Andrew Bird looks like he has swallowed a sock when he first arrives on stage. Maybe that's how he always looks, nervous and pained- this is my first Bird show. The opener, "surf rock meets progressive salsa" Calexico, is alright but the crowd (as epitomized by the drunk bookish, bobbing Brooklynites seated behind me) is rowdy and ready for some of Andrew's singular violin plucking stylings. 
When he arrives, the gold bathed scalloped ceiling of the venue darkens and a clear, spacey whistle falls through the room. Andrew Bird walks on and the whistle from his pursed lips is theme of the show, the ribbon tying each song together. He rolls his neck and clicks his glittering shoes (which he takes off after the opening, standing well over six feet in his stockinged feet). He often stops a song to fix the pieces ("I didn't quite care for that one") and his concentration, the pained look on his face in attempting perfection is searing. He sometimes trails into small, stuttery rants about characters and how excited he is to be playing Radio City ("Let's take a moment to like- take a moment. Breathe. You know, there's all these buttons and knobs and I just have to make sure I. Yep. Wow."). It is delightful to see this blue blazered indie superstar humbling himself with spurts of uncomfortable chatter. He bends his lanky frame into the shape of a timid pretzel, ambling, trembling, shaking his fists, and head. Andrew Bird is taken over by the sound and fury of his own music and it is magical to see such investment in one's own work. He is a marionette attached to his violin strings. The stage behind him is a blank wall awash with colors dribbling down, bleached purples and greens behind Bird's signature stage fixture, spinning Victrolas. It amazes me that there is no screaming during songs at all. The crowd is completely respectful until the last beat of each song, after which they go crazy. "Scythian Empires" is a sweet triumph of buoyant, happy music during which Andrew Bird conducts with his bow at little breaks, waving it around like a pretty sword. Lights cast onto the ceiling look like green moss stars. The addition of Calexico's horns to the song make the entire place feel warm and smoke blooms around Andrew in a flowery sheet. I leave spell bound. As my friends and I hurry out in an effort to beat the traffic, we hear the strains of "Fake Palindromes" bleeding through the wall and stamp back in for the encore. The victorious bell like whistle burning through the concert hall, the wavy indie-child hair, innate awkwardness, and freakish fluidity of Andrew Bird are now all sliced into my memory as if Mr. Bird carved them out himself with his machete of a violin bow.
*photos via Flickr
Calexico, Andrew Bird/ Radio City Music Hal
Here We Go Magic, Grizzly Bear/ Trocadero
Naturally when Brooklyn decides to migrate to Philly for a glorious evening of music, I follow them in the least stalkerish way possible.
With lack of better judgment or a watch, I got to the Troc way too early (and that was after I poked a salted jellyfish in a Chinese market and tried to sneak into an Asian temple). But there’s no temple like Luke Temple and there isn’t quite anything like the pairing of Here We Go Magic and Grizzly Bear.
Here are the Grizzly highlights….
1. Those darn icicles… whoever had that idea was brilliant!
2. The setlist was a decent combination of some old and mostly new-
Southern Point
Cheerleader
Little Brother
Knife
Two Weeks (with special guest Victoria Legrand from Beach House)
Fine For Now
Ready, Able
Shift
I Live With You
Fix It
While You Wait For the Others
On a Neck, On a Spit
Encore: COLORADO
3. After Southern Point, Ed realized he didn’t check his guitar—they had to stop playing for a good 10 minutes— which was filled with non-stop adulation of philly and talk of the weather. I like weather.
4. Ed Droste and Daniel Rossen oddly complement one another- and with their vocals combined they can save the planet
5. I am still not completely convinced that Rossen sounds like the rabbit from Winny the Pooh
6. The drums were so much more experimental and vibrant- not what I expected truthfully, but a pleasant surprise
7. Droste's shirt said "Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever..." Yes indeed.
8. Where did Chris Taylor go? Oh look, he’s down there toying with loop pedals, and the clarinet, and the flute, while whistling, and singing… all at the same time.
9. It was a close tie between Alligator and Colorado for the encore. They are so smart.
10. I would draw a parallel between the show and stuffing your face with 50 fried Oreos. The likelihood of having a heart attack is pretty much inevitable.
Glass Ghost, We Are Country Mice / Highline Ballroom
photo credits: Glass Ghost's myspace / Prefix Magazine
Summer in the city means lots of free shows, and Highline Ballroom has already started the ball rolling. Glass Ghost is the perfect music for a lazy Saturday night: the mood of Pinback, the voice of a tame Alec Ounsworth, and the clever subtleness of Luke Temple or Menomena. Once the songs develop, it becomes easy to forget there's only two people on stage. Drummer Mike Johnson sings, and Eliot Krimsy's Moog makes for a quirky synth bass. Glass Ghost really sounds like, well, a glass ghost- somewhat of a rarity here in NY where band names and band sounds are in perpetual disjunct. Don't make the mistake of confusing Mike's sangfroid for stylish boredom or Eliot's boyish jitter for nervousness. Go see them play, and enjoy it!
Next shows:
JUNE 10: Death By Audio
JUNE 13: Trophy Bar (Northside Festival)
JUNE 17: Public Assembly
Janelle Monae, Of Montreal / Toad's Place
I've seen Of Montreal before. I remember few of the details except catching a banana peel in my mouth smothered in Kevin Barnes' sweat and saliva- a shining moment in the history of attending shows. Unfortunately, there were no banana peels this time. No mock hangings, either. But there were many other odd of Montrealisms- pigs, gas masks, christmas, and wonderfully inexplicable phenomena. It's great that a band over a decade old can continue rejuvenate itself and its audience. While some bands shy away from their age, Of Montreal celebrates it; they are sure to carefully fold material into their live shows from the earliest of their albums.
I wrote about Janelle Monae before and my opinions hold, though she's morphed her live show a bit. These days, it's great to see the re-emergence of not only the songwriter, but of the singer.
It's official now: Georgia Fruit has officially arrived. Welcome!
Stay tuned for my interview with Of Montreal!
I managed to eek out these pictures despite being harassed by the venue staff.
SET LISTBELOW
(exactly as typed on the actual setlists):
intro
nonpareil
nubile
like a tourist
bloody shadow
plastis wafer
womens studies
confessions
elegant case
gondlandic
seine/cato
labyrinthian
rejector
october
faberge
mingusings
id engager
Party
Heimdalsgate
Konsvinger
George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic / Toad's Place
Listening to Clinton's last album was a little disheartening. It's painful listening to something so lacking coming from someone so influential. Albums with tons of guest appearances usually signal creative death; it's often a gesture signaling a (perhaps desperate) attempt to reinvigorate or reinvent an artist. Live performances featuring granddaughters, (as of now) unknown fresh faces and hot young things can also signal such an omen.
Put upon merely stepping into Toad's, all of this was but a pesky little fly in the room. A pest, in fact, well into old age, more than ready to die in a pile of dust in the corner of the room. Clinton and P-Funk's performance was cosmic. They didn't ask me to get on the mothership, but used the weapon of funk to force me the hell in. Two days later, I'm still on it, bathing in funk. And damnit, two days later, my camera still reeks of marijuana, party, and FUNK which came from GodKnowsWhere/EveryFreakingWhere.
You may ask: "WHAT IS A BOOTY? HOW DO YOU SHAKE IT?"
Georgie has an answer for you: [LIKE THIS...]
