Clean

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Jun 022014
 

So last night, Mr. Royale and I got our aging butts out of suburbia and headed into San Francisco to the new San Francisco Jazz Center. Marc Ribot was performing there for four nights, with each night highlighting one of his different styles; we chose to see him in his Los Cubanos Postizos incarnation. The band did not disappoint: Marc and the other three original members were in amazing form, and it was a pleasure to watch their interactions, their nods, their signals to each other. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen or heard such fluid intra-band communication.

But there was something really wrong about the night: the venue. The show started at 7:30 (not the doors, the music), and we got there late (early? at 6:30) and hadn’t eaten dinner, so decided to grab a quick bite in the Jazz Center’s restaurant, “South.” Inside the white and glass interior, we were able to eat healthier, more expensive versions of classic Southern cuisine. I love me some biscuits and collard greens, but Ouch! the price tag was a bit rich. After rapidly making our way through our meal, we dashed inside just in time to catch the start. We sat in amphitheater-style seating (noting the plastic armrests and drink holders that could hold $12 plastic cups of wine), in an air-conditioned, large, battle-ship grey room. Our fellow music appreciators were seated around the small stage, but when the tempo sped up, folks got up and politely went to the back of the room to dance. The one act of debauchery I saw during the two-and-a-half-hour show was a woman skipping up to sit in a vacant seat in the front row. She lasted about 25 seconds before a clean-cut middle-aged man escorted her out. We were done, walking out the door, by 10 pm. All in all, it felt like a Disney Theme Park, an IMAX theater, a cleaned up, safe-for-aging-beatnik fans experience. I have seen the future and it is me?

I don’t know what I was expecting. I was happy that I wasn’t surrounded by jerks holding their phones up to take pictures or video, and this was certainly the first show in recent memory that I didn’t want to yell at some nearby couple, “Get a room!” But something was really missing. Fast-tempo latin music seems to need more than such a slick, comfortable venue. Where was the funk?

I could continue ranting about these weird juxtapositions of band and venue. I’ve seen plenty of bands in crappy music halls, beer-stinking bars, high school gyms, and hangar-like arenas. Sometimes the space was too small for the loudness of the band (I’m talking to you, Moon Duo). Sometimes a horrible show was redeemed when I heard the same set in a different space (Hello, My Bloody Valentine). Sometimes the smell of weed heightened the experience (Tame Impala!) and sometimes I thought, WTF (Arcade Fire?).

Please join me in my further understanding of how a band’s venue heightens or detracts from the musical experience.

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Dec 152010
 

Last night, Mr. Royale and I went to see Australian band Tame Impala perform at a small club here in San Francisco. They focused on their 2010 album, Innerspeaker, which could probably be safely be described as “retro” a la 1967. The show was all out psychedelia: barefoot musicians, long-neglected hair, oscilloscope images morphing in time with the chords, large amounts of medicinal herb wafting around us. And Tame Impala are clearly old-school in their influences: Wikipedia lists, among them, Cream, Love, Blue Cheer, CSNY, Steppenwolf, Jefferson Airplane. So when it came time for the encores, I was expecting something in a similar vein. Instead, as the distinct bass line and rim shots were painted in, we got an amazing, full court press cover of Massive Attack‘s 1997, “Angel.” It was followed by another cover, which neither of us initially identified, but with a little research found to be Blue Boy‘s 1998 dance hit, “Remember Me.”

I’m used to encores or other performed covers being used to cite PREVIOUS musical influences: for example I can recall Grizzly Bear doing a cover of the 1962 Spector song, “He Hit Me (and It Felt Like a Kiss).” So what was with Tame Impala fast-forwarding 30 years to reference a more recent musical genre (although “trip-hop,” which could be seen as a bastard child of the earlier psychedelia, and Remember Me” samples a ’60s single by Marlena Shaw)?

Have you had an experience of an unexpected encore? Did it make you change your mind about the band, for better or for worse?

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