June 1: Yeasayer

Another great show that I was unable to attend, but fortune smiles upon us all because guest columnist, the immortal concert connoisseur Kellen O'Brien brings you a spirited and critically epic review. Grab an ice cream sandwich, dust off the monitor and set the phone to silent. It's go time...

Kellen: Yeasayer might have invented a new genre: slow jams electronica. There will be head bobbing, but leave the deodorant at home, because you aren’t going to break a sweat.

The Ogden hosted a three-ring hipster circus Wednesday night with Yeasayer the star attraction. After selling out the Bluebird last year with Sleigh Bells, Yeasayer moved west down Colfax. They had no trouble filling the place on a weeknight; we arrived at 9:30 and had to settle for a spot on the third terrace. The late arrival cost us an opportunity to see the Smith Westerns, but bar-side buzz informed me that they encountered their typical mixing problems.

“Madder Red,” the opening number, displayed a couple of Yeasayer’s live strengths. During the song’s extended intro, synths bubbled underneath a crisp two-drummer groove that recalled Phil Collins’ most famous thirty seconds. Then the two vocalists took over; the vocals set Yeasayer apart from the indie rubble. On “Madder Red” it became clear that the high-low cohesion and catchiness of the vocals would dominate the performance. Tunes like “Rome” and “Ambling Alp” were fluid anthems. Other songs relied on keyboard flourishes, jungle beats, samples, and even hip hop scratching to add texture and vivaciousness.

As much as I appreciated this energetic quintet of groove merchants, I couldn’t help but think what they could become. For a band taking their cues from Prince, they lack virtuosity. When they played “O.N.E.” halfway through the set, I expected the energy to increase, but it hit a plateau. No one, namely the guitarist, stepped up to solo, which would have elevated the sound above the album version. On “Mondegreen” however, he gave a taste of what the Yeasayer sound can become when it is topped off with guitar. The sound became three-dimensional and filled the space fully.

Ultimately, Yeasayer only has 50 minutes of concert, so the 70-minute set felt at times like the checkout line of a grocery store. Luckily, they did produce some quality banter to fill in the gaps. “We saw a lot of you pre-partying in the bar at the hotel across the street. (Pause) I wondered if it was a halfway house.” Zing. I don’t want to hate on Yeasayer too much, because they put everything they had into the show and I definitely enjoyed it. I just hope they can develop rock and roll chops to further augment their confident song writing and sonic abilities.

Read more ...

January 28: Big Boi

The Ogden played host to Big Boi last night. This marked my second hip-hop show in just under a week. Last week was an all-woman cover group experience of Wu Tang Clan, in the notably smaller, cozier Walnut Room. This time, the show was bigger, and maybe a little too big for this just-more-than-casual hip-hop fan. I was psyched for Big Boi. I was attending the show with a great group of friends. I was a static ball of energy and excitement. And then, throughout the show, which was pleasingly crowded; a contrast to my usual Indie Rock show experience, I was once punched in the head (or elbowed, I'm not sure, but it was surely unintentional) and had beer/booze poured or spilled on me 4 times. Now, I'm complaining, I know, and sounding old, I know. This was a different crowd that I am used to. I stuck it out. And really, the crowd was the only aspect to detract from the show. And that's cool.

We missed the initial opener, but I caught all of the Eligh and Scarub set (both from Living Legends). They were solid and Eligh's style, a sort of high-speed, Eminem-esque ramble rap, was mostly enjoyable. But I preferred Scarab's more metered, bouncing and poetic style. In any case, they played a long set and riled up the crowd. Hip-hop shows are about a lot of bonding with the artist/following instructions. It's an interesting phenomenon to be implore consistently to put one's hands in the air or to dance a certain way, when a large portion of the actual lyrics in these songs have a deeper, personal historical or social commentary meaning. And, if it's a party and everyone already knows, and everyone is already feeling the beat and moving, is all the suggestion of additional action like a touch of a protesting too much? That's a rhetorical thought. I enjoy the genre and the music, and its active, energized party-centric ethos.

When Big Boi finally took the stage, the show picked up. The energy grew and value of being there became hugely apparent. For one, Big Boi, live, is incredible. The awe-inspiring thing about rap and hip-hop is the energy and ability to actually rattle vocally so well, filled with strength and guts, and still artistic. So, seeing Big Boi control the stage and lead the audience was nothing short of exceptional. His actual set was a decent mix of old and new. He performed at least 4 Outkast songs, but my count could be short. And then numerous tracks from Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty. The Outkast stuff was what went straight to my heart, into my wheelhouse; "Ms. Jackson" and "The Way You Move" being the highlights. And for "The Way You Move" Big Boi brought a gaggle of ladies from the crowd up on stage to dance. Including a couple of my friends, and their red oven mitt (but, really, that's another story). All-in-all, this was a spectacular show. And even though I went to bed hearing only the ocean echoing in my head (that lil post-concert deafness), there's some unforgettably great live hip-hop burned in there too. Big Boi is a show to see. Check him out next time he's in your neck of the woods.

Read more ...

October 24: Of Montreal, Janelle Monae

There are no bad things that can be said about a show that is rich in theatrics, costume changes, tricks of lighting, giant fake television set-pieces and ends with a medley of good Michael Jackson covers. When two acts are so relentlessly active, so evocative, as Of Montreal and Janelle Monae were on Sunday night, they inject life into an audience that cannot be ignored, or perhaps more creepily, resisted. I attended this show primarily for the opportunity to witness Janelle Monae in person. I quickly hopped on that bandwagon; addicted to her bright, soulful vocals and songs that are fraught with a fantasy-sci-fi combo that is remarkably poignant as social commentary (and also exceedingly self-aware). Monae is a purveyor dance, fun music, that extends beyond its own mold of merely providing a beat to say more about the nature of love, and the way our world oppresses us at our own hand. Of Montreal is a band I have loved, specifically for Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? and 2008's Skeletal Lamping, over the last few years. I had read a lot about them and heard a great bit of anecdotal accounts of their live performance, but I had never seen the chaos myself. After seeing, Of Montreal is a sort of "bucket list band" that I'd recommend seeing live, preferably in their current prime, before dying.

The show began with Monae's face, dressed as her character the ArchAndroid, was projected above the stage. After a brief exposition, to drive the compelling story of sci-fi robo-oppression, she cried to the crowd, "There is only one rule tonight: Dance or die." And dance we did. Monae performed close to half the songs on her new album, hitting the highlights of "Cold War," "Tightrope," and "Wondaland." The show was pure energy, fueled by drama and motion. And costumes. Monae appeared initially as one of three cloaked figures. Facing away from the stage she began her first number, and in time, the hood came down to reveal her trademark pompadour, and from there her performance was lively, powerful and loaded with sharp footwork. Often, instead of back up dancers, Monae was flanked by cloaked figures or masked creatures, each group playing into the active performance art of the song. Whether painting numbers in acrylic on a blank canvas, live, throughout a soulful lament, or "gunning down" oppressive figures with her finger-guns, the show was all about activity. The fact that she wasn't the headliner was disappointing, if only because it would have meant a few more stolen moments in her presence. Also, she might've played "Oh, Maker" or "Come Alive (War of the Roses)."

After Monae, Of Montreal upped the ante on the performance art end of things. Singer Kevin Barnes appeared on stage wearing tights, a sort of skirt-apron hybrid, a frilled shirt and a vest. Truly, this is a sight to behold, even if you don't like/love their music. Again, it's the energy factor. Barnes and the whole band are working at full, break-neck speed. And that's even before a sequence of costume changes and guest appearances to the stage. Like Monae, Of Montreal had groups of characters roaming and populating the stage. Notably a pair of pigs, a man and a woman in pink bodysuits, wearing pig helmet-masks. Barnes and the woman pig share a sensual, and brilliantly vivid grind-session, at least until the man pig grows jealous, setting the stage into chaos as Barnes continues to narrate and attempts to escape the angry beast. Ultimately, the skit (if I can call it that without sounding like an asshole) is a about polyamory, among other things that may be weird or "evocative," and it is all well executed. Other highlights included aliens with fish-heads, bullet/vibrator-headed robots, and a group of asexual checkered body-suit clowns. And really, this only gives you a rough idea of the whole experience. Of Montreal is like Cirque du Soleil, as depicted in the mushroom-trip-scene in the film Knocked Up, but better.

And that doesn't even cover the musicianship, the vocals and the fact that the band makes you want to dance. Or that they closed with an encore consisting of "Thriller," "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'," and "P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)," which is possibly one of the most excellent uses of the cover-song close that I've witnessed. This was a show that was technically exceptional and irreplaceable as an experience. Should you get the chance to see either band, or both, to bear witness to their unique, united spectacle, then take it. Go, see the magical oddities and strange fantasies unfold because you're really getting 4 shows in one (Monae + theatrics + Of Montreal + circus maximum = 4 SHOWS).

Read more ...

July 24: Gaslight Anthem

Ah, the Ogden. A great venue that tends to bring out the best in any band, and will be alive and sentient, like a musical octopus flailing its tentacles whenever the place is packed. Gaslight Anthem just about overloaded the house last night, which is no small feat considering their music is not wholly mainstream, and that its clear ties to the Americana rock, working man's blues style made famous by Bruce Springsteen. Since their album, The '59 Sound came out in 2008, I was mostly sold. Brian Fallon's tortured, world-weary vocals are iconic. And the lyrical content is about love, life and success versus failure, all in a very middle-America way. This isn't heady dance music, it's straight up, aggressive power punk/rock. This was bound to be a good show. And what's more, I lucked into the ticket. A last minute invite from my buddy Sean that was a welcome gift/surprise.

I decided, though, that if the show sucked, I'd start with the admittedly lame statement: "You can't spell Gaslight Anthem without 'a slight.'" This was made easier to consider as the show went on because of an obscured Dead-esque skull and crossbones on a black banner, with Gaslight written in a biker-rock font. Due to a larger concert-goer, and I'm by no means difficult to obscure in a crowd, standing squarely in front of me, only to keep backing up, while performing violent arm raises and that power-pointing-toward-the-stage thing that represents agreement with the lyrics and a passion for the music, I couldn't see much of anything. I could see "aslight" for a while, hence the thought, but the good news is that the point is moot, if great at filling a little space here.

Gaslight Anthem was very strong, playing a good mix of work from The '59 Sound and the newest American Slang. They were powerful and grinding, and just played and played. There wasn't a lot of chitchat, just music. And they played 5 songs in encore, a notable amount, considering that they didn't milk the encore situation for more than two minutes. They played their set, left, took a breath and came back out to play more. It was refreshing and it was also just a phenomenally good show by a band that is exponentially heavier live than they are on a produced album. The impression given by the studio work is that the band plays thoughtful, semi-fast paced, contemplative rock. In practice though, they shred, with speeding, pounding, grinding guitar playing. It's a very different experience, and one that is really essential to properly appreciate Gaslight Anthem as a band.

The other acts, Chamberlain and Tim Barry both provided a similar powerful sound, though more in an emo-country, and country-rock style, respectively. The crowd wasn't as warm to them, something I always find problematic. If, as an audience member, you are not prepared to be there, to listen and to appreciate the fact that these bands are here to perform for you, then you should just hang out at the bar and shoot the shit there. I don't mean, of course, that all conversation is bad, but when a full auditorium of people doesn't clap unless the current act mentions the headliner, that's pretty inconsiderate and just poor audience participation. I'll admit, I didn't know those two bands either, and I didn't have the full capacity to appreciate their work, and in a lot of ways, they don't create the kind of music I'm currently into, but I still respect and appreciate what they do. It takes an incredible amount of courage and love of music to go up on a stage. Audience gripes aside, this was a hell of a show. Live music is rarely a disappointment, and Gaslight, et al., did not let us down.

Read more ...

April 20: Phoenix

I'll admit that following the Them Crooked Vultures show on Monday night, I had a bit of bad taste in my mouth so to speak, but more accurately a bad ringing in my ear. It just wasn't the kind of show that results in an uplifting, awesome feeling of general euphoria. Luckily, Tuesday night meant that the Ogden played host to French wonderband Phoenix, a show that I was not only insanely excited for, but one where I would enter as a sort of savant of the music catalog, rather than the novice costume I donned on Monday night. Already, you can see that this show was predisposed for greater success than the last one, but Phoenix also succeeded in playing a staggeringly exceptional show to a packed Ogden. And it was a show that felt both rock star big, and coffee shop intimate. The intimacy was the combined result of stage presence (a notably kind and thoroughly thankful Thomas Mars consistently praising and reaching out to the audience) and sound mixing that was so clean and crystal clear, you'd have hardly believed the show was live, in a small theater at all. The vocals were strong and clear, the guitars grinding, but never lost in the wake of drum and bass. And the keyboards (of which there were 4 at use on different occasions) filled in the sound with an album-like perfection. This was, in recent memory, my favorite live show (ever!).

There was no opening band, a surprise to be sure, given their tendency to exist in almost every show. Instead, a DJ opened with fun mixes of popular songs that were 90 percent successful, and made for a good chatting and drinking environment for the show's first hour. Phoenix took the stage at about 9pm, opened with "Lisztomania" and simply blew the crowd away from there on out. They snagged all the hits, "Fences," "Too Young" and on and on. And there was no wastefulness. These songs were self-contained masterpieces of pop. After each handful of tracks, Mars would thank Denver profusely and they'd crank back into it. The end of the show, following so many tightly played, passionately performed songs, came in a three-part encore set. They closed, of course, with "1901." (This song also prompted a funny show moment: A girl near me in the crowd, during the last lines of the encore opener shouted loudly, "1901!" I love all-ages shows for this reason. I've been to enough concerts to know that the band will play their big song, unless they've toured with it once before and they're tired of it. Good times.) While the final choruses of "1901" turned into fading guitar riffs, Mars found his way out into the middle of the crowd, climbed up on a rail separating the floor levels, and thanked everyone again. Finally, he invited the fans at the floor directly beneath the stage to climb up and finish the song with them. As the band played the grinding riff made famous by Cadillac commercials, and people climbed awkwardly onto the stage, and Mars belted "Fold it!" I felt suddenly and completely tied in with a band that I respect, who didn't just come there to show off (the way I felt Them Crooked Vultures may have), but to play to their fans, to the crowd. Phoenix chose to be entertainers, rather than people entertained by entertaining. It was refreshing, it was fun, and it was exhilarating. And when the show ended at 10:30, it wasn't a welcome ending so much as a satisfying one. Phoenix guaranteed on Tuesday night that I will seek them out again. And they forged a place in the high-ranks of my concert memory. Stellar, incredible, awesome show. That's it.

Read more ...

April 6: Spoon, Deerhunter, Micachu and the Shapes

When bands play back-to-back concerts, you can't ever be completely sure what you'll get for the second show. Will they be worn out from the night before, and all the requisite partying? Will they be as tight or tighter musically? Will they want to blow your mind before they blow out of town? The good news is that with Spoon, Deerhunter and Micachu and the Shapes a great show is just about a guarantee. Last night's shindig at the Ogden was laden with powerfully awesome performances and did nothing but exceed expectations for nearly 4 hours. Often, a Tuesday night show will play out by 11pm or even a little earlier, this is Denver after all, but the spectacular line up rocked nearly into Wednesday with showmanship, intensity and staggering musicianship.

Micachu and the Shapes opened the proceedings with their divine mix of experimental pop and grime. A performance littered with crashing drums and howling vocals that set an artistic tone for a show that was no doubt populated primarily with Spoon fans expecting some straight up indie rock. This was my first exposure to Micachu, but it definitely won't be my last. Mica Levi's attention to composition, mood and tone are nothing short of incredible. I won't pretend, after several orange vodka shots and a couple of beers, that I absorbed the specifics of the music, but each song felt like a complex art project, built by transitioning between standard song formats and broken, minimalist styles. The performance had me so psyched to pick up an album that I sought the merch table, but a little too late. They had packed up during Deerhunter's performance, but I will seek them out and perhaps drop some knowledge pellets in this space in the future.

Deerhunter was raucous, grinding and exceptional. They played album-perfect versions of "Agoraphobia" and "Never Stops" from 2008's Microcastle that were impossible to ignore. Bradford Cox belted lyrics with ease in his trademark vulnerable, but full style. And while the music was great, the stage presence and audience interaction was pure icing. Cox, after playing a brief and ill-fated cover of Soundgarden's "Spoon Man," attempted to rile the audience into a vocal vote as to whether Chris Cornell's vocal style rivals Eddie Vedder and others in its baritone-warbling way (what Cox called being a "yarbler"). The audience voted by decibels and shockingly, voted that Cornell was not a member of that semi-pejoratively-referenced group. When the vote came out, only slightly in Cornell's favor, Cox appeared shocked and a woman in the audience yelled up at him, "Suck it!" To which Cox quickly and wittily replied, "Suck what? Your giant, distended clitoris?" Then Deerhunter blazed into their final song. Yes, folks, it was that kind of rock show. And we hadn't even seen the opener yet.

Last night was the third time I had seen Spoon live. Ever since I picked up Kill The Moonlight I was hooked. Since I still have mixed feelings about this year's Transference, I was a little weary that the show might be heavily weighted to the new album, but with a catalog as large as theirs Spoon was able to pull out most of the old hits. "Underdog," "The Beast And Dragon, Adored" and "Me And The Bean" found their way into the main set, and the encore featured "The Way We Get By" and "Small Stakes." But, Britt and the guys played a little from every album, and a lot of songs I hadn't heard live in performances past. The highlight, for me, came through a cover. Much like St. Vincent's excellent cover of Nico's "These Days" at her show in February, Spoon busted out an honest, true to original version Wolf Parade's "Modern World." Definitely unexpected, considering how recently Wolf Parade wrote and recorded the original, but Spoon put their own stamp on it while never teetering into parody. The trend of tossing one cover into a set shows a connection to the rest of music and reverence of other artists. With indie bands especially, the camaraderie between groups is extremely important. It makes shows better, leads to incredible onstage compilations and merges of styles and maintains that feeling that all of us, listening, buying this music, loving these bands on the fringe or near it are part of a large musical family. Another fantastic Ogden show.

Read more ...

The Andrew Bird Show.

Andrew Bird brought his amazing, erudite, artsy indie-folk rock to the Ogden Theater in Denver last night. And I was there. I've seen many shows at the Ogden, and this was the most populous of any of them. He will be at the Fillmore next time, likely to sell out the larger venue... easily. Granted it was all ages, so there were many kids branded with the black X on their hand-backs milling about smoking pot and drinking $2 bottles of water... mixed with the usual 21+ crowd. The number of younger kids surprised me, partly because it means that high schoolers today seem to have much more discerning tastes in music than I recall from my day. My school was filled with kids who liked new-pop-punk, kids who liked reggae and jam, kids who liked 311, pot and ecstasy, and then the oldies kids (Beatles, Stones, et al) of which I was a member. Music is better now that it was, though. The mid-90s post-grunge era was a wasteland of pop-one-hitters. And these kids like one of the less accessible, most educated artists in indie rock. The kids ARE alright.

The show itself was brilliant. Loney Dear, of Sweden, opened the show with some solid pop-folk numbers loaded with great vocals, sweet harmonies and even an audience sing-a-long. (As often happens, it took till the third go round for the bulk of the show-goers to belt anything out... and even then it was more a light cooing.) Ultimately the music was solid singer-songwriter indie with a focus on vocals as an instrument rather than as a conveyance for lyrics. Most of the songs had a couple of verses, a chorus or bridge, and then winding measures of folk scatting. Emil Svanängen, the man behind the sound has a smooth, syrupy, and breathy (but not John Mayer breathy) voice. He's also an exceptionally kind human being. I caught him at the merch set-up and we spoke briefly about his touring of the States, and how great an opening act he was for Andrew Bird. He last toured with Of Montreal, whose theatrical bombast would be a massive tone shift following Loney Dear, and was very complimentary and thankful for the turnout in a middle-America city like Denver.

Then, enter Mr. Bird. His set was nothing short of spectacular. Using a multi-pedal system, Andrew looped and overlaid whistling, violin string pluckings, bowed riffs, and guitar work to make the entire sonic experience full and nearly studio clean, but not lacking in character. (The Ogden has always been my favorite Denver venue for sound quality, and Bird cranked that assessment up a few notches.) He opened with songs from the new album Noble Beast. Then he rode right into "Plasticities" and "Imitosis" from Armchair Apocrypha. He admitted to composing one of the new songs from the album while on a fly fishing trip with his father in Winter Park--to the cheers of his Colorado crowd. And his stage presence is particularly arresting, in that he is both incredibly intelligent, but also affable and unassuming. For a man who writes songs laden with $5 words, he never spoke over the heads of his crowd.

Andrew Bird put on one of the greatest shows I've been to in recent memory, with the skill of a showman and the humble air of an open-mic'er. He is someone you must see live. Now, I'm going to go buy and learn how to play the violin, since it is the greatest rock instrument of a new indie era.

Read more ...