My apologies for making you fine folks wait for an in depth analysis of my Flogging Molly show. The Dark Knight coupled with other things have frazzled my brain lately so I’ve been running around like crazy.
However, here’s the skinny about what happened on July 17th.
Apparently, those in San Jose have it way better than the rest of their bay sharing brothers and sisters. For in San Jose, there is a wonderful event called Metro Music In The Park. It’s sponsored by some sort of Live 105-esque radio station based in San Jose, and the event has been growing momentum in recent years. The venue is open to a wide variety of performers that fall under the umbrellas of modern rock, jazz, reggae, and just about anything else you can think of.
The fantastic thing about it is that it’s 100% free.
So with a steady amount of pre-gaming beforehand, a group of us descended onto the Caesar Chavez Park to await some entitled free music. After the dry and borderline pathetic advertisements to buy Dos Equis from some blathering DJs (read: corporate tools), they introduced Missouri’s Ludo to a rather warm reception.
I’m a relatively new fan to Ludo, but I’ve got to say that their live show hooked me the same way their records do: with frontman Andrew Volpe’s wildly eccentric singing underscored by crunchy guitars and generous amounts of moog. Truth be told, in geek rock the only thing more powerful than a tragically un-hip frontman, is the mighty moog with all its Cars inspired glory.
And right off the bat, the band used that to their advantage. The began the night with the new wave tinged “Go Getter-Greg” and the delicious power-pop of “Drunken Lament” from their latest album, You’re Awful, I Love You. And like any accomplished geek rock bands, Ludo knew how to get crowd going by fully committing to their outlandish stories as well as feverish playing.
Half way into the set, the band played a few tracks off their under-appreciated rock opera The Broken Bride. The whole story of time travel mixed with pterodactyls and zombies tickled the crowd just right, propelled by tight and rolling drumming as well as Tim Ferrel’s punching lead guitar. And towards the end of their set, when they dropped the faux cabaret swagger of “Love Me Dead,” it was clear that Ludo’s cheesed-out ambition made for an impressive warm up.
But what followed wasn’t the triumphant unveiling of Flogging Molly.
With a sound check that droned on for far too long, the crowd began moving restlessly. You had the punk kids starting mosh pits, the frat guys guzzling their Mickey’s and the DJs (Again, read: corporate tools) not only shelling out bullshit about Dos Equis and their sponsors, but teasing the audience with the thought of their Irish Punk heroes gracing the stage.
It took about an hour and a half for Flogging Molly to come out, but when they did, the crowd erupted in deafening white noise.
Wasting no time at all, frontman Dave King lead his group out on stage (Guinness in hands) and into the raucous “Requiem For A Dying Song.” Now I’ve been to a few shows in my day, from metal to hardcore bands and everything else in between. However, I have NEVER seen a gigantic pit open up so quickly. People flew like rag dolls from side to side, and the pit seemed to swirl and draw in more. And what did Flogging Molly do?
They added Irish fuel to the crowd’s fire.
Forget the Flogging Molly you know from the albums, this is a vastly different band in a live setting. Where Dennis Casey’s overdriven stabs are subdued on album mixes, live, his guitar is a mean buzz saw cutting through tracks like “Rebel’s Of The Sacred Heart” and the simply vicious “Devil’s Dance Floor.” All of this was kept in check by King’s newly wed wife, Bridget Regan, tying it all together with syrupy fiddle and wistful pan pipes.
Perhaps most interesting about Flogging Molly live is how their energy simply transforms every song into a vital statement. The up-tempo “Tobacco Island” shifted into a ferocious monster, soaked in equal parts banjo and caustic guitar. Similarly, “Float” build from hazy acoustic guitars and somber vocals, to a wall of dissonant Irish folk and King scraping his vocals against the microphone.
This band is a force live, and while I was initially taken aback by the softness of their latest album Float, I ate my words as these arrangements came across powerfully during their set. The Joe Strummer dedicated “Lightning Storm” offered up heavy helpings of blistering hardcore that I normally reserve for their Boston equals, the Dropkick Murphys. Over the course of the night, King's vocal balanced between mournful croon to whiskey rasp, but always begging the audience to join him.
But above all, there was a majestic connection that Flogging Molly set up with the crowd. They provided a sweeping and soundscape with “Whistles The Wind” as concert goers climbed trees and light posts alike. And as the night set died down to it’s final numbers, the band seemed almost happy and grateful that the crowd had suffered through the inundation of advertisements just to see them.
“This song is about one thing: Freedom.” Stated King before launching into a brutal take on “What’s Left Of The Flag.” The crowd hung on every palm mute, every galloping fill, and every stop-on-a-dime tempo change the group threw at them. The pit pushed and pulled, and the Guinness soaked seven piece floored everyone in the park with conviction and punk fervor.
No ticket can buy that connection for someone, and I guess I’m lucky that I saw it for free.
(****½)
To experience some of the insanity of Flogging Molly live, click the picture above!
There are two types of Beck albums.
One type is outrageous, bombastic, and nonsensical. Truth be told, this is how the world first got to know Beck Hansen, through the bizarre genre mish-mashings of Odelay and the glitzy absurdism of Midnite Vultures. That being said, there is another type of Beck album, one more contemplative and melancholy in scope. His penchant for richly detailed songs wasn’t lost but the tempos slowed on albums like Mutations and Sea Change, with Beck exploring his inner psyche in uncomfortable honesty and beautiful poetry.
Modern Guilt is of THAT kind of Beck album.
Yet unlike recent albums that tried to marry these two types of albums together, Modern Guilt is Beck’s sparsest work yet. The record is ominous and gripping as he explores the modern wasteland with striking precision and frustration.
He sets the ball rolling with the folk inspired opening, “Orphans.” Beginning with pulsing beats, ethereal guitars, and jangling percussion, Beck spends time deciphering how he fits into this foreign landscape of modernity. With lines like, “If we could learn how to freeze ourselves alive/We could learn to leave these burdens to burn…” it’s clear that Beck’s concerns lie in our ability to find meaning in a manufactured culture.
The track serves as a perfect introduction because throughout the album’s 10 tracks, Beck attempts desperately to find his place in today’s society as well as the means to carry forward within it. The haunting “Chemtrails” is all at once perfect at encapsulating this lyrically as well as sonically. Lines like, “So many people/So many people/Where do they go?/You and me watching a sky…” evokes the somber image of futility due to our own apathy and neglect. The grim wall of sound is littered with rolling drumming, hazy guitars, and Beck’s spectral croon leaving a lasting and unsettling impression on listeners.
It’s like watching the most beautiful disaster unfold before your eyes.
There are a plethora of decaying images in Modern Guilt, and many of them pointed at us. Songs like “Gamma Ray” implement metaphors of melting ice caps where “Youthless” points the finger at junk culture’s “wordless hymns” and non-meanings. But rather that beat you over the head with left-wing elitism, Beck isn’t about blaming as he’s about the "Why?" He doesn’t so much point out our society’s short comings, but our inability to move past them, and the numbness that accompanies buying into this bleak landscape.
And all of these themes serve Beck’s music well, for the shuffling snares and skittering electronic squiggles making the songs revel in their spaciousness as well as their frailty. Danger Mouse was the perfect choice to help produce this record. The fluttering and fuzzy samples on “Replica” undercut Beck’s bleak voice and sweeping strings as Hansen deals with the idea of, “Making a perfect replica of your life…” Danger Mouse is all at once able to help Beck capture the cold essence of these themes and ideas, without having sacrificing warmth in sound. And where both Beck and Danger Mouse have been known to make eclectic records that border on abrasive sound collages, Modern Guilt comes across as graceful rather than overwhelming.
Whether it’s the whining distortion of the Doors inspired “Soul Of A Man” or the surf rock thumping of “Gamma Ray,” both these men have created songs that hide enough intricacies to surprise people on repeated listens, as well as offer up really immediately grabbing hooks. But unlike the string soaked tension of Sea Change, everything on Modern Guilt is subtle, slowly envelops, and is surprisingly percussive. Sure, nothing is as beat-you-over-the-head-obvious as “Devil’s Haircut” or “E-Pro,” but these tracks ebb and flow with a lingering sense of openness and black mirth.
Yet make no mistake, when Beck decides to be tuneful it doesn’t under cut the weighty themes he’s dealing with.
The jaunt “Modern Guilt” is a true stand out with its warm bass, scuffling beat, and 8-bit flourishes. Beck describes how his alienation and isolation somehow permeate through the simplest of his interactions, binding him together with those he comes into contact with. The whole thing is Beatle-equse, and the descending piano line latches onto your brain for days.
But like all great journeys, Modern Guilt eventually comes to an end, with the echoing funeral march of “Volcano.” Sporting the heaviest hip-hop beat on the record, the track is held together by crystal clear acoustic pluckings, somber backing vocals, and skittering electronics. It’s here that Beck becomes the extent of his own personified guilt, “I don’t know where I’ve been/But I know where I’m going…” That statement speaks volumes about where Beck sees us and himself, and it serves as the sum of all his existential angst with its emptiness and melancholy.
In short, Modern Guilt is THAT kind of record, and perhaps one of Beck’s greatest triumphs to date.
Sounds Like: Sea Change (Beck), The Doors (The Doors), Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga (Spoon)
Key Cuts: Chemtrails, Modern Guilt, Volcano
Click the artwork to sample some of Modern Guilt for yourself!
Summer has bitten me with the worst case of procrastination imaginable. I think when you have little to do, your brain shuts down. My time has been spent catching up on reading, practicing my remediable guitar skills, geeking out over House M.D., and counting down the days until I return to Rohnert Park for my summer class. As such, I apologize for offering sparse content in a schedule that affords me the time to provide it.
However, I'm going to change that. Slightly.
Starting tomorrow, I'll be instituting an ongoing series on this blog called "Classic Videos." Quite simply, with the help of the wonderful streaming capabilities available on the Internet, I'll be posting music videos 4 times a month on this blog. These are videos that I feel have stood the test of time, and hold a special place in my memory and heart. Hopefully, they'll do the same for others and even inspire some sort of nostalgia for a time where the medium of the music video meant something more than just flashing how big your rims are, or how many bottles of Cristal you can waste.
Secondly, I'll be reviewing the new Beck album Modern Guilt very very soon. I feel this is worth mentioning only because I'm still digesting the album's nuances but I'm really excited to review it.
Oh, and it's pretty good.
Lastly, a good friend of mine, Nathanial Garrod, asked my opinion on something and I thought blogging would be the perfect medium to answer his question. A few weeks ago, Nathanial asked me if I heard the song "Handlebars" by The Flobots, and what I thought about it/them. Knowing nothing (and never hearing) this band before, I turned to YouTube to aide me in understanding what had peaked Nathanial's interest.
At first listen, I was a tad taken back by Jonny 5's less than stellar delivery behind the microphone, but I suppose if Kanye West can get away with being an underdeveloped MC so can this guy. 5's delivery is choppy and rather than flowing effortlessly to allow his purple prose through, he crams as many metaphors as he can into his rhymes. Lyrically, he seems to be preoccupied with humanity's infinite potential being trapped within our self-defeating cycles of violence and hate. He uses the metaphor of "riding a bike with no handle bars" as merely a small feat of achievement and goes on to list many more testing everything from his academia to his compassion.
Bottome line, it's lyrically hit or miss.
But the music itself is where The Flobots really shine. Beginning from nimbly plucked violin strings, "Handlebars" plods along with with scratchy bass, bold trumpets, and scrambling snare patterns that will keep listeners interested long after the rhymes bore them. There are touches of fuzzy, overdriven, guitar that lace the chorus, but it's mostly done just to make the hook seem bigger than it actually is. However, The Flobots unconventional take on alternative hip-hop reminds me of some other noteworthy bands from the 90s such as Digable Planets and Arrested Development; if nothing else, their half-baked politics about peace and love were always well supported by great musical compositions.
And that's always worth checking out.
