Headless Hollow posts, categorised for your convenience and enjoyment. On this page you’ll find posts vaguely related to Music.
Live music review: The Strokes
I actually saw The Strokes almost a month ago, which shows how slack I’ve been updating the Hollow lately. This is the second time I’ve seen the band live, and it was interesting to compare the two gigs, which were both at the Hordern Pavilion, one of my favourite (and one of the oldest) venues in Sydney. One of the great things about the Hordern is a ticket entitles you to get in and stand around—no reserved seats, no jumped-up security telling you to sit down, just take your beer in and stake a place.
Anyway, I wish I’d reviewed that first gig here, because it was the best I’ve seen in years. It was the first visit of The Strokes to our shores, just after the release of their second album Room of Fire, and it was clear they were blown away by the audience reaction. There was an exciting, positive vibe, and I walked out drenched in sweat and grinning my head off (and feeling pretty good that I could still dance into a frenzy at a gig at the age of almost forty).
Of course, things have changed. Three albums in and The Strokes have almost become mainstream, and the crowd was a very different kettle of kids. Unfortunately we were standing next to a group of arseholes overfuelled on testosterone, and when the band kicked off with ‘Juicebox’ from the new album First Impressions of Earth we immediately felt as if we’d been thrown into the middle of a Hitler Youth rally. Fists and devil horn gestures (oh, come on) thrust into the sky as, purposely bashing into those around them, the dickheads who’d just discovered the band last week proceeded to ruin the night. My girl shot me a slightly panicked look so we allowed ourselves to be squirted back about twenty rows where things were a bit quieter, losing our friend in the process. He later told us he’d been fuming because one of these guys made some crack about his age. Yeah right, I bet that arsehole will still be going to gigs at my friend’s age.
But how were the band? Sure, they were as tight as ever, but unfortunately some of the magic has leached away. That youthful, enthusiastic edge has gone, no doubt battered into submission by the drudgery of thousands of gigs all over the world. The new album tries to move into new territory, but to me it’s almost as if the band has become a little ashamed of the feel-good nature of its earlier material. This is a shame, as not many bands these days are able to craft such perfect pop-rock, and it’s a skill they should be proud of. The material from the first two albums was still the best live, contrasting with parts of the new tracks that felt like they were just taking up space in between the choruses.
I may think twice about seeing the band next time they’re out here, but that first gig, at least, will always be remembered as one of the best I’ve been to. It’s a shame The Strokes can’t play with the enthusiasm of youth forever. Then again, they still have the potential to mature into something even better.
Dandys at the Gaelic
Saw The Dandy Warhols at the Gaelic Club on Saturday night. A vast improvement over the last time I saw them at the Enmore Theatre, the Gaelic being a small venue as opposed to theatre-sized, so we were only about ten heads from the front. The place was packed, the mix was good and the band was in fine form, and I was pleased they’d brought their trumpet player with them this time, which really added a lot to the sound. Songs from the new album Odditorium went down well, but the real crowd-pleasers are still Boys Better, Bohemian Like You and Not If You Were the Last Junkie on Earth.
The Dandys seem far more suited to small venues like this one than concert halls. At the end of the concert Courtney—man that guy can strike a pose!—gave a long and heartfelt thankyou to the crowd (perhaps he was impressed by us all singing Happy Birthday to Peter Holmstrom), and then Zia came on to end the night with an cappella version of Joplin’s Mercedes Benz which of course everyone joined in on after the ‘everybody’! Great night. Next gig I’m really looking forward to? The Shins on Jan 9.
She’s back
I just finished listening to the first new Kate Bush song in 12 years—the new single King of the Mountain. Follow the link and click on ‘Listen Again’—the song is about 37 minutes into the show (you can fast forward but not rewind). You’ll need Realplayer.
I haven’t been this excited about a new music release in years. The new album Aerial is out October 24th (more info here) and the official site is launched Nov 7.
I know twelve years have passed, but I couldn’t get that horrible thing she did with Prince on The Red Shoes out of my head, and I was afraid that her new work would try to be ‘poppy’ like that again. Well, to my great relief, on the strength of this single it seems Kate is back to her own unique and much-loved self. The song is atmospheric and a bit creepy, and takes its time building to one of those wonderful richly textured crescendos she does so well. I can hardly wait to hear it on a good stereo and have it grow on me as I know it will.
My last memory of a new Kate album is The Red Shoes, which I first played lying on my bed with headphones on in total darkness, savouring every moment. While it isn’t her best work it’s still head and shoulders over the output of most musicians. Like so many others I’ve missed new music from her more than I’ve realised. Masterworks like The Kick Inside, The Dreaming, The Hounds of Love … these albums have been the soundtrack to my life.
Good things take time they say—hopefully that’s true in this case, and this new album turns out to be something very special …
Update: Just discovered it will be a double album! Hallelujah!
By the way, this is my 100th post here on Headless Hollow. Thanks for stopping by, dear reader.
Live music review: Doves
I’ve been playing in bands live for almost fifteen years, and if there’s one thing that frustrates above all else, it’s playing really well and having your sound ruined by some inexperienced, incompetent or even malicious sound guy. We’ve all heard stories of the support band’s sound mix being purposely sabotaged by the main band’s mixer—yep, it happens. But the biggest problem is that sound mixing, though probably the most crucial part of the live music experience, is one of those things that—along with graphic design and abstract art—everyone thinks they can do, given a go.
This rather long-winded prologue brings me to the Doves gig last night at the Metro. To my delight the band seemed to be able to reproduce the complexities of their sound live, with the help of an excellent keyboardist. But all their hard work was ravaged by the sound guy. The mix was muddy and without top end, and the vocals were a blurry mess. There was no clarity in the guitar sounds, and the drumkit was one loud, very acoustic-sounding snare with virtually no cymbals or toms. Blissfully unaware of how all their hard work wasn’t translating, the band played beautifully. At the very least, I suppose a fan like me could fill in the gaps with his memory of the songs, but my companions didn’t know the band well. We all missed out on what could have been a fantastic, memorable experience.
Doves, for the love of God sack your sound man. Arrogant bastard that I am, I leaned over after the gig (I happened to be standing behind and above the sound desk all night) and told him what a disappointment the mix was, and his harried response was to blame the Metro’s PA. Umm, no good mate, I’ve seen scores of great gigs at the Metro with excellent sound. I’m afraid you’re just crap at your job. The problem is, you brought the Doves down with you.
Anyway, go buy the CDs—Lost Souls, The Last Broadcast and Some Cities are all multi-layered, rewarding albums.
This gig—two muddy washes of sound out of five.
Live music review: Tori Amos
I imagine living with Tori Amos would be an exhausting experience; she comes across as 100% intense, involved, creative—almost not of this earth. I just can’t see her sitting in front of the TV eating takeway in track pants. Which is a shame, as a little more of a human connection would have been just the thing on Saturday night at the Sydney Opera House, where I saw her perform. The concert was intense, but emotional in a detached, ethereal, slightly scary kind of way. And that kind of experience ratcheted up to the top level of intensity for almost two hours can be exhausting, even draining.
As my girlfriend, who is not really a fan, pointed out, one of the best parts of the concert was ‘Tori’s Piano Bar’, where she played a couple of requests previously sent in by fans—in this case Suzanne by Leonard Cohen and Don McLean’s Vincent (Starry Starry Night). Unlike Tori’s songs, these two had room to breathe, and she played them beautifully, her strong voice filling the concert hall and complemented by a restrained but lovely light show.
Her own songs sometimes didn’t fare quite so well, and I missed the grounding prescence that a band usually gives to her sometimes self-indulgent pauses and phrasings. An example was Tear in Your Hand, from her first album Little Earthquakes, which was too drawn out and lost the strength of the original. The new songs from her most recent album The Beekeeper were more effective, perhaps because I have yet to hear the album versions. The eponymous song, in particular, had a wonderful repetitive organ line, which she played in a spotlight like a supplicant at an altar (an impression reinforced by the long flowing white dress and red hair).
There was not an empty seat in the house, and the audience were obviously ecstatic fans—mostly groups of women in their early twenties, I noticed. In fact we must have been one of the rare incidents of a male fan accompanied by a female non-fan. Oh well, I’m a Kate Bush fan too.
Tori’s voice was powerful to the last, hanging in the air at the end of each song; and her playing was amazingly assured and strong. But there was an imaginary wall hanging in the air between performer and audience. That word ‘intense’ keeps coming back to mind. Intensity is a wonderful thing when tempered by contrast, but alone as here, it can drown out the possibility of a real emotional connection.
Four earth mothers out of five (PS Thanks for the tickets babe!).
