Outside Lands returns triumphant

I can think of much worse ways to spend an August weekend than in the heart of one of my favorite cities (San Francisco), seeing an eclectic lineup of bands both headliner-huge and quirky-small. Last year’s inaugural edition of the Outside Lands Music & Arts Festival boasted a solid roster of national and local musicians, but was plagued by a few logistical snafus that ranged from the mildly annoying (no, you can’t go that way anymore, you have to walk all the way around) to the borderline panic-attack inducing (15′-wide gauntlets of death to walk through to get to Beck, crammed like a sausage with your neighbor who is pushing the other way). It made it hard, at times, to lose yourself in the music, as Eminem advises.

This year’s festival returned with with a shimmering bang last weekend, featuring an arguably stronger lineup than last year and straightened out details, continuing to play on the gorgeous natural setting with stages spread out amidst the cypress trees. The fest also showcased local wines and restaurants with some abnormally tasty selections for a festival, far better than your standard funnel cake (not that I have ANY PROBLEM with funnel cake).

Of course, as with any festival, when you take into account the human error fudge factor, heat and/or cold, interpersonal weavings, and the occasional Heineken, it can be awfully difficult to catch all the bands you wanted. But the happy flip-side of that is that you often end up stumbling into something even better.

My three days of musical happiness began with a band that is quickly becoming one of my very favorites – Blind Pilot. This Portland, Oregon band drew a huge crowd with their rich and bittersweet tunes layered with gorgeous instrumentation, and those rootsy leanings. Frontman Israel Nebeker’s evocative voice just keeps drawing me back, no matter how many times I see them live (this was #3 this year).

“How I want that mystery / let me dive ’til I believe.”

Two Towns From Me – Blind Pilot

The only other time I’ve seen The National perform was at Coachella last spring, and it is a testament to this band and their potency that even in a festival setting, in broad daylight, they’ve managed to completely knock me flat in the best way possible. I can’t imagine what they’d do to me in a dark club. As I wrote about the Indio desert, “The National carved something out of me and put something back in, is the best way I can put it.” Their set was riveting, laden with songs that I could hardly have hand-picked better (except maybe, “Lucky You.” I’d add that one).

Matt Berninger looks every bit the refined GQ businessman in a large faceless city; gold wedding band on his hand, dark collared shirt, hair nicely trimmed. But with his baritone velvet voice, dark stories spill from his mouth of all the emptiest fears and the most acute longings that wake us in the night. The bright horns and the swells of melody twinkle and shine like a candle in a colander, putting a streak of beauty through the center.

Start a War, Mistaken for Strangers, the new Blood Buzz Ohio, Slow Show — and my favorite Secret Meeting… it was over far too soon.

Lucky You (live on Daytrotter) – The National

Next up in a magical bit of booking was Tom Jones, the Welsh crooner who can peel panties off people using only his cognac-smooth brogue. You would not believe the universal love that flowed from all sectors of the (hip-shaking) audience for his snappy set. All you need to know about the performance can be gleaned from these two pictures, and if you have more time to amuse yourself, my montage of Tom Jones facial expressions over on Facebook. As a friend texted me during his set, as I reported on the undies flying off 19-year-olds with dreadlocks and ironic t-shirts, “It’s like he went from cool to ironic back to cool.”

I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor (Arctic Monkeys cover) – Tom Jones

Friday night ended as not the best of times for me, although I did try to rally and catch Washington D.C.’s Thievery Corporation, with their Brazilian-dub-lounge groove (it looked like this, and sounded numbingly good floating through the night and turning off my brain).

ALL FRIDAY PICTURES

Saturday started off with a double-shot of global awesomeness from different corners of the world; it was bands like these that illuminated the fest for me. First up was Extra Golden, a combo of half Kenyan-benga music and half American-study-abroad-student rock. You might remember when I wrote about these guys a few months ago, I mentioned “the sound that cut through the din,”and also mused how good they might sound live. I am pleased to report that they both stopped traffic of folks walking by (with their tribal beats and African-laced rock), and also put on a superb set. I would absolutely go see them again; I kept laughing out loud from joy.

Anyango – Extra Golden

Immediately following Extra Golden, we dashed over to the Sutro stage to catch Nortec Collective’s Bostich + Fussible, on the recommendation of my friend Julio, who is much-more-savvy than this white girl when it comes to all things south of the border. I’d never heard any nortec business, but it blew my mind — the crashing together of the traditional Tijuana sounds with effortlessly cool dudes twisting knobs to make ridiculously danceable beats. My friend nailed it when he said they could occupy the stage in the back of any Quentin Tarantino movie scene — they were just that badass. Another band I would see again live in an absolute heartbeat. I mean listen to this:

Aka 47 – Bostich + Fussible

Next was Bat For Lashes (rad British chanteuse Natasha Khan), with a set that created more buzz than any other band I saw at the festival. Everyone was talking about her afterwards, and it was my favorite set of the weekend. I was only casually acquainted with her music before seeing her live, but her rich satiny alto voice flowed like a warm golden river through the middle of the sexy, synthy danceable creations. Where she was competent and confident in her stage presence, her band was amazingly kickass too, and I fell in love with both the drummer and the rainbow zig-zagged guitarist.

And: random celebrity sighting, Josh Groban totally digs Bat For Lashes; he was right by me for the set. YES, Mom, Josh Groban. Omg.

Pearl’s Dream – Bat For Lashes

Use Somebody (Kings of Leon cover, live on BBC) – Bat for Lashes

And: random fashion note, the girls in the band totally share clothes.

After wasting away some hours of the evening with folks like The Ice Cream Man and the Free Heineken Man, the only other set I participated in on Saturday (sadly! festival fail!) was the scorching set from Dave Matthews Band. I forget how much I do love Dave, and a sailor I met recently on my ocean sailing voyage has reminded me how many steps I may have also missed in Dave’s development through the years.

Musical hipsters like to look down our noses at plebian jam-rock like DMB, but dancing my ass off alongside fellow not-afraid-to-love-Dave-ite Nathaniel from I Guess I’m Floating to “Lie In Our Graves,” “Two Step” and a particularly passionate rendition of “All Along The Watchtower,” I was reminded how good it can feel.

Lie In Our Graves – Dave Matthews Band

(“and I can’t believe that we would lie in our graves wondering if we had spent our living days well/ I can’t believe that we would lie in our graves dreaming of things that we might have been….”)

ALL SATURDAY PICTURES

After two sunny warm days, when Sunday arrived grey and misty like SF likes to be in the summer (or any dang time), the layers I had fastidiously packed came in handy. Worn out from the two days already, a third day felt simultaneously like a gift (yay! more live music!) and also an uphill climb. But arriving to the festival to the pleasingly dulcet sounds of local San Franciscan John Vanderslice on the Presidio stage, I forgot my still-tired feet and smiled a wide smile.

Vanderslice is someone I have been delving more deeply into since he wowed me in Chicago at that show with John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats. Again on Sunday I was struck by how he could join a musical club with Nada Surf and Death Cab and they’d all nestle in perfectly side by side. It was pretty well-attended too for an early afternoon show on a second stage, perhaps due to the strength of his latest (great) album, Romanian Names.

Too Much Time – John Vanderslice

Whatever I needed to get my mojo back, I found it (of course, in droves) at The Avett Brothers‘ fervent 3pm set at the other end of the meadow.

I had just seen the Avetts in both Boulder and Denver the weekend before (see pics and a video) and loved every raucous, earnest, sweaty second of it, but the recent satiation didn’t even matter when they took the stage before a very enthusiastic crowd. I had urged all the friends and acquaintances and other photographers I met at other shows for the first part of the weekend to make their way over to the Sutro stage at 3pm Sunday, and as I looked around, I saw an awful lot of smiles and the occasional yell-along. Their set was crisp and carried out beautifully over the meadow. They started with “Paranoia in Bb Major,” and then went right into the new “Laundry Room” and then “Die, Die, Die.” When they finished that triple-whammy, they moved into “Murder In The City,” and nearly killed me. Such a wonderful set from these brothers, in a near-perfect setting for their bluegrass punk.

Laundry Room (live on MOKB) – The Avett Brothers

PS – Get the full MOKB Laundromatinee session with Los Avetts.

Switching gears quickly from furiously-strummed banjos to yowling waves of rock, we headed clear over to the Twin Peaks stage to get in position to witness the detonation that is Jack White (The White Stripes, The Raconteurs) and Alison Mossheart’s (The Kills) new band, The Dead Weather. This is the same second-stage I saw Wilco play on last year, and it was just as crowded – another act that could have/should have played the main.

Jack White coolly walked out behind dark shades and sat behind the drumkit at the far back of the stage and stayed there for the duration of the first three songs that we photogs get to have at it. Alison handily seized the mantle of being the face of the Dead Weather (fittingly), and paced and flailed and thrashed, leaning down in our faces and threatening to grab us by our hair, and hang us up from those heavens. For a small woman, she packs an intense punch — she was feral in an awesome, invasive way. All the members of this supergroup are mightily accomplished in their own rights, and together they are pretty amazing to watch, even on a bright Sunday afternoon.

Hang You From The Heavens – The Dead Weather

It’s not every day that a girl gets to see both Jack White and Jack Black in the same day, but before I did the Tenacious D rotation (and failed to get pics because I had the wrong lens), I danced as hard as I could muster to the third world democracy sounds of Sri Lankan supernova M.I.A., who puts on a marvelously enjoyable set. I saw her at Coachella last year — well, kind of saw her, whilst I was being crushed from the massive audience that poured into the smallish tent to see her. Her reputation preceded her.

This time around, after I shot the pics, I went to a vantage point where I could see the whole huge main-stage crowd dance and pump their fists in time to the three gunshot sounds in the chorus, and smile that she was finally on the larger stage she deserves.

Paper Planes – M.I.A.

ALL SUNDAY PICTURES

So… in sum, a marvelous weekend.

And:

Monday Music Roundup

Tonight after work I went down and pushed my fingers through the dark, rich-smelling soil in my little garden plot and breathed in the smell of newness on its way. I turned over the black soil with a vengeance, and added some organic fertilizer/compost stuff into it, even planting a few swaths of seeds before the sun slipped behind the peak and the wind grew cold on my damp and dirty skin. I have never ever had a garden before. Other than one notable exception, I’ve never even had much luck growing anything, ever. I feel I’ve always been totally disconnected with the simple profundity of seed to plant.

I am thoroughly, wildly, stupidly excited about this prospect before me that seems like magic right outside my door. Scarlet nantes carrots, Oregon sugar pod snow peas, Cocozelle summer squash, “Contender” beans, Farmer’s market blend mesclun lettuce, Little Gem romaine lettuce, and for good measure and sheer pleasure — Shades of Blue larkspur, snapdragons, and Sunspot sunflowers. The earth is black and soft and smells incredible. My heart is beating a faster just telling you about it.

The last two hours have been thoroughly good medicine after the week I had last week of illness and caretaking — the bastard flu that wouldn’t quit. Mostly recovered now, time spent quiet in a garden is amazingly good for the innards. Before I took sick, here are few songs that I was enjoying. While I was sick I mostly just listened to things like the theme song from The Office and The Daily Show, and that eerie vacuousness from LOST.

The Only One
Manchester Orchestra
Over that zingy opening riff and pummeling percussion, the lyrics pop in with “I am the only one that thinks I’m going crazy and I don’t know what to do / And I am the only son of a pastor I know who does the things I do.” Atlanta’s Manchester Orchestra are kids in their early twenties with a terse vibrancy and big bright punk-rock sensibilities beyond their tender years. The Paste review that I read this week claimed this track “recalled power-popsters Supergrass at their most chipper,” which of course immediately caught my attention. The new album Mean Everything To Nothing is out now, and they hit Denver next week at the Marquis, with fun supporting (the new band from The Format frontman Nate Ruess) and Oakland’s Audrye Sessions. Also — Manchester Orchestra is doing an in-store at Streetlight Records in San Jose on May 18; my old stomping grounds. Woot. Plus — Rainn Wilson loves ‘em?

Rebels In The Roses
(live on Daytrotter)
Everest
Last Monday night as I lay near dying (or so it felt), the timeless Neil Young took the Denver stage at Magness Arena. Although I couldn’t make it into a standing position, I was pleased to hear that his opening act was Fuel/Friends favorite Everest, in a custom-built pairing. Everest possesses some of that great heart-on-their-sleeve lyricism with drawling country rock that Neil epitomizes. This live track was recorded recently for the excellent Daytrotter sessions, and as the band explains it is “a letter to someone that will never receive it. It’s set at Cave Hill Cemetery in Kentucky, and is the first song on Ghost Notes” — an immense album.

Too Much Time
John Vanderslice
“Woke up on the sand and I tied up my sleeping bag…” Over a majestically orchestral opening, this newest song from John Vanderslice‘s forthcoming album Romanian Names sounds like a blazing sun rising over the San Francisco beach, strong and sure. Thanks to my recent pledge to myself to check out more JV after he wowed me in concert, I am deeply liking all the shimmering dense colors on this album. Something about this song reminds me of Nada Surf’s “The Fox,” one of the darker songs on last year’s Lucky — struggling with the weight of loss and responsibility, but still stirring and sparkling. Before setting out on tour with The Tallest Man On Earth (love him), Vanderslice is playing an in-store at SF’s Amoeba on 5/18 and then a CD release show the following night May 19th at Rickshaw Stop.

Moth’s Wings
Passion Pit
Last summer I saw Passion Pit play at the Monolith Festival, where their set shoehorned as many people as you would believe humanly possible into a tiny subterreanean dance party. Their nascent sounds then were irresistible, built largely around the addictively sped-up-crack sounds of “Sleepyhead” — a song which, once heard, will stick in your head for days. This track off their forthcoming Manners (out 5/19 on Frenchkiss) shows that there is another dimension to their uber-compelling sound.  “Moth’s Wings” feels more organic and symphonic — “you come beating like moth’s wings, spastic and violently whipping me into a storm, shaking me down to the core.” It reminds me, actually, of the shimmering, bright cascades of another Monolith standout, Pomegranates. There’s a sharp iridescence here.

Early Aubade
Roman Candle
I’ll end with my favorite new discovery. I should say FAVORITE in all caps.

Like the fiery sparkly namesake of the band, Chapel Hill NC’s Roman Candle explodes into my night. What I’ve heard of their upcoming third full-length Oh Tall Tree In The Ear (May 12) is one of the best new things I’ve listened to in a long while. They’ve been around since 1997 (with connections to other locals like Ryan Adams and Caitlin Cary) but are new to me. And while Roman Candle is often compared in the same breath to some pretty solidly enjoyable stuff like summerteeth and good vibrations, today on this song they are all young and hungry Rolling Stones. After you’re done with this one, go listen to “Eden Was A Garden” on their MySpace, and then download the free EP on their website that I’ve listened to 24 times since yesterday. Then come back and we’ll talk about how good they are.

I didn’t know what an aubade was so I looked it up: “A poem or song of or about lovers separating at dawn; a song suggestive of morning.” What a freaking marvelous word to write a song about. Handy with a lyric, this song starts with this fine turn:

“I’d like to thank my lucky stars just for shining out tonight
like a hundred scattered eyes in the ether
I know it ain’t normal thanking stars but it ain’t normal seein’ stars
Outshine the London streetlights either.”

“and i hope i never get sober”

Following a long ride on the El last night (is that how natives call it?) out to the far reaches of Chicago, accompanied by a lovely homeless man who kept trying to touch my shoulder without dropping his can of malt beverage, I saw John Vanderslice and John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats on their “Gone Primitive” tour at Chicago’s grand old Portage Theater.

The last time I saw the Mountain Goats, I proclaimed an earnest declaration of permanent affection for the way that show made me feel and the literate, stabbing richness of John Darnielle’s music. After last night, yeah, I feel the same plus some.

The 1,100 seat ornate old theater (which still screens old films and has a Wurlitzer organ) was packed to the gills with fans last night. Since the last time I saw Darnielle was in a small rock club venue with sticky floors, all of us packed tightly and dancing side by side, it felt oddly sterile to be sitting 14 inches apart in velvety chairs, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Therefore what happened next felt especially excellent.

After three or four songs of well-behaved silence, one brave fan walked right up to the edge of the stage and stood there in appreciation to enjoy the show. Warily, a few other folks eyed the door guards, watching to see what they would do, and then walked forward to join Brave Superfan as well. I jumped to my feet. Within 30 seconds, a stream of kids ran down the aisles to pool against the stage, smiles on their face, ready to sing and jump along.

Darnielle beamed, and suddenly the show felt much more right. With perfect timing and furious strumming, the next song he launched into was “Up The Wolves,” an absolute favorite of mine.

“There’s bound to be a ghost in the back of your closet, no matter where you live. There’s gonna be a few things, maybe several things, you’re gonna find really difficult to forgive. There’s gonna come a day when you feel better, you’ll rise up free and easy on that day…and float from branch to branch, lighter than the air, when that day is coming, who can say, who can say?”

Up The Wolves – Mountain Goats

Whereas last year’s anthem for me was the song “This Year,” and when I saw them in October it took all my ferocious determination to yell those words, “I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me…” — last night I resonated much more with the words of rising up free and easy. And thank God.

The solo acoustic setlist included some rarer gems (like “Beach House” about how you don’t want to toy with wily seals) and the gut-wrenching spectrum of tunes like “Woke Up New,” “You Or Your Memory,” and “Surrounded.” He closed with “This Year,” and encored with the divorce epic “No Children.” Walking out on the wooden box over the Wurlitzer, I watched the crowd jump and yell and pump their fists in catharsis, finding some sort of common meaning in those terribly depressing lyrics (“I hope it stays dark forever, I hope the worst isn’t over, and I hope you blink before I do, and I hope I never get sober“). Everything about his music resonates so strongly with me, and he puts on one of the most intelligent, challenging, passionate shows I’ve seen.

John Vanderslice opened the night with stripped down, beautifully rendered versions of his densely orchestrated songs, and then played alongside Darnielle for several songs at the end of the night. Vanderslice is an artist that I have always esteemed and enjoyed, but never seen live or explored deeply. I found myself wondering last night why that is so. Armed only with his acoustic guitar and harmonies, he reminded me very much of another favorite artist of mine, Matthew Caws of Nada Surf. Since I love his music, there is no good reason why I am not equally passionate about Vanderslice. I’m on it.

What a cathartic night.

[see all my photos here]

Monday Music Roundup

Sono distrutta this morning – a bit destroyed (it comes out in Italian, I don’t know why). But happily so, the after-effects of seeing a fantastic show last night with Ike Reilly and Tom Morello. More on that later, but portions were near magical. I will try to gather my Monday thoughts coherently on all of your lovely behalfs because there are some great new tunes this week.

Into The Colors [video]
Ben Harper
Soulful songman/insanely good Weissenborner Ben Harper is back with a hotly anticipated album Lifeline (due August 28th) and already garnering positive advance reviews. I find myself heartily enjoying this song from the opening notes — playful and smooth, possibly his catchiest tune since “Steal My Kisses.” For the love of all things holy, go see the man in concert if you can (a few festivals left this summer, and hopefully a fall tour in support of the new album). He fairly ignites in spontaneous combustion flames from the fervor of his virtuosity in playing, and I love it.

The Storm
Patrick Watson
Remember our good pal Jake Troth with the impressive potential? He recommended that I take a listen to this next artist and since I like Jake’s music, I promptly heeded his advice — and I’m really impressed. Patrick Watson is a musician out of Montreal, Canada whose 2006 album Close To Paradise slipped past me somehow. Man alive; close to paradise indeed. This is otherwordly stuff, haunting and melodic — like being trapped in Labyrinth, without David Bowie in spandex. And I’m not gonna solidify the most obvious comparison, but listen to those vocals; they bore an eerie resemblance to someone else I deeply love, pure and soaring and wrenching.

New Dark Ages
Bad Religion
Truthfully, I probably first heard So-Cal literate punk band Bad Religion at the implied behest of Eddie Vedder – in ’93 he loaned guest backing vocals to two songs on their Recipe For Hate album. And since ’94 I’ve really liked their single “Infected” (even with that whole rant in the middle about crucifixtion and other violent desires; it’s got an unbeatable riff). Bad Religion has been together since 1980, and their fourteenth studio album finds them still alienated and politically aware, but fiercely melodic and intense as always. Frontman Greg Graffin has one of the most distinctive voices in punk rock: it kind of reminds me of standing over an active volcano. New Maps Of Hell is out now on Epitaph, and was produced by Joe Barresi (Tool, QOTSA).

White Dove
John Vanderslice
This is a punchy cut off the fresh release from San Francisco’s John Vanderslice, in which he impresses me by (among other things) using the word veranda right off the bat and making it sound so lovely. I would like a veranda that overlooks the ocean. And maybe I’ve just got Ike Reilly on the brain, but the beginning is almost identical to “When Irish Eyes Are Burning,” although it morphs into something completely unique by the time the lyrics kick in. Emerald City was recorded mostly at Vanderslice’s all-analog studio Tiny Telephone (a dying breed) in the Mission District of SF, and is out July 24th on Barsuk.

Cigarettes & Gasoline
Emerson Hart
The former frontman of Tonic goes solo with this new release on EMI/Blue Note Records. Cigarettes & Gasoline is an intimate and well-crafted album from Emerson Hart which is loosely gathered around personal themes of his father’s unsolved murder and Emerson’s childhood associations with the man (cigarettes, gasoline). There’s a quality in his voice that draws out something from me — like sucking venom out of a rattlesnake wound. History: I’m undereducated on Tonic, but I remember not liking “If You Could Only See,” Tonic’s biggest hit, and also loving their song “Sugar,” which still makes me think of summers and all kinds of borderline nefarious activities. Hart’s new album is out tomorrow.