Thunder and Lightning with a Chance of Suuns
There are some nights that the weather truly sets the mood. Never was that more true than last Tuesday when I went to experience the minimalistic, avant-garde band Suuns. With thunder streaking through the purple night sky, I entered the fabulous Lincoln Hall, where beer prices leave you with an awkward amount of change, and every male, including me, has facial hair. I had never heard of Suuns, and had no idea why there was an extra “u” in the name, but I was ready for something weird. The small stage was set, and I prepared myself to hear something new and awesome.
And I was not disappointed. Montreal based Suuns, formally known as Zeroes, came on stage and delivered a performance for the crowd, but more importantly for themselves. They legitimately seemed to be having a great time, and who could blame them? With music that involved incredibly fast guitar riffs, intense solos that went beyond the fret board, and music you just can’t help but brood to, Suuns delivered everything I wanted on that stormy Tuesday night. It was the perfect venue and soundtrack to match my mood; dark, intense, questioning, transitional and mind expanding. Under the disco balls and upside down Devo hats of the Lincoln Hall stage, I could just sit in the back, nod my head, and say hell yeah.
Suuns cannot be compared to any one band. Sure their music has dozens of influences, but they can’t be categorized into just one style. Part dance mix, part rave, part rock, part metal, this band doesn’t fit into a genre, but transcends them all. Opener “Arena”, available for download here, (http://www.scjag.com/mp3/sc/arena.mp3) is the perfect introduction to the band. Upbeat and cyclical, it completely surrounds you and invites you in. The kind of music that makes you feel high just by listening to it.
Several songs of the four-manned Suuns had no bass, which didn’t diminish the feel at all, but solidified the fact that this was a band that can’t be classified. Every member of the band was multi-talented, switching from bass, to guitar to keyboards mid-set. They even tricked me several times, leading into a false ending where I began to clap, right before popping right back into a subterranean pop beat.
While most of the show had a brooding, too-cool-for-the-mainstream-scene feel, there was one moment that caught me completely off guard. About halfway through their set, they switched gears by playing a two minute long head banging, speed metal song that felt out of place an unwelcome at the predominately laid back, experimenting college crowd.
At the end of the night, as the weather cleared, the thunder settled and I walked home, it felt like I had truly witnessed something special. So may times I’ve gone to a show to see a mainstream band, or a blockbuster movie that is so bloated trying to please a mass audience, that it loses all creativity and originality it once had. This cannot be said for the completely inventive Suuns, who love throwing in extra vowels when appropriate, shredding to experimental electronica influenced rock, and playing for whoever will come to listen. So get out there, go to great places in Chicago and see bands you’ve never heard before. Take advantage that we all live in Chi-town where new, hip, music is as much a part of our city as our shitty winters.
Learn more about Suuns, and download free tracks at http://secretlycanadian.com/artist.php?name=suuns
*photo by Eric Gasca
Foals at Lincoln Hall
They say that pets look like their owners, and maybe fans look like their favorite bands. Based on the audience at Foal’s Lincoln Hall show, the average fan is an identikit of lead singer Yannis Philippakis ; often quite short, overwhelmingly male and wearing a checked shirt. That’s no complaint. I’m a big Lady Gaga fan, so this explains why I am wearing a baloney bra and hat shaped like a pterodactyl as I type this review.
Oxford University drop-outs Foals hadn’t visited Chicago for a while, and the crowd are beside themselves with excitement. From the first chord of opening song “Total Life Forever”, the fans are carried along by the sinuous guitars and tribal rhythms of Foals. Touring their well-received second album “Total Life Forever”, Foals played a mix of old and new, to a rapturous audience.
Foals are all business and after a quick “Hi Chicago, we’re happy to be here” it’s heads down, heads banging, fingers flying. Questions about whether or not they are actually a math rock band fly out of the window as they present their complex punk rock, trancy, tribal beats. This is music to dance to; juddering bass lines (reminiscent of The Cure), filled in with jagged guitars and intricate drumming. The crowd chants along, arms aloft. Yannis crowd surfs and climbs the speakers, like a cool Bono who has come to take your head off with songs like “Two Steps, Twice” and “Olympic Airways.” He once said he wanted “to fucking destroy the music industry from the inside out”. Based on tonight’s performance, I don’t doubt Foals could do it.
I Saw "Thee Oh Sees" At Shipshape Lincoln Hall
Lincoln Hall is, hands down, the weirdest concert venue I’ve ever set foot in.
And I’ve been to The Fireside Bowl.
I made my L.H. debut last Wednesday night for Thee Oh Sees, a garage pop outfit from San Francisco, about whom my roommate had said, “I think I’ve heard they’re pretty much pretty good.”
They were just so.
Lincoln Hall, too, was a pretty much pretty good place to see music performed. Opened in 2009 by the owners of Southport Ave.’s Schuba’s, L.H. is the renovated Fullerton Theatre of 1912, which most recently housed the 3 Penny Cinema. It’s on Lincoln, just north of Fullerton in Lincoln Park. The venue feels like it’s on Lincoln, just north of Fullerton in Lincoln Park. Which is not a bad thing, exactly, but it makes seeing punk performed there a little weird.
It was almost too nice a venue.
First things first: I headed for the men’s room – little did I know that I’d be micturating in the most pristine bathroom that a music venue about to put on a punk-ish show has ever presented to the world. It was . . . weird. The urinals themselves, for instance, were shaped like 1960’s mod chairs, the shape and color of massive eggs inset into the wall, with each egg missing what could only be termed its front hatch. Why would you make a urinal look this way?
Furthermore, and perhaps more noteworthy - there was not a drop of graffiti in the joint. Not one mark in the bathroom of a concert venue. Not an exploded pens worth of hieroglyphics. Zilch. Nada. There were some flyers put up on the door, but they were arranged tastefully in columns and rows, all of them advertising the upcoming Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s show (Sept. 19). Conspicuously, nobody had torn any of the flyers down, nor desecrated them with blasphemy, awful song lyrics, or phone numbers and the reasons one might be prevailed upon to call them. It was pure Twilight Zone, I tell you. I got out of there as soon as I could.
Lincoln Hall is divided into two sections: there’s an antechamber with tall circular tables set on crane legs resting under soft lighting. There's full bar featuring two smiling bartenders and a kitchen lurks somewhere nearby because there are lots of food scraps left on the tall tables. And then there’s the second room: the stage room. The stage room’s walls are exposed brick until they meet intricate metalwork that spins and curls up to the stage room bar, a bar with plenty of on-tap beer options and built-in wood-paneled shelves that hold bottles of expensive-looking liquor, each bottle backlit by a little light fixture in a way that renders the bottle’s contents into highly desirable shades of gold.
Let it be known that I’m not trying to paint L.H. in hoity-toity pen-strokes. I don’t actually think it is very pretentious or haughty, and I think that most people who might claim to feel that way are simply reacting to the unexpected. L.H. is actually quite warm, both temperature-wise and in the feelings it evokes. Unzipping my hooded sweatshirt, I took in a crowd of mostly thirty-something alternative types dressed in plaid shirts and tight to semi-tight jeans or Dockers. Almost everybody drank beer either out of plastic cups or glasses, chatting amicably in clusters, apologizing when they bumped into one another during a particularly demonstrative retelling of a story. It’s a warm place that just happens to be nice.
The first band of the evening is Paul Cary. I think. They never actually say their name, and they’re a three-piece group, Possibly Paul Cary is - guitar-keys-drums - with a lead singer/guitar player whose gravelly vocals crack in all the right places as it's transmitted through old-school ribbon microphone effects. P.P.C.’s sound is bluesy and melodic, like a more melancholy version of some The Strokes’s songs. The keyboard sounds good when you can hear it, which isn’t often enough. The lead singer (possibly Paul Cary himself?) should annunciate better. I caught maybe every third word. And the guitar playing trends towards the simple - especially the solos, which were not understated so much as casual, and far from the blues-driven self-expression I’d been hoping to hear.
Up next is Hot Machines, who thankfully identify themselves as such. They’re a really fun band, a jump-around squawking punk band that’s mostly upbeat. They employ both a male and a female singer, and Hot Machines are at their best when the two of them overlap voices, the melodies and arpeggios commingling, her chirps bisecting his microphone-effected crooning. The lady singer, Miss Alex-White (according to MySpace), has a great, rangy voice that’s smoky and seductive on their one slower song, and I wish we could have heard her full range more often. As it was, she stuck mostly to chirping. She also has great, massive hair, billowing curly hair that’s red or gold or American cheese yellow, often all three shades in one song when the stage lighting flickers back and forth across the color spectrum. Like this evening’s openers, Hot Machines are largely indecipherable. I believe I heard not infrequently the words, “Fire” and “Go,” but can offer little more than that in regard to their lyrical selections. And I was listening. My lamentations about understanding words might make me come off like a hearing aid-straddling octogenarian, but, man, let me at least a little bit into what you’re trying to do lyrically. Slurring ninety-five percent of its lyrics makes a band sound insecure, not indifferent. Likewise, like a lot of punk bands, Hot Machines are musically repetitive. After twenty minutes it all starts to blend together, I think, feeling again like an out of touch old-person, though I might be the youngest guy here. Music should take risks, and surely Hot Machines took one in their determination to play this music of fire and go, but the risks seem to have faltered there, confined to choices of style and tone instead of exotic instrumentation. Deviate and be rewarded. As is, however, they’re still barrels of fun.
Thee Oh Sees go on last. They’re a San Francisco outfit once known as Orange County Sound, which doesn’t make too much geographical sense, but who knows? Live music can be wonderful because just when you’ve fallen in love with an opening act, when you’ve determined that they’ve got a great sound, decided that they should go places far and wide, the headliner comes on and reminds everybody in attendance about how inventive, poppy music can really sound. The headliner tells us what it’s like to own true showmanship; they let us see for certain how a band’s cleverly crafted dynamic can play out on stage before our very eyes. Thee Oh Sees perform twangy, slippery punk songs with surfeit energy and verve. They craft catchy melodies to be sung over by lead singer John Dwyer, whose stage presence is phenomenal. He whirls around and kicks his legs, dancing, holding his guitar high on his chest like a machinegun or placing it headstock down on the ground while drummer Mike Shoun unleashes a vicious, five-minute drum solo. Dwyer has so much life in him that he cannot help but end nearly every poppy line with a “Whoop!” or a “Yip!” and by the end of the night those whoops and yips feel trademarked to him and to him alone, and I will think of Thee Oh Sees when I hear a dog yip or a crane whoop for a long time to come. Dwyer has so much stage presence that half the time it feels like he is up there performing by himself while the eyes of his comparatively humdrum band mates follow him around, distractedly playing their instruments, taking in the show as an on-stage audience.
Thee Oh Sees’ sound is hard to describe with anything approaching a realized fullness, but that’s because they’re originals. There are traces of Devo in the melodies, I suppose, and particles of surf rock, too. When Dwyer solos it sounds like he’s improvising, and he might be, taking off whole bars at a time between notes, then returning with a flurry up the guitar neck and back down it again before rediscovering the melody. The solos, and virtually everything about Thee Oh Sees, feels patient, in spite of their fast tempo. Patience welded to experimentation sounds like inspiration, even if its all been hashed out ahead of time. They just sound alive - eagerly alive – playing the same three chords in every charming song.
On my weirdest nights, it is nice to know that I have, at least, been charmed.
http://www.myspace.com/ohsees
http://www.myspace.com/hotmachines
http://www.lincolnhallchicago.com/
The Antlers at Lincoln Hall
“Maybe it’s just Thursday,” remarked Antlers leader Peter Silberman to a packed crowd at Lincoln Hall, “but it feels like there’s magic in the air.” The resulting roar of approval and the alternating moments of fragile quiet and powerful release throughout the band’s memorable set indicated that Silberman may have been on to something.
The Brooklyn-based trio of Silberman, keyboardist Darby Cicci and drummer Michael Lerner returned, after playing in February at The Vic with popular UK act Editors, as a headliner to Chicago, in support of the critically acclaimed 2009 LP Hospice. The buzz surrounding the album and a Chicago fan base bolstered by multiple local performances during the past year made the show a weekday sellout, and the band delivered a solid hour and a half set focused largely on Hospice but featuring a smattering of songs from prior releases, a bit of new material, and a dirge-like cover of “VCR,” made popular by Londoners The xx.
Atmosphere was a key to The Antlers’ performance, and the stage show was simple yet effective. Contrasting with a completely dark house, the stage was bathed in alternating monochromatic light for much of the set, and blasts of smoke encircled the band and created a haze that reached to the back of the venue. Small potted plants sat atop Silberman’s effects setup and Cicci’s weathered Rhodes piano, and added a subtle contrast to songs fixated upon illness and death (Hospice is a concept album revolving around a medical worker’s blossoming relationship with a terminal cancer patient).
Any concern that slow tempos and a general funereal quality to most of the band’s songs would make for a less-than-compelling performance was quickly allayed. As frontman, Silberman was surprisingly talkative, and the band’s emotional, energetic stage presence gave a drive to the songs that is present in the recordings could potentially have been difficult to reproduce effectively in a live setting. Lerner’s drums and a programmed bass track gave punch to the swells of guitar and ambient sound that accompanied the louder portions of songs like Hospice standouts and fan favorites “Two” and “Kettering.” Silberman’s voice, alternating between a falsetto reminiscent of Jeff Buckley and a controlled tenor, nicely filled the room and held most of Lincoln Hall’s two levels at attention for the duration of the show.
In just nine months since their abbreviated appearance at the 2009 Pitchfork Music Festival, The Antlers have become vastly more assured as a live band and the songs of Hospice have taken on new qualities that can only be discovered through performing them night in and night out. The band’s next performance in Chicago takes place at this summer’s incarnation of the Lollapalooza festival, and checking them out is highly recommended. More information about the band, Hospice and upcoming concerts can be found at their official Myspace page: http://www.myspace.com/theantlers .
Xiu Xiu and Tune-yards at Lincoln Hall
Joining Xiu Xiu for his tour was a surprising treat called Tune-yards. Consisting of multi-instrumentalist Merrill Garbus, with some help from a bassist, Tune-yards exhibited some of the most impressive live looping and song creation that I've ever seen. Garbus' voice alone was an incredible talent. Using several different styles, often in the same song, she conquered the range of throaty yells, fluttering falsettos, powerful belts, even a unique type of yodeling. On top of vocal duties Garbus also operated the looping device, creating rhythms and voice harmonies right before your eyes and triggering them during the songs. She situated herself between a floor tom and a snare, using the rims and mic stands percussively in developing beats. When she wasn't banging the tom and snare she was playing what appeared to be an electric ukulele.
In my excitement I did purchase Tune-yards' CD, but unfortunately the album does not do justice to what I had witnessed. While it works as a nice reminder of their performance, it lacks the entrancing grip that their live demonstration provides. The album, titled Bird-brains, is a pleasant and intimate listen but with a lo-fi quality that dampens the expectations I pulled from the show. The sound in Lincoln Hall was fantastic, and all aspects of the songs shined. While there are a few songs on the CD that I can still enjoy(such as Sunlight and Hatari) and many that are downright relaxing, this act is best in the flesh.
Xiu Xiu took the stage quietly and began with a gentle opener. Employing his trademark near-tremble sing, Jamie Stewart imparted a somber song: “My father was the second man to be inside you...” His vocals are passionate, confession-like utterings, teetering with intensity and often breaking into emotional outbursts. Beside Stewart's voice and guitar was Angela Seo, who would tinker with the many backing electronic devices and controls. In contrast to the simplicity of Tune-yards' setup, Xiu Xiu surrounded themselves with tall cymbal stands and various percussion, along with a large table cluttered with visible wires and knobs. The toys are not superfluous either, this being especially clear when your ears are under assault from the noise avalanches that occur within half of Xiu Xiu's repertoire. Both members have a go at the equipment, operating the many dials and gizmos laid about like surgical utensils.
The music of Xiu Xiu is a difficult thing to describe. Albums will usually run the range of overloaded sound experimentation to delicate acoustic numbers. Lyrics, when discernible, primarily will wield a sort of depressing if not disturbing weight. Some of the audience will laugh at certain lines of dark humor, while others may get turned off or even genuinely concerned with how acutely Jamie Stewart delivers his themes. If they are funny it's because they are so piercingly sharp that if you weren't laughing you'd be crying. One thing I did not anticipate at a Xiu Xiu show was dancing, but this night the set was very beat heavy. Don't let that mislead you into thinking it was upbeat and bright, as it could hardly be considered as such with lyrics like “Dear god I hate myself, dear god I hate myself...”
I highly recommend seeing this show if you get the chance. Xiu Xiu and Tune-yards possess fine performance abilities, and despite having little similarities in sound their coupling provided for quite the enjoyable evening. Remaining dates on this tour can be found on Xiu Xiu's website:
You can also check out Tune-yards' website here:
The Bowerbirds Felt Right at Home Saturday at Lincoln Hall
The Bowerbirds headlined Saturday, January 16th, at Lincoln Hall as part of the Tomorrow Never Knows festival. The Bowerbirds are an indie folk band consisting of Phil Moore on guitar and lead vocals, Beth Tacular on accordion, keyboards and vocals, and Dan “Yan” Westerlund on drums, keyboards and vocals.
Xiu Xiu and TuNe-YaRdS
Joining Xiu Xiu for his tour was a surprising treat called Tune-yards. Consisting of multi-instrumentalist Merrill Garbus, with some help from a bassist, Tune-yards exhibited some of the most impressive live looping and song creation that I've ever seen. Garbus' voice alone was an incredible talent. Using several different styles, often in the same song, she conquered the range of throaty yells, fluttering falsettos, powerful belts, even a unique type of yodeling. On top of vocal duties Garbus also operated the looping device, creating rhythms and voice harmonies right before your eyes and triggering them during the songs. She situated herself between a floor tom and a snare, using the rims and mic stands percussively in developing beats. When she wasn't banging the tom and snare she was playing what appeared to be an electric ukulele.
In my excitement I did purchase Tune-yards' CD, but unfortunately the album does not do justice to what I had witnessed. While it works as a nice reminder of their performance, it lacks the entrancing grip that their live demonstration provides. The album, titled Bird-brains, is a pleasant and intimate listen but with a lo-fi quality that dampens the expectations I pulled from the show. The sound in Lincoln Hall was fantastic, and all aspects of the songs shined. While there are a few songs on the CD that I can still enjoy(such as Sunlight and Hatari) and many that are downright relaxing, this act is best in the flesh.
Xiu Xiu took the stage quietly and began with a gentle opener. Employing his trademark near-tremble sing, Jamie Stewart imparted a somber song: “My father was the second man to be inside you...” His vocals are passionate, confession-like utterings, teetering with intensity and often breaking into emotional outbursts. Beside Stewart's voice and guitar was Angela Seo, who would tinker with the many backing electronic devices and controls. In contrast to the simplicity of Tune-yards' setup, Xiu Xiu surrounded themselves with tall cymbal stands and various percussion, along with a large table cluttered with visible wires and knobs. The toys are not superfluous either, this being especially clear when your ears are under assault from the noise avalanches that occur within half of Xiu Xiu's repertoire. Both members have a go at the equipment, operating the many dials and gizmos laid about like surgical utensils.
The music of Xiu Xiu is a difficult thing to describe. Albums will usually run the range of overloaded sound experimentation to delicate acoustic numbers. Lyrics, when discernible, primarily will wield a sort of depressing if not disturbing weight. Some of the audience will laugh at certain lines of dark humor, while others may get turned off or even genuinely concerned with how acutely Jamie Stewart delivers his themes. If they are funny it's because they are so piercingly sharp that if you weren't laughing you'd be crying. One thing I did not anticipate at a Xiu Xiu show was dancing, but this night the set was very beat heavy. Don't let that mislead you into thinking it was upbeat and bright, as it could hardly be considered as such with lyrics like “Dear god I hate myself, dear god I hate myself...”
I highly recommend seeing this show if you get the chance. Xiu Xiu and Tune-yards possess fine performance abilities, and despite having little similarities in sound their coupling provided for quite the enjoyable evening. Remaining dates on this tour can be found on Xiu Xiu's website:
You can also check out Tune-yards' website here:
