The Post-Rockist

I know what you’re going to say: “Oh, so I suppose it’s sooo post-rockist that your first review is of a folk record.” Well, yes, I guess so. Sure, I could attempt to justify it. I could point out that Elliott’s “San Francisco Bay Blues,” according to the album’s liner notes, was one of the first songs that a young lad named Paul McCartney learned to play on the guitar (and that McCartney and Clapton each covered the song on their respective Unplugged albums). Oh sure, I could point out that on this record Elliott is accompanied by the likes of Lucinda Williams, Corin Tucker of Sleater Kinney, and even freakin’ Flea, among others. And I could offer the story from Chronicles where Dylan as a young Minnesota guitar plucker and singer suffered a great blow to his building ego upon hearing a Jack Elliott album for the first time, finding that someone was doing exactly what he was doing, but better. Or later how Elliott showed Dylan such encouragement in his early Village days that Dylan cleped Elliott “my long-lost father.”

But you know what? I’m not going justify this review’s raison d’etre at all. The Post-Rockist snubs its nose at categorization and un-holes pigeons like we’re the World Wildlife Federation or something.

(Continued)

Our promise to you, gentle reader, is to bring you music news near and dear to your heart before it becomes embarrassingly outdated.  Cough, cough, ahem.  Starting next week.

Here’s a glimpse at what’s been happing in your world for the past week or so:

New Releases

The Mountain Goats will be releasing a new album entitled Get Lonely, which is scheduled to leap into the open arms of affectionate diarists everywhere August 22, 2006.  Complete with vibraphone, Hammond organ, cello, piano, and brass accompaniment, Get Lonely is expected to continue along the path started by last year’s successful The Sunset Tree, with John Darnielle’s recollections of pulling his life together after his fraught relationship with his stepfather.

Tracklisting:

01. Wild Sage
02. New Monster Avenue
03. Half Dead
04. Get Lonely
05. Maybe Sprout Wings
06. Moon Over Goldsboro
07. In The Hidden Places
08. Song For Lonely Giants
09. Woke Up New
10. If You See Light
11. Cobra Tattoo
12. In Corolla 

The times they are still a-pluggin’ away.  Robert Zimmerman, more popularly known as Bob Dylan, has recorded his follow up to 2001’s Love & Theft.  The new record, which is called Modern Times, is slated to appear August 28, 2006.  Last week a number of hand-selected journalists, The Post-Rockist not among them, were given a chance to hear a preview of the album on the condition that they not discuss its particulars quite yet.  Thanks to Google and some hard-nosed investigative work, we are able to reveal some of the track titles on the new record: “Thunder on the Mountain,” “Spirit on the Water,” “Workingman’s Blues,” and “When the Deal Goes Down.”  One source claims that, of the dozen songs included on Modern Times, there are “at least three masterpieces.”  With any luck, the remaining songs are not rubbish.  No word yet on exclusive distribution deals with Starbucks.

(Continued)

As the weekend wore on, Sawyer Point began to feel more and more like a real festival: short people tossing around Frisbees, captain’s chairs staked out in the shade, leftover Bonnaroo hippies prancing about with flower garlands, topless dudes.  But to give a true bird’s eye account of the events would be, of course, a woeful inaccuracy.  With full press access repeatedly denied to The Post-Rockist - passed over in favor of local rags of questionable repute, such as the Cincinnati Enquirer - this resourceful reporter did his best to overcome these obstacles, choosing instead to masquerade as a member of the general audience, partaking in the full plebian experience. 

Under the burning blue sky - without the benefit of a press tent, mind you - important distinctions began to melt together: songs, choruses, even bassists started to lose their unique identities in the hot, constant environment of the Desdemona Music Festival.  Take, for instance, the peculiar sub-genre of danceable indie rock. How many steps does it take one, truthfully, to get from the stylized moodiness of ’80s enfants Stellastarr*, to the politicized post-Clash stylings of Radio 4, to the deliberately post-ironic danceability of New York’s We Are Scientists?  The answer is nine, but that technicality is besides the point.  It goes without saying that all three sets were bracingly energetic and, with the exception of the occasional technical difficulty, consistently toe-tap-inducing performances.  But the preponderance of any one genre in a confined space can make even the DJ set of Louisville’s VHS Or Beta seem refreshingly original.  Click here to see a clip of Stellastarr* performing “Sweet Troubled Soul,” and then click here to see We Are Scientists go at it with “The Great Escape.”

Thus, when Norwegian pop sensation Annie marched onto stage Saturday night, high knees and short skirt, she commanded serious attention.  Dressed like a late night fantasy of a lady police officer, complete with badge and toy gun holster, she exuded cool authority over the googly-eyed, tongue-wagging audience.  For all the aches and pains of standing in crowded fields all weekend, Annie proved to be the crowd’s prescription-strength Icy Hot: icy, filtered vocals to chill their nerves; hot, sanguine beats to rejuvenate their adolescent loins. 

To my immediate left stood a sizable faction of teens and pre-teens whose bodies quivered with anticipation.  When the rock’n'roll electric guitar swing of “Chewing Gum” kicked in, the underage mass fell into a tribal lockstep of dance and handclaps.  They were feeding off each other’s energies like zombies from the Thriller video: eyes rolled back in their heads; shuffling down, clapping, swooping up, clapping again.  At the conclusion of her 30-minute set with the quickening pulse of “Hearbeat,” the crowd fell into what appeared to be largest collusion of simultaneous seizures since Mother Ann Lee’s Shaker communities in 18th Century England.  One young Vietnamese boy, no older than 11, collapsed near my feet, gasping with la petit mort.  Only with the promise of an encore did he spontaneously reanimate; eyes rolled back in his head, clapping, dancing.

With all this practice clapping it was no surprise when Dave Hamelin, guitarist for The Stills, complimented the audience of “sounding even better than Chicago,” where the ’80s post-punk-inspired indie dance band played Intonation Fest the night before.  He reasoned, “This city has grit.  Seriously, Cincinnati scares the shit out of me,” which was greeted with uproarious applause.  But there was nothing to be afraid of when couples were curled up in blankets listening to the cheery organ pop of Mates of State, or when people were politely rocking out to the catchy No Wave beats of Enon.  The police patrolling the event spent most of their time covering their ears and walking away, or posing for pictures for people’s MySpace profiles.

Chaos only came under the guise of The Fiery Furnaces.  With little more than drums; bass; one, occasionally two, guitars; and powderkegs of nonsense in extensia, the four musicians let out a non-stop barrage on my senses; alienating more than half of the audience, but bringing a select chosen few to a higher place.  TheFieryFurnaces.com explains their approach:

Given that both Rehearsing My Choir and Bitter Tea were tack-player-piano records, Matt thought it best to play only guitar on tour, at least through August.  He feels this quite simple change is needed to give the songs the necessary different cast.  We don’t like bands that attempt to replicate– or accidentally replicate– their records at their live shows.  And we feel well justified in this aversion to that sort of un-natural, un-necessary, mutant-izing or cloning.

Eleanor Friedberger sat perched atop her microphone with the bangs of a lionness, enunciating every syllable with violent precision, while the band plowed through amplified trout mask replicas of tunes like “Straight Street” and “Police Sweater Blood Vow.”  It makes you pause and wonder why it takes some musians a twenty-piece backing-band to create a played-out sound, while all it takes is a defiant power trio to shatter your preconceived notions of what rock music “should” be.  With simple adornment and genre-shifting ballsiness, the Furnaces managed to make the rest of Desdemona seem obsolete in under 60 minutes.

As the sun went down Sunday night, the remaining performances drifted by in the night.  Richard Swift’s gin-soaked set bobbed and lulled down the Ohio River.  The Walkmen’s organ-and-gourd-pounding drone set the twilight reeling, while a predictably throaty Hamilton Leithauser intoned, “I’m a lucky guy now, but I’ll never know until it’s gone.”

By all accounts, the Desdemona Festival appeared to be a success, hopefully one that will be repeated again next year.  And most amazingly, for one weekend in June, Cincinnati became an important stop in the Indie Rock Guidebook.

Friday, June 23, 2006 - The Post-Rockist, on its first official assignment, approached the Desdemona Festival with no heady preconceptions.  Nestled on the banks of the Ohio River in Sawyer Point, Cincinnati, the Desdemona Festival was flanked by yellow and purple bridges, triangular blue flags, and curious patches of dead air.  A few seemingly lost individuals sat idly picking grass, while small collectives of people were gathering near the woxy.com tent (”The Future of Rock and Roll”) or the Budweiser kiosk (”The King of Beers”) to purchase warm, plastic bottles of beer.  There was a sense of aimless confusion as I first stumbled upon the park grounds - Was it going to rain?  Would people show up?  Does the Queen City have any shot at becoming an important landmark in the Indie Rock universe?  Where was the music?  It was unsettlingly quiet for a music festival that was supposed to have started over an hour earlier.  There were rumors that music could be found to the east at the Schott Amphitheater, but when I arrived  all I found was Cincinnati’s The High & Low sound checking.  Since The Sundresses dropped out, the Stage 3 schedule was all pushed back.  Rhythm-hungry fans sat and even nodded their heads at this musical teaser.  Disappointed, I walked silently back along a cement path that chronicled the history of the Ohio River Valley going back over 460 million years.  The orange plastic palm trees at the Hooters over on the Kentucky border winked suggestively at me.  

It wasn’t until Margot & The Nuclear So and So’s exploded onto center stage like a joyous bunker buster that things began to feel like a real festival.  The eight members of the So & So’s spouted forth spirited, cinematic pop songs that almost sounded too big for the empty space around them.  Richard Edwards led the band through a short, romping set filled with colorful choruses that began to reassure the few devoted concert-goers that this festival might be something spectacular after all.  Returning to Stage 3, The High & Low were prepared to knock out a series of D- and G-chord dirges.  Over time, however, their formula of dope drowsy guitars, restrained PJ Harvey vocals, and padded Mo Tucker drums started to blend together in a hazy, indistinguishable codeine fog.    

Seeking fresh air, I headed over to Stage 2 where New York’s Northern State cheekily traded old skool barbs and rhymes, with all the confidence and gusto of a group of close friends in a high school talent competition.  The set was energetic and mildly amusing, but The Post-Rockist was seeking something meatier.  That meat came in the form of apples: The Apples in Stereo.  Fresh from the studio recording their sixth full length album, Rob Schneider and co. kicked out a series of stripped down, rock & roll versions of their paisley classics.  Sounding more like a psychedelic power pop group than as the adventurous magical mystery troubadours of yore, the Apples only turned on the lysergic for a reverb-drenched and epic rendition of “Strawberryfire” toward the end of their set.  To see their performance of “Ruby” at Desdemona, click here.