August 2, 2013

i know you wahn it

I am back, relaxed, from Timber! and working on getting the Pickwick Chapel Session ready to post, also wrestling out a think-piece about cynicism & music (of course I am) that may or may not ever see the light …but really all I want to do today is watch this video on repeat.

I want The Roots to be my backing band in everyday life. Everything would be so much better.

Blurred Lines (with The Roots and Jimmy Fallon) – Robin Thicke

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September 19, 2009

The wet, wet glory of Monolith 2009 (come see what we saw)

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The third annual Monolith Festival took over scenic Red Rocks in Colorado last weekend, with one of the most pleasantly-varied assortment of music yet, and I found much to entertain my ears. Perhaps I was more motivated this year than last, but despite the rain Saturday and drizzles on Sunday, I constantly found myself making tough choices between acts slotted simultaneously that I wanted to see. It’s good to have more than enough choices at a festival, running back and forth to catch the next buzzed-about act — and I certainly did at Monolith this year, along with lots of other folks.

Having just come from the massively spread-out Outside Lands Festival in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park, I was struck by how small and intimate this festival still feels. Despite being packed in with several thousand of my closest concert-going friends of the Western States region, Monolith still felt like a boutique arrangement, with five stages squeezed into the rather compact natural park. I got to see some terrific folks.

Let’s start with a nice assortment of three videos I shot, showing why this is a marvelous festival:

Anni Rossi – “West Coast”



Rahzel – Beatboxing to “Seven Nation Army” and “Sexy Back”
(White Stripes and Justin Timberlake covers)



Monotonix, not yet showing his hairy buttcrack.



The diversity of artists this year was terrific. From discovering a new singer-songwriter with clever lyrics and gorgeous viola-playing skills (like Chicago’s Anni Rossi, who reminded me of Regina Spektor with strings), to clapping and hooting along while Rahzel (from The Roots) beatboxed his way through some wickedly enjoyable covers (that’s me laughing on the video when he announces “Remix!” and then does just that), to the roiling crowd response to Tel Aviv punk/rocker/remover-of-clothes Monotonix (who performed most of his set on the shoulders of the audience, and pulled his terrycloth shorts off in glee), Monolith kept me hopping (and climbing).

LISTEN to how I fell in love:
West Coast – Anni Rossi



Concert-companion Dainon and I are gonna tell you about a few other loves we each experienced during the weekend. One that we both agreed on is The Features from Tennessee, recently signed to Kings of Leon’s 429 Records, and one of the absolute best live shows I’ve seen in a long time: propulsive, melodic, catchy rock with a winning wail. I told the Facebook during the set that I thought I’d just bruised my thighs with the force of my leg-drumming. Their set meandered from awkward-punk-pop songs about falling in love on a Thursday to blistering rockers like this one:

Dainon says: True to the name they’ve attached to their music, The Features ought to really be featured on your radios, car stereos, and subconscious. Add one tiny, bearded man-wail to some of the loudest feeling music in all of Monolith (they filled up alla that wide open, Red-Rocked empty space) and you’re left with a band that demands you stay with them as they go about propelling themselves forward. Onward and up and through the hoops that should make ‘em famous. Prediction? They’ll be big. The band will overcome their height. The Features make you proud to be a lover of music. They’re a budding secret that needs passing on.

Thursday – The Features



Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes were definitely the most visually and kinetically stimulating band I had the pleasure of getting up close and personal with all weekend. I’m not sure I’d listen often to their utopian fantasy music that belongs frolicking wildly in a peyote-induced dream somewhere, for sure, but this band (fronted by a man not named Edward Sharpe, like whoa) wowed me with their obvious joy.

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Dainon says: Cotton Jones looks like a bunch of guys had just stumbled in from a sleepy, fishing town (after a long hard day of the deep-sea fishing even) and decided to try their hand at some sangin. This is the beautiful stuff, the kind that sounded best on that darkened stage with those red lights—ambiance was on their side. This is the performance that invited the festival audience to catch its breath before stumbling on to the next. It was as invited as it was needed. In this world, flannel was spoken and razors were ignored. In this place, love is whispered through sidelong glances, key tickling and warm-on-a-rainy-day songs.

I (Heather) love this song even more after seeing it shimmer and slowly coalesce live:

Blood Red Sentimental Blues – Cotton Jones

I just thought I’d tell ya, all the demons have been slain / there’s no need for hesitation, honey I been re-arranged…

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Denver’s Natural Selection at the opening night party was more fun to dance to than Chromeo’s shiny DJ set, for sure. I love basslines that make my chest vibrate and my teeth rattle in my head while I shake my hips. That sounds like some sort of torture method as I read that sentence back but trust me, it is fun. This bi-city band (Denver + St Louis, somehow) is a “funk-disco attack” of the finest variety — and appears to have a required uniform of a) awesome denim mini-cutoffs b) gold pants and a vest, no shirt or c) neon. Totally works for me.

naturally-selected



Dainon says: The Grates are a happier, skippier take on that early No Doubt action, whether you choose to squint your eyes and go about seeing Gwen in its lead singer or not. There’s a sailor suit here, lots and lots of skipping and a smile so bright, your heart has no choice but to go boom (read into that whatever you choose to). She even took time to tell us about her having farted about 100 times since she’d got there on account of that crazy CO altitude. What’s more? It was endearing. Then again, what isn’t in an Australian accent? All’s I know is I wanted a hug when it was all over, if just to transfer some of that pixie-tastic energy over my way. For a good time, pick up either of their two albums. For a better one, go to a show and give the singer a shoulder ride when she asks for one, because she will. She so will.

grates



I mused out loud during M. Ward‘s dense and gorgeously-rocking set that I seem to forget how much I adore his music. This was the first time I had seen him live solo (once with She in SF), and I decided during his set that a) Post-War is probably on my list of top ten albums from this decade that I will continue to listen to for years and years to come and b) his catalog really expands and becomes much more raggedly rocking in concert, in a very very good way. I was also transfixed by his anachronistic peculiarness, which reminded me of a traveling salesman+blues musician from the 1930s or something, one that truly knows his way with a guitar. He’s so interesting to watch, and completely his own.

m-ward-monolith



Dainon says: There’s a weird energy that accompanies Of Montreal and its stage show, though it never fails to puzzle me. I can’t make sense of what’s going on, though I try so earnestly to do so, every single damn time even. Still, if you can manage to get past the tiger-headed humans, the half-naked men, the munching on genitalia, the leotards, the sparkling blue eye makeup and the feather boas, well then, Of Montreal treats you right. They’ve a show to go with their story to go with their music. As in they’ve got groove in their respective hearts. Is it Prince light, as goes the rampant accusation? Maybe. One thing’s for certain … the band’s avid followers will make the floor shake every single time, even if it is made of heavy rock. Boogie yer two shoes, indeed.

of-montreal



All my pics –and more commentary– are over on Facebook, if you’d like to see the rest of what we did and how we barely survived (spoiler: Dainon had a run-in with a drag queen, I got my lip caught in a can while shotgunning a beer). It was a long, pretty rad weekend:

Opening Night & Saturday
Sunday



And here’s a few more, just because there was so much to see. Next year, you should come.

CHROMEO (video: “Tenderoni“)
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DEER TICK
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GIRL TALK
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PHOENIX
phoenix(what album cover does that remind me of?!?)

YEAH YEAH YEAHS
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June 3, 2009

And all the music seeping through

This brightened my morning immeasurably. There was a time I had considered naming this blog “all the music seeping through,” or some other derivation from this, potentially my favorite of all Paul Simon songs. I love the lyrics, the bass, the clackety percussion — just everything about it.

Seeing Paul Simon backed by The Roots, who put on one of the most ebullient live shows I’ve ever seen, does a body good this morning.



PAUL SIMON W/ THE ROOTS: “LATE IN THE EVENING”

July 21, 2008

Mile High Music Festival – Sunday

Sunday dawned even hotter than Saturday at the Mile High Music Festival (we didn’t think it was possible after the sweat and simmer of Saturday). In Colorado we usually get a rocky mountain high of mid 80s, with a rare foray into the 90s. So when the mercury hit 100+, it felt like a wave from an oven to this California girl who has forgotten what it means to perspire like that. The crowds were also more intense on Sunday, with several thousand more hardy souls fortifying themselves in the beer garden, filling up their water bottles, and slathering on the sunscreen.

The musical lineup Sunday was also more consistently solid, other than a lull right in the middle of the afternoon, when I was hard-pressed to find a single band that was worth peeling myself off the lawn for. This was one of the only downfalls of the MHMF — the bands were spaced out so that there was sometimes no choice #2 running simultaneously with the band you had no interest in seeing.

After regrettably missing The Whigs and Ingrid Michaelson (who I hear both turned in excellent performances), the first act I saw was the gypsy-flamenco sounds of former thrash-metal bandmates from Mexico City, Rodrigo y Gabriela. I was mightily impressed by this pair and the pulsing, ebbing, wildly romantic sounds that they coaxed from their pair of guitars. Through a combination of finger-picking, fierce strumming, and thumping a variety of beats on the wooden guitar bodies, this duo wove a rich set of moving music. They were also statuesque to photograph, especially the truly lovely Gabriela who evinced strength and grace like a piece of (really talented) artwork.


Grace Potter and the Nocturnals knocked the crowd (and all the photographers) flat with her soulful wails and gorgeous confidence that reminded me of Janis Joplin. After starting her set with two songs seated behind a keyboard, writhing on the seat and tossing her head back in near-orgasmic ecstasy, Grace stood up, grabbed a flying-V guitar and rocked out with her bespectacled guitarist to the sounds of the turbulent “Stop The Bus” from her latest album. I was singing that song all the rest of the day (and on the long drive home to keep myself awake).

Stop The Bus – Grace Potter & The Nocturnals

Is it Grace Potter or is it a Vidal Sassoon commercial?


I got sidetracked by a wild concert promoter on my way to catch Denver’s own Flobots, and then couldn’t fight my way into the photographers pit (but Julio did). After watching their genre-melding set of politically-charged rap, alt-rock, and string instruments, I decided to hoof it over and find out how long John Mayer will, in fact, wait for the world to change.


Next up was a funk-laden, wild set from Philadelphia’s The Roots. The seven members were all over the stage, strutting and writhing their way through lengthy improvisations and a cover of Dylan’s “Masters of War” that clocked in at over ten minutes. The guitarist jumped out of his shoes at one point, and if I had to blow breath like that tuba player for an hour I think I’d pass out. They were absolutely awesome (?uestloooove!) and one of the clear highlights of the festival. The tent was packed to bursting, with the crowds spilling out dozens of feet onto the surrounding lawn.


I had to go all Prefontaine to hustle it over to see The Black Crowes strut, swagger, and wail their Southern rock. Through the haze of what obviously must have been incense, Chris and Rich Robinson + band (including a pair of gospel-singing ladies) wove a tight web of tunes for an enthusiastic crowd. The field erupted in a wave of hippie dances to the sound of gems like “Remedy” and “Soul Singing,” with plenty of guitar noodling and swinging hips on stage.


Dave Matthews Band turned in the most visually impressive set of the fest as the closer, with a curtain of lights obscuring the stage that slowly raised during the first song (the slow build and crest of “Don’t Drink The Water”), as a montage of images flashed between circus-bright bulbs. I had many interesting conversations throughout the weekend with friends, trying to guess who liked DMB at one time. A lot of us actually did (some refused to admit it, or claimed to like them for “about one minute” or “back in 1992 when they were so unknown”). I’ll admit to liking quite a few of the tunes off their first records — okay and by that I mean knowing them by heart. I’ll cop to it. DMB is nothing if not enthusiastic performers, and I pleased with their extended version of “Two Step” and loved #41 (now how about “Lie In Our Graves” or “Pay For What You Get”?). They were joined on stage by friend of the band Tim Reynolds, and played long into the night (closing with a Sly Stone cover) for the satisfied and damn sweaty attendees.


Finally, a few other parting shots: Great t-shirts…

…public art, lit on fire at sunset…

…and the enthusiastic crowds glowing the twilight.


[full pics from Sunday can be seen here, read my favorite review of the weekend here]

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Bio Pic Name: Heather Browne
Location: Colorado, originally by way of California
Giving context to the torrent since 2005.

"I love the relationship that anyone has with music: because there's something in us that is beyond the reach of words, something that eludes and defies our best attempts to spit it out. It's the best part of us, probably, the richest and strangest part..."
—Nick Hornby, Songbook
"Music has always been a matter of energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel."
—Hunter S. Thompson

Mp3s are for sampling purposes, kinda like when they give you the cheese cube at Costco, knowing that you'll often go home with having bought the whole 7 lb. spiced Brie log. They are left up for a limited time. If you LIKE the music, go and support these artists, buy their schwag, go to their concerts, purchase their CDs/records and tell all your friends. Rock on.

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