Since we refuse to celebrate Halloween without a proper costume and this year caught us completely off guard, self-titled spent the past weekend avoiding the Ricky’s rush at not one, but two silent films that happened to feature haunting music for the holiday weekend. While one was a patience-testing take on Metropolis (watching a church organ wail for nearly three hours is a tad torturous), Lincoln Center’s fully orchestrated presentation of The Passion of Joan of Arc was as seamless as live scores get, featuring movements that were as melancholic and moving as the images themselves.

Having never seen Carl Theodor Dreyer’s definitive piece of French cinema before, we didn’t expect much beyond lots of art-damaged camera angles, melodramatic facial expressions and a slightly disturbing ending that featured barbecued martyr. On the contrary, members of Portishead (Adrian Utley) and Goldfrapp (Will Gregory) led a sweeping orchestral score that left us captivated and a bit creeped out. Here are the notes that survived the evening:

Spindly chords and creeping, foamy keys

Blank stares

Unrelenting rhythms

Clobbered by horns and chords

A tuba crying out in horror

“You are no daughter of God, you are Satan’s creature”

Why are they so concerned with the fact that she’s wearing a men’s clothing?

Camera rolling across room to scan crowd of toothless, pious men

Distortion and drums driving torture chamber

Cruel priests, obsessed with her CONFESSION

Eyes glazed over

Guitar cuts across the runaway comet

Can’t believe we used to do this to people

A doomy symphonic climax

“You burned a saint!”

Total chaos

Civil war

Photo: John Minton

Words by J. Bennett

self-titled recently made the unconscionable mistake of pouring a pint of shitty vodka down J. Bennett’s gullet before cutting him loose inside the Shrine Auditorium for the first engagement of Portishead’s two-night stand in Los Angeles. The show was “fucking fantastic,” according to our intrepid reporter, who mailed us a soiled cocktail napkin with his review scribbled on it. We’ve included the legible parts below, and dropped the night’s setlist into a Spotify playlist here. (For some reason, the band doesn’t let you stream “Wandering Star.”) Herr Bennett also demanded that we include this note to the Shriners, who ostensibly run the Auditorium:

Gentlemen: According to the Internet, your organization was founded in 1870 as a “fraternity for Masons stressing fun and fellowship.” And, apparently, fezzes. All of which is fine. But I would suggest that many (if not most) concertgoers’ definition of “fun and fellowship” might include the consumption of alcohol. As such, maybe next time you could open up another bar or three so your patrons wouldn’t have to wait in line for 30 minutes to get a drink. By my lights, you have had exactly 141 years to sort this out. Time to get on the stick, don’t you think?

1. “Mysterons”
The first song on the first Portishead album. SO fucking good. I am a 35-year old man who listens primarily to heavy metal and classical music, and this song gives me chills like Cliff Burton and J.S. Bach came back to life and ripped solos on my face before kissing me goodnight.  Portishead nailed every last nuance of this one, too. “Haunting” is way overused as an adjective in music journalism, but this is the song that was clinging to my brain pan when I split the show—and they played it third.

—

2. “Sour Times”
I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty sure Portishead cranked through this 1994 super hit way too fucking fast, thus completely stripping it of its emotional heft. Why did they do that? Did Geoff Barrow have to pee? Is Beth Gibbons just completely over this jam after hearing it on the BBC like 8 million times? We still enjoy this song here in America, but it might as well have been “Shiny Happy People” at this speed. Probably the show’s only low-light.

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3. “Wandering Star”
With apologies to the late, great Anthony Burgess, this one was all gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh. Check the YouTube footage and you’ll see what I mean. Intimate & stunning. Nigh perfect—if perfect weren’t the opposite of good. If anyone had any doubts about Gibbons maintaining her considerable vocal abilities after all these years, they didn’t by the time she finished this one off. Fucking elegant is what it was.

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4. “Glory Box”
Yet another song off of Dummy, yet another hit single, yet another fan favorite. But can you deny this jam? The answer is no, you cannot. And neither can the band, obviously—although they managed to avoid playing both “All Mine” and “Only You,” two of the most ubiquitous cuts from their self-titled 1997 album. Despite the fact that this song never really went away in the nearly 20 years since it was recorded, it retains every ounce of its staying power tonight.

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5. “Threads”
The final track from 2008’s Third hit like a slow fuse leading to a series of even slower explosions. Gibbons kinda went off at the end herself, ditching her typically rigid/stoic British composure for something like mild excitability. I’m not sure what they did at the end, but it sounded like the band was torturing a herd of elephants. It was heavy, man.

Please note that the term “trip-hop” was not used in this review. Because whoever coined it should be shot. Unless it was Geoff Barrow. Wait, was it?

Amon Tobin surveys the damage after his 90-minute set (Photo Credit: Andrew Parks)

Words by Andrew Parks

“It looks like the West Memphis Three is trying to start a mosh pit down there.”

Welcome to the truly groundbreaking world that is Amon Tobin’s ISAM tour; a sensory overload experience on par with the million dollar pyramid set Daft Punk brought to Brooklyn in 2007. Which is quite an achievement when you consider how crowd-pleasing Daft Punk’s music is—bright, bold swatches of filtered house, floor-filling electro and cracked disco— and how challenging it is to consume Tobin’s cold, harsh and undoubtedly heavy approach to interstellar hip-hop and piston-powered electronic music. On record, the Brazilian producer can sound like a pilot who’s knowingly plunged us into a black hole so horrifying we can’t look away as the ship begins to erode in a sea of splintered samples and battering ram beats. In other words, it’s music that’s tailor made for sci-fi movies, or at the very least, video games that feature lots of steely exteriors and explosions. (Sure enough, Tobin scored the game Chaos Theory: Splinter Cell 3.)

(Photo Credit: Ashlea Halpern)

In a live setting, we’re all going down together in the most enjoyable manner possible, as restless visuals are projected on a blank, towering sculpture in a way that transcends the very idea of an “intense” live show. As we found out at Brooklyn’s Masonic Temple last night, Tobin is determined to obliterate the notion that most electronic musicians are laptop-tethered technicians who don’t know how to answer a crowd’s collective need to be entertained.

Or as he explained in an eMusic interview earlier this year, “If you’re in a studio making an album you can easily say, ‘Fuck everyone, I’m making this music for me,’ and experiment or indulge all you like. Vut if you are going to start standing up and inviting people to come and see you, you kind of owe it to them to have an element of entertainment in some way. You can’t be that selfish in that situation. You have to at least something that’s worth being there for, and that’s where the challenge lies—to transform something very private into something very public. It’s no small thing!”

Here’s the tail end of Tobin’s first encore, best enjoyed in HD on mute—the bass pretty much blew our microphone—while streaming ISAM in full.

‘ISAM’ – Full album with track-by-track commentary from Amon Tobin by Amon Tobin

Words and Photo by Andrew Parks

The Artist & Their Latest Release: The Horrors, Skying (XL, 2011)

The Set In a Few Sentences: The last time we saw the Horrors, they were still straddling the diametrically opposed realms of art rock and pure camp; irrefutably caught in an identity crisis that might as well have been co-sponsored by the NME. Which was really frustrating to witness given how grown up the group’s second album (2009’s Primary Colours) sounded on the first, fifth, and fiftieth listen. (Unlike most of the music that passes through self-titled’s office—records that don’t remain in rotation for more than a week—we still listen to it regularly two years later.)

Aside from the detached demeanor of keyboardist Tom Cowan and the pervasive sense that smiling breaks a band’s collective spell, the gap between the group’s modish image and highly stylized hooks is effectively closed now. As illustrated by its Top 5 debut in the UK (with nearly 14,000 copies sold!), Skying is as sunny as it’s sleeve, making it even harder to believe how the Horrors went from dressing like My Chemical Romance cast mates to working with Portishead’s Geoff Barrow and Aphex Twin’s drinking buddy, Chris Cunningham.

Which isn’t to suggest that we like it more than their last LP. If anything, Skying is subtle and slightly sleepy in places where Primary Colours is sinister and deeply satisfying. A grower, in other words, as evidenced in how its best songs (“Dive In,” “Still Life,” “You Said”) held their own against fan favorites like “Sea Within a Sea” and “Scarlet Fields” at MTV Hive’s intimate Webster Hall Studio show on Tuesday night. Captured for a live stream audience, the set was impeccably mixed and paced, right down to the extended, relatively indulgent passages of “Moving Further Away.”

“You guys are wonderful!” one fan shouted near the end of it all, causing a sly smile to crack through Faris Badwan’s steely rock ‘n’ roll face.

We prefer the phrase “willing to change, for better or for worse.” Lucky for the Horrors, their wildly ambitious studio recordings are finally starting to translate into a tight set onstage. Now if only they could loosen the reins a bit, letting a level of danger and spontaneity in without reverting to their former roles (such self-explanatory alter egos as Coffin Joe and Spider Webb). When that happens, they’ll be in a whole other league entirely.

[Photo via FADER]

Words by Mitch Strashnov

Hell froze over; after four aborted appearances in New York City, Zomby finally showed up and played a private after-party for (capsule) at the Angel Orensanz Foundation. The Lower East Side setting—a former synagogue that looks like it hosted raves in the early ’90s—was relatively strange, yet it made perfect sense for the reclusive producer to make his long-awaited debut among pockets of people who didn’t have the slightest idea who he is or how monumental the occasion was for anyone remotely into electronic music. (One girl actually asked self-titled who tonight’s “special guest” was. When we said Zomby, she just stared back at us blankly.)

Zomby isn’t exactly a proper DJ but his selections were on-fucking-point at times. Early on in his set, he played a bunch of classic tunes from Warp (including Aphex Twin) and Metalheadz, tying it all together with a surprise drop of Johnny Jungle via the unbelievable Suburban Base imprint. Some truly gritty grime tracks also appeared, alongside rough dub beats and eski-laden rhythms. The other half of his set included cuts from his new Dedication LP, Gucci Mane, and a couple of drops from rising Dipset producer araabMUZIK. An intriguing set of carefully curated music, for sure, and one that’d make many people lose their minds in a proper club setting.

Zomby seemed calm throughout, as he sat down and burned through blunts at a steady pace until the end of his set. That happened abruptly at around 12:20—he was reportedly booked to play until 1—when he stood up, closed his MacBook and exited stage left. And with that, the house lights were hit and the party was over. Although it didn’t matter to the many people who already left during the hour-long set, a reflection of the simple fact that most people didn’t know who he was.

Words & Photos by Andrew Parks

The Artist & Their Most Recent Release: Ghost, Opus Eponymous (Rise Above, 2010)

The Set In a Few Sentences: The most telling moment in Wednesday night’s Ghost show had nothing to do with sweat resistant corpsepaint or a hexed pope hat; it was when the Ghoul With No Name led his hooded minions in a slightly demented rendition of “Here Comes the Sun.” While the Beatles hit sends rays of hope spiraling right through the heart of Abbey Road, it takes on a whole new meaning when performed by a band that looks like they’re about to host a black mass and/or sacrifice the hardcore dude who keeps stage diving right into the venue’s tiny lighting rig. Like the rest of Ghost’s thoroughly enjoyable debut album, the devil-worshiping version of “Here Comes the Sun” is disconcerting because it pairs black metal theatrics with pure, unadulterated Top 40 tendencies. Seriously, though—just try and listen to the tracks below without being pulled into their tractor beam of Route 66 riffs, propulsive rhythms, and triumphant hooks. Why, just this morning we were singing “This chapel of ritual/Smells of dead human sacrifices/From the altar” to the horror of everyone else on our subway train, and we…just…couldn’t…help it.

Check out more photos and a couple Ghost cuts that’ll have you reaching for your old Mercyful Fate records below…

[Photo by Bill Weisner]

The Artist & Their Latest Release: Wanda Jackson, The Party Ain’t Over (Third Man, 2011)

The Show: Bowery Ballroom, 2.24.11, with The Lustre Kings

A Short Review: “I don’t know about you,” said Wanda Jackson, as she basked under Bowery Ballroom’s soft spotlights, “But I’m ready to rock.”

And rock she did despite a pesky case of laryngitis that left the rockabilly icon barely able to sing in Boston the night before. While some new fans may have missed Jack White’s blues hammer hooks this time around—his “Third Man house band” backed Jackson in Brooklyn last month—a string of dusty soda shop singles (“Fujiyama Mama,” “Rock Your Baby,” “Mean, Mean Man”) benefited from the Lustre Kings’ road dog approach to classic rock ‘n’ roll. We’re talking the kind of timeless tracks your parents lost their virginity to; music that makes us want to slick our hair back, buy a hot rod, date a black-haired girl named Peggy Sue, and get Johnny Cash’s face tattooed across our bird chest.

Did we mention that Jackson’s 73 and one of the greatest natural born performers we’ve ever seen? Considering how coddled many of today’s young acts are, it’s hard to think of too many who’d howl, shimmy and shake through a throat condition that was clearly making every last line a struggle. Hell, Wanda Jackson with a blown gasket still sounds better than Amy Winehouse stumbling through “You Know That I’m No Good” on just about any other night.

Jackson also has the stories to back up her stage banter, from her early days of touring with Elvis to the time she was supposed to write a song for Brenda Lee (“Right or Wrong”) but kept it for herself because it was a surefire hit. Still not convinced why you should care about someone who’s old enough to be your grandmother? Here are some videos that show how Jackson earned her Queen of Rockabilly crown…

Words and Photos by Aaron Richter

Guided by Voices, 2003; Columbia, Missouri. One of the greatest concerts I’ve ever seen. It was an entirely ridiculous show akin to seeing Cheeseburger in a sloppy Brooklyn basement; nothing in the venue was left undoused in beer. Touring Earthquake Glue, Pollard arrived in town on a Monday night to play for a sparse turnout of around maybe 50–75 people, most of whom ended up onstage toward the set’s end. The group played for three hours; Pollard drank a full bottle of tequila, at least seven beers and—before the night’s final song, at that point pretty much reduced to a mumbling mess—announced that he was hitting the bars and that anyone was welcome to join him. We left drenched in sweat and beer (and blood, in the case of my friend, who’d gashed his hand open on a broken bottle).

Sunday’s NYC performance at Terminal 5 was not that show. Far from it. The extensive setlist (greatest hits plus EP cuts for geeks) was phenomenal, and Bob—all Daltreyisms and high-kicks—was in fine form, alongside his classic lineup, including Tobin Sprout (who sang a grip of songs himself) and Mitch Mitchell (who pretty much acted the part of the drunk asshole for everyone else). But the spark of chemistry between Pollard and his bandmates was lacking. Sure, the classic lineup wrote most of Guided by Voices’ best songs, but performing them—as a band, together—the group is somewhat unremarkable. Sloppiness is one thing (that’s expected and welcome at a GBV show), but too often, the musicians just didn’t click as a unit. (Imagine if they still had something to prove?)

But then again… Fuck it: I got to sing along to “Echoes Myron,” “Watch Me Jumpstart” and “Exit Flagger” with 3,000 other people. What’s the point in bitching?

Guided by Voices @ Terminal 5, 11.7.10
Tractor Rape Chain
Game of Pricks
I Am A Scientist
Shocker in Gloomtown
The Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory
Gold Star for Robot Boy
My Valuable Hunting Knife
Motor Away
A Good Flying Bird
Cut-Out Witch
Matter Eater Lad
Watch Me Jumpstart
Striped White Jets
My Impression Now
Awful Bliss
14 Cheerleader Coldfront
Lethargy
Break Even
Buzzards and Dreadful Crows
Exit Flagger
Hot Freaks
Closer You Are
Gleemer (The Deeds of Fertile Jim)
Quality of Armor
Queen of Cans and Jars
Echos Myron
Unleashed! The Large-Hearted Boy
A Salty Salute
Smothered in Hugs

Encore:
Postal Blowfish
Hey Aardvark
Pimple Zoo
Bright Paper Werewolves
Some Drilling Implied

Encore 2:
Dodging Invisible Rays
My Son Cool
Don’t Stop Now

Encore 3:
Johnny Appleseed
Weed King

[Photo courtesy of Plesserchick]

Words by Arye Dworken

Legend goes, Justin Vernon went into a wintered forest and found a secluded log cabin home where, depressed and sheltered, he recorded Bon Iver’s debut album For Emma, Forever Ago. It’s a stunning record, but man, it’s a bummer. Guy sounded like he wanted nothing more than to down a bottle of Jack and pass out in his armchair while a Nicolas Sparks novel fell from his limp hand. But a few nights back, Vernon’s blue-eyed soul/funk side project Gayngs—a collective fronted/founded by Ryan Olson—sashayed into town and ostensibly re-branded the part-time folkie into a frontman joker, an Autotuned seducer, and best of all, a realized Kanye West collaborator. And the twelve childhood friends on stage did something pretty uncommon within the confines of the Music Hall of Williamsburg: they had a pretty awesome time.

The band’s first record Relayted is no joke, a representative of the label assures me. And if the covers throughout the night were an indicator, then the label guy’s right. Sade’s “By Your Side,” George Michael’s “One More Try,” Godley & Creme’s “Cry,” and the Alan Parsons Project’s “Eye In the Sky,” all reinvented and reinvigorated by the group, played out like the soundtrack to the prom I never went to (however, one skeptic left early telling me he felt very confused by what was happening on stage, and another exclaimed “WTF?”). The Faith cover, in particular, came across as so sincere and naked, despite it’s singer wearing a hooded sweatshirt with a reptile eyes on the hood and a thorny spine running down the back, women cooed and cheered. I firmly believe in the seductive power of the ballad.

Gayngs isn’t a brilliant concept, but it is brilliant delivery. There’s something truly palpable about witnessing a band enjoy one anothers’ company and then channeling that camaraderie into the sound. The live versions of the songs dripped with tenderness and pleather culminating into yacht rock anthems for the T-Pain generation. If that makes you gag, then this isn’t for you. But for those of you who still, to this day, enjoy listening to the original versions of the songs mentioned above and feel like indie rock is a bummer, this is the live show of the year. Chalk one up for the white boy, Wild Cherry be damned.

Words and Photos by Andrew Parks

“1349!”

“Kenny G!”

Say hello to the childish hecklers who wouldn’t shut up during Yakuza’s Gramercy Theatre set last night, as the Midwest metal vets warmed the stage with such expansive, sax-spiked epics as “Farewell to the Flesh” and “Be That As It May.” While we dug every last note, it’s gonna be a rough run for these guys, as they’re bound to face more impatient/idiotic black-metal purists as their tour with 1349 and Triptykon winds its way through North America this month. That, and some closet converts who can’t help but get pulled in by the underground’s most underrated band.

As for Tom Warrior’s post-Celtic Frost project, they showed 1349 that you don’t have to resort to sheer rock opera tactics to make heavy music entertaining. It helped that you could actually hear Warrior’s crisp, guitar lines cut through Triptykon’s massive mix, a room-engulfing spin on experimental metal that’s unique to Warrior, right down to his sucker-punch “ooh!”’s.

If you haven’t heard the band’s Eparistera Daimones album yet, buy it. Now. And listen to it while looking at the rest of our photos. (We also have an alternate black and white set here.)