, and your autumnal wish-list sure makes a whole lot of sense: spend evenings indoors, drink hot cocoa overflowing with marshmallows, curl up with a good book and a great cd. That cd? Newborn Driving, the self-released debut from Seattle four-piece Spanish For 100. With a sound that blends Built To Spill's twin guitar fireworks (as well as their Idaho fixation) with Crosby, Stills & Nash's vocal harmonies, the chiming guitars and soaring vocals here are both intelligent and emotionally expressive. With its heartland-rock outlook and countryish twang, "Newborn Driving" is as autumn as pumpkin pie and the reemergence of sweaters. Plus, the cd is versatile: turn it up while you're staring out the window at the leaves swirling in the wind. Turn down the volume to background-music levels when you want to finish the last chapter in your book before bed. Either way, "Newborn Driving" has got you covered like your favorite thick wool blanket.
Your astrological Halloween costume Wear green and brown clothes, then cover yourself liberally in multi-colored leaves. You're either: a) the physical manifestation of the Harvest Spirit of Autumn or b) Marjorie the Trash Heap from "Fraggle Rock." Take your pick.

Pisces {February 19-March 20}
I'm an astrologer, Pisces. People come to me for advice, guidance, and my ability—as an outside observer—to see what can't always be seen from within. I'm recapping, in all honesty, because I'm not sure why you're here. Look at you: last month's problems resolved, next month's problems already assessed and averted—it's clear that you have no use for astrology in the trouble-free microcosm you've constructed for yourself. That said, can I still make a prediction? I'll bet your life would be even easier if you were listening to It Was High Time To Escape (54-40 Or Fight), the impressive debut from Portland, OR trio 31 Knots. Showy but not overly dramatic, complicated but somehow effortless, 31 Knots manage to mesh arty prog rock and catchy pop choruses so successfully that "wow, this sounds exactly like "Fragile"-era Yes without the fruity keyboards" becomes both a high-order compliment and a pale assessment of 31 Knots' achievements. Listen for yourself, Pisces—you're not the only one getting things right.
Your astrological Halloween costume: You're riding high this month just being you, Pisces. What's hiding behind a costume going to do for you? Wear your favorite t-shirt and go to the costume party 'as yourself.' No one would dare challenge you. How could they?

Aries {March 21-April 19}
Earnestness gets you laughed at. Cynicism makes you depressed. Instead of diving back and forth between the two extremes, Aries, try a new approach this month: walk that line. For guidance, steady yourself on the balance beam right behind Seattle four-piece Sushirobo. Overlaying Spoon-style minor-key indie pop with bubbly, organ-engineered surf-noir loops, the band has concocted a slick, spry sound that sustains itself throughout the 12 taut songs on The Light-Fingered Feeling Of Sushirobo (Pattern 25). Neither overly earnest nor deathly cynical, the band's secret is that they're in on the joke. Listen to singer Arthur Roberts' sneer over the Primus-flecked office fable "Zuckerman's Favorite Joke," or the lyrical jabs at the "milquetoast hipster" in "Heart, Lungs, Etc." The all-too-real details make it clear that the band is not above including itself among its targets, and their touch of self-effacement keeps the band buoyant. With two deep mood-chasms threatening you on either side, Aries, it really helps to have that light-fingered feeling.
Your astrological Halloween costume: What was your worst job ever? Dress up as your boss from that employment disaster, and spare no detail. Tell everyone that if they don't give you candy, you're going to eat their soul instead. You are going to have FUN tonight!

Taurus {April 20-May 20}
Despite your bullish, smarty-pants exterior, Taurus, you're a softy at heart. After all, when you're moved by the sad beauty of the first drops of rain on a Sunday morning, is it your brain that makes you want to cry? Hell no! It's your heart: your big, swollen, always-just-about-to-break valve of love. Quit ignoring it: your heart has important things to say. Touchdown Eagle, a lovelorn quartet from Seattle (by way of Iowa and Utah) definitely listens to their hearts. Their homemade debut ep Redesign Your Living Room, Redesign Your Life, is in fact all heart: lo-fi Beat Happening strum and Yo La Tengo sleepy drone create lonely, lovesick moods. The lyrics reveal a knack for the particulars of heartbreak. In "Stumblingly," a guy falls asleep with his glasses on, then he wakes up and can't quite see straight. The female narrator of "No Good Love" describes getting out of a difficult relationship, then wonders whether the person she left behind is actually happy now that she's gone. Heed your sentimental side this month, Taurus. Even if you don't find the love you've been searching for, the crying will be cathartic.
Your astrological Halloween costume: What's more sentimental than the Mom from "E.T."—a single mom struggling with three kids and hiding an alien from the U.S. government? Dress as Dee Wallace, and run like hell from anyone dressed as Peter Coyote.

Gemini {May 21-June 21}
I'll admit that I keep my counsel a little close to the chest and dole it out only sparingly. But I still tell you what you need to know, and the fact is, I really have so much advice that I'd overwhelm you if I let you know EVERYTHING that the stars tell me. And I'm not alone. Listen to Iron & Wine's new ep The Sea & The Rhythm (Sub Pop). Sam Beam surely knows much, much more than he lets on: his world-weary tenor and old-soul lyrics run circles around my constellation shop-talk. Beam chooses his words carefully, painting a careful picture that leaves out as much as it takes in. "Jesus the Mexican Boy" has more plot than a Faulkner novel—the song describes a child's birth, a carnival crashing, an elopement, and a lost wager—but it never sags with detail. Instead, Beam's clear, double-tracked harmonies and lonesome-strummed guitar tell as much of the story as the lyrics do. So while we may never find out what happens to Jesus' sister after the Vegas wedding, Iron & Wine never make us feel like something's been left out. And if you've been listening carefully to what I've been telling you, then I trust that you understand my advice for you this month, Gemini.
Your astrological Halloween costume: Your literary bent this month makes Faulkner a natural starting point for your costume: Caddy Compson in her later years? The simple Vardaman Bundren? The luckless Temple Drake? Come on, Gemini, go crazy!

Cancer {June 22-July 22}
Sometimes it's not so bad to be the type that can be brought home to mom and dad, Cancer. First of all, it shows that your sweetie thinks you have staying power. Second, it means the two of you can borrow the old man's car for ski trips—no questions asked. Third, better presents this holiday season. Just look at Plum St.. They've got that 'cross-generational appeal' working in their favor as well: you like them because they kinda sound like Elliott Smith or Michael Penn; your mom likes them because they kinda sound like the Beatles. But this is not a band of bland squares: the Seattle trio has the melody, smarts, and chops to validate these lofty comparisons. And singer/guitarist Reed Hutchinson even sings about family! Ok, it's a dysfunctional one—an older aunt leaves her husband, a helpful uncle delivers advice but brandishes a gun—but like yourself, Cancer, Plum St. realizes that playing to the family is important. So when your honey brings you home to mom and dad this month, Cancer, bring the Plum St. cd along. When everybody is in agreement over the gorgeous chorus to "Beauty and Dreams," you'll at least be getting a break from marriage talk.
Your astrological Halloween costume: Wear the most garishly colored sweater you can find, and you're all set to appear as everybody's favorite tv dad, Cliff Huxtable. Then, wrap up the sweater and give it to your sweetheart's dad this holiday season. He'll love you for it.

Leo {July 23-August 22}
It's the dilemma of every rising star, Leo. Everyone wants a stalker until they actually get one. The loss of privacy, the feeling of invasion, the constant changing of phone numbers: stalkers are scary and tiresome, and should hardly be the concern of a superstar-in-training who's got a collection of trucker hats to build and a Friendster network to grow. Then again, listen to new sensations the Fitness. First single "Gianni V" actually implores "I wish that you were stalking me"--and makes a convincing case that having an obsessive fan is, in fact, part of the package: an actual accessory that complements the trucker hats and the Friendster hits. Ok. I'm with you so far. Sonically, the Fitness' cd debut Call Me For Together (The Control Group) picks up where "The Metro" by Berlin left off: analog synths, gated drums, and robotically-intoned boy-girl vocals. I heart the 80's, so I'm still with you. The kicker? Instead of talking down, Diana Ross-style, to the hired help, closing song "Chauffeur" exalts its titular hero for knowing where to go and where to score the best drugs. It sounds like the Fitness really does have the whole package. Now, if we started sleeping outside their bedroom windows, Leo, how long do you think it'll take before they notice us?
Your astrological Halloween costume: Who are you kidding, Leo? The skinny ties, the jagged bangs, the jet-black eyeliner, the silvery shirts, the Seven jeans... you already wear a costume every day. If you really want to frighten people, show up at the party in a UW sweatshirt and khakis. Now that's scary!

Virgo {August 23-September 22}
On the left side of the chalkboard, we have the 'problem:' a dense, multi-factored scramble of terms, conditionals, and assumptions. On the right side, we have the 'answer:' a single digit, solved, reduced, exposed. My question to you: which side of the board has more power? Your urge to figure everything out can cause you to miss out on the brain-busting complexities of reality. It's like trying to determine what makes the songs on the Senate Arcade's new ep Vitamins Taste Like Dying (Chocho) sound so good. Yah, we can trot out 'answers:' the swirling math-rock intricacies; the pulverizing rhythm section; bassist/singer Todd Schlosser's powerful, MTV2-ready vocal bellow. But when that stuff gets written down on paper, it doesn't seem like it could really add up to the visceral intensity that these five songs deliver. In other words, when there's a guy lying fetal desperately shouting "I'm on the floor/I'm on the floor," the application of logic can only get you so far. This month, don't search for the answers, Virgo. See the unsolved expressions for what they are: expressions. Turn the volume up, and just listen.
Your astrological Halloween costume: Wear a button-down shirt, smear chalk dust on your hands, and find a pair of coke-bottle glasses. Oh, and carry a carving knife. You're a high school algebra teacher—out for blood!

astropop.gif

Your rock and roll astrological forecast for Fall 2003, featuring reviews of Belle & Sebastian, My Morning Jacket, Touchdown Eagle, Spanish for 100, The Fitness, and more.

Happy Birthday Sub Pop!

three imaginary girls — Wed, 30 Apr 2003 07:00:00 +0000

27 Apr 2003

james10.jpg

More Sub Pop Parts Per Million!

igLiz and igDana celebrate at the 15th Sub Pop anniversary show, which featured...

James Mercer"
{imaginary} girl inform me all my senses warn me"

Hey, it's James Mercer, frontman for the Shins, whose last album Oh - Inverted World stormed the indie-world with pop sensibilities brilliant enough to raise even a Davies' eyebrow.

We loved the Shins at Bumbershoot last year, I rang in an exuberant Graceland New Year with them in 2002, and we were delighted with this stripped down solo performance as it, once again, displayed James' core songwriting skills and his genuine vocal prowess. He offered a too short but fine start for a night chock full 'o {sub}pop-stars.

Rosie Thomas

"A ceiling made of stars"

Rosie Thomas positively charmed the savage crowd with her elegant style, her nearly-unspeakably serene voice, and her zippy wit. Her voice, soothing like a lullaby, purred with a contentment that could lull angry kittens. However — over the pop of the crowd, it was nearly impossible to hear her, what with the roar of the minglers and the clink of the glasses. Sooo... we're going to really write about Rosie when we see her play somewhere that better suits her subtlety.

Sam Beam / Iron and Wine

"Promising light on the sidewalk {imaginary} girls"

Sam Beam — aka Iron and Wine — continued the opening trilogy of sultry-singer-songwriters. He crooned with the incredibly gentle elegance he uniquely posseses; he dazzled, he left the crowd spellbound... and then he covered the Ramones' "I Wanna Be Sedated." Man, that was cool....

The Constantines

"Nighttime, anytime, it's alright"

Up until this point, the evening had consisted of TIG-known talents... but it was the Constantines portion that would offer us a chance to finally hear what all the hubbub was about. We'd heard stories/myths/legends about how much they tear it up live.

With such rumors {and the fact that the Thermals were up after the Constantines}, we secured our front row spot to experience the magic up-close.

By the second song, we were convinced. Just as with the recent wave of Sub Pop bands, they are most appreciated after one sees them perform live (a la the Thermals and Hot Hot Heat)... which, if you're my kind of person, you agree that is just how it's supposed to be.

In their own cutely-unpolished Canadian way, this 5-piece got the crowd all sweaty with their quintessential indie-rock songs and Mary Lou Retton-like dance moves, in addition to being able to entertain us in between songs with banter topics ranging from SARS (they came from Toronto) to the fact that they had to practice being cool enough for this party. For all of this, they get a six-faceted mathematical equation to describe their sound:

Pinback + Rapture x loonies & toonies + gymnastics class / tulip festival + Dismemberment Plan = The Constantines

The positive indie-rock vibe lasted the entire set, hitting its apex with the chorus "Nighttime, anytime, it's alright!" The drummer passed various percussion instruments out to the front row (maracas, tambourines and the sort) while the audience jumped, and bobbed, and sang along to the band that doesn't even have an album released on Sub Pop yet.

The Thermals
"My God, the sin..."

"I'll screw anyone for $20," proclaimed Hutch Harris, frontman for our favorite imaginary band of the past several moments, lo-fi indie rock star and all-around teenage heartthrob.

Now you kids know we've been to Thermals shows and Thermals shows... and Thermals shows.

But you know what we've never seen before? We've never seen the Thermals get naked for money. That's right. LIVE NUDE THERMALS (okay, half nude.... and sorry boys, Kathy remained clothed). But still... zowie. That was something special.

It all started when one of Kathy's bass strings broke. Whilst she was fixing said string, Hutch began to lightly banter with the audience... when out of nowhere, someone in the audience yelled, "Drop Trou!"

Hutch explained that he doesn't take off his shirt for less than $5. 2.78 seconds later, a fiver was passed onto the stage, Hutch's shirt came off and the mesmeric, tantilizing scene unfolded.

Two $1 bills made their way to the stage and the remaining boy Thermals' shirts made their way to the floor. Strange but true. Tonight it only cost $1 each to see both Ben and Jordan sans shirt. I'm sure that as these pictures of the incredible value we got for those $1 bills get around, supply and demand will surely drive their asking price sky high.

Sure, once again, we were knocked speechless by the music, as they tore through the songs on their first {and breathtakingly brilliant} More Parts Per Million. Hutch jumped and flailed while remaining pitch-perfect.

But, thanks to a broken bass string, we also saw Hutch, Jordan and Ben half-naked by the end of the set.

Good music, shirtless Thermals. I knew this night was going to be magical.

Kinski

"The part that goes do-do-do-do-do-do-DUN-DUN-DUN-do"

With no imaginary boy Michael X at the show, we're not sure we even can review Kinski. We're pretty sure he has an imaginary exclusive on covering this densely atmospheric, Mogwai-esque explosion of a band.

I think that's true. If you write another adjective to describe them, you'll have to pay Michael X royalties.

Hmm. That won't do. I believe Michael would be proud if I said they were "incendiary"... and I believe he'd want me to ask everyone that, "if Kinski were to unleash the full force of their loud, we would all be killed instantly, and then who would buy their records?"

And after a night like tonight, what a tragedy that would be...

Sub Pop's 15th birthday party show. Good music, shirtless Thermals. I knew this night was going to be magical.