White Rabbits - Live Review

It’s not every day of the week (a Wednesday at midnight, specifically) that you see two drummers sharing a stage and one hell of a percussion set up. After the guitar fuzz cleared, White Rabbits’ dual drummers punched up the first song of the night, their sticks first hitting in unison and then splitting into separate rhythms.

The NYC-by-way-of-Missouri band calls their music “honky tonky calypso,” drawing influences from reggae, ska, and big pop hooks. Perhaps that’s an appropriate categorization, but it’s hard to draw any kind of box around this dramatically unique sextet. When they took the stage at the Grog Shop last night, eyes flickered from one band member to the next in hopes of catching all the action. The problem? Too much to see, not enough eyeballs.

When members of the crowd weren’t “drumming” on their thighs to “The Plot,” off the band’s debut, Fort Nightly, they were nodding in rhythm with the bass on “They Done Wrong/We Done Wrong,” one of the band’s many Spoon-like songs. (That should not come as a huge surprise; Spoon’s Britt Daniel produced It’s Frightening, their latest album, earlier this year after the two bands toured together.) The twinkle of the piano and softly distorted guitars bring the rock to the music, a mix of melodic sweetness and jutting edginess.

What holds everything together throughout, though, is the beat. White Rabbits ended the set with “Percussion Gun,” their very aptly-named single. Alternating bursts of spastic and punchy drumming always sounded incredibly catchy on the album, but feeling and seeing the intensity in person brought the music to life.

POST 100

In honor of my 100th post to No Mistake in Mixtape, I invite you to join me.

In the next month or so, I will be at all of these shows, in Cleveland.

white rabbits.
ten out of tenn.
japandroids.
langhorne slim.
st. vincent.
loney, dear.
matthew perryman jones.
drummer.
nicole atkins.
dan auerbach/justin townes earle.

Celebrate with me! See a good show!

Weezer, An Epic Story

While it seems impossible, and improbable at best, Weezer has accomplished it. It is what we call irrelevance. In a manner.

Today is my birthday. I knew I needed a freaking great album for my drive to work today, something that would temporarily subvert the mundane qualities of my everyday life. And today, I looked down at my very limited CD collection (let's face it, I probably need an iPod converter for my car), and AHA! I saw Weezer's Blue Album.

I had just rediscovered that I physically own this album while scoping out my little sister's room for a belt. I found no belt, but I did find some of our joint CD collection. She had them in her room! And she doesn't even live in our house anymore! These babies were abandoned! I promptly snatched Weezer, Rooney, City of Angels, No Doubt, and one more, I forget now. What a Discovery (and I don't mean that duo by Vampire Weekend dude and Ra Ra Riot dude, however awesome it is)!

As I rolled my windows down just slightly, and turned my car speakers up more than slightly, a smile rolled across my face. The smile was simultaneously matched by a ping of guilt. Guilt for my realization that Weezer's discography has taken a serious pitfall in the recent years. So much so, I think, that it might, and I stress might, imply that the older the Weezer record, the better the quality.

Blue is the absolute tops, though. The way the band manages to be slightly rough around the edges but still accomplish that perfect sparkling pop sound. The heavy guitars and the melodic vocals. It sparkles, it shines. It takes no prisoners. It was a relevation. One in which I realized, my ears were pointing me to something right back in middle and high school. It felt good.

Gone are the days of Blue, though, and here to stay are the "Ratitude" years. Collaborations with Max Martin? Collaborations with Outcast? Bejeezus freaking jesuchristo, what is Rivers Cuomo coming to? I never said I wanted uberpolished throwaway pop, guys! Even if it is a little catchy!

In ninth grade (or was it eighth?) I met a girl named Marie. I always said it back then. She was too cool for school. That girl knew music while the rest of us were still grooving to Incubus' "Drive." (But, dude, that song is great.) She loved Weezer. She later introduced me to Wilco, Elliott Smith, Metric. But, point here: she loved Weezer. She had a secret crush on a boy we dubbed "Weezer Boy." (I know! We were creative kids back then.) Yeah. They both loved Weezer. It started as a secret crush, and then a long term relationship involving love of Weezer. These kids were the coolest. What's my point? The cool kids, who were cool before we even knew what cool was, listened to Weezer back then. And now, everyone listens to Weezer. F. My dad listens to Weezer. He calls them Tweezer.

Let's go back in time. Let's live the Blue life again.

Grand Archives - Keep in Mind Frankenstein

Calling a band’s record a sleeper could be a compliment or a backhanded slap. Either it contains a set of songs perfectly poised for sleeping accommodation or it’s a series of seriously boring tunes. Keep in Mind Frankenstein falls into the former category. Mellow acoustic picking and the slow blossom of pedal steel serve as gentle backing for Mat Brooke’s comforting crooning. The Seattle-based band’s sophomore album includes some dark tunes inspired by haunted houses near their recording studio in Index, Washington. “Silent Echo Valley” is one of them. Grand Archives split the song into two parts, and while one is purely instrumental, the other stays true to its title with plenty of reverb. Not to worry, though; a few minor chord progressions wont be enough to turn dreams into nightmares. While keeping pace with the rest of the album, one song that might disrupt sleep patterns is “Left For All the Strays,” with its infusion of tuneful harmonica and egg shakers. Its gorgeous effect is proof that the four members Grand Archives could benefit from a little more spring in their step. For now, sweet dreams.

Owen, Two Years Ago

Notes I took at a Kevin Devine concert two years ago. Opening acts were Andy Hull of Manchester Orchestra and Owen.

Here are my notes about Owen.

I hate him. He’s wearing the same shirt as the last time I saw him a year ago. “I don’t care how you do or don’t your hair. You’re ugly on the inside.” 5th grade? He talked about Dennis Kucinich. But I cannot deny that he has talent and his confidence does him good there. The picking was more well-refined than Hull and his voice seemed more natural and had more flow. As much as I think he’s a cocky, immature little bastard, his show was significantly better than the last time I saw him. I felt at points like I was getting a lecture from my 1st grade teacher about important qualities to look for in friends, how to deal with hurt. It’s like Toy Story with a solid acoustic soundtrack. Guitar was layered like a harp at points. He might be really good in Rent or some musical where you have to tell a story. Jonathan Larson? School of Rock. His lyrics are targeted to 1st graders who drink beer and have sex. Harp-like sessions – could meander through the forest or prance through meadows.

Yup, my notes are not cohesive. And yup, as much as it disappoints my friends, I'm not exactly an Owen fan. Sorry dude. I still admire you... or somethin'.

A Quote

"The latest BMSR album is like a well-thought classy record for my standards, and I don’t think of myself as quite that classy."
- Tobacco

The Twilight Sad - Forget the Night Ahead

While recording their second album, Forget the Night Ahead, The Twilight Sad used everything from distortion pedals to the smacking of fire distinguishers to cloak the record in haze. If you cut through all that fuzz and distortion, you start hearing really dark messages. Themes of guilty consciences, the sad realities of prostitution, and the tragedy of losing loved ones infiltrate the album, a twisted storybook of frontman James Graham’s experiences. What it really comes to, though, is the music to which the lyrics are cast. “Ultimately we wanted to make a record that is big, and noisy as fuck,” explained Graham. The Kilsyth, Scotland band succeeded, piecing together eleven songs that are as tuneful as they are loud. Though “Scissors” is an evolving wall of noise, the majority of Forget evokes the feel of The Cure and other late ‘70s goth rock. “Reflection of the Television” bounces with rubbery bass, echoed drum hits, and Graham’s deep, controlled vocals. The mostly instrumental “Floorboards Under the Bed” would be Chris Martin’s wet dream if he could tame the cacophonous electric guitar that shrouds creepy minor-key piano clunking. Most of us keep a fire distinguisher handy to put out flames; The Twilight Sad uses theirs to keep ‘em burning.