Somewhere along 290 to 495 to the Pike, we might just find a little piece of that elusive American Dream (Part II)

So I really suck at this whole blog thing apparently.

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We knew we were in for something special as turned onto Mass Ave and drove, passing the Middle East club on our right hand side. Though there was a line that bent around the corner, we were not at all concerned. The fact that I was able to snag a parking spot less than one hundred feet from the door of the Middle East (and free of charge, owing to the fact that it was Sunday! As my parents often say, "Clean Living.") certainly assuaged any negative thoughts that might have been beginning to develop.

So my friend and I step out of the car, and hop into line. Now would be a good time to mention that our show was being played at the Middle East Upstairs. You should keep this innocuous fact in mind as you continue reading. On the way to our destination, I had slugged down a large cup of coffee, black. It was the bold brew from Starbucks, only one dollar and ninety-four cents. Being October, and being Boston, and being night, there was an obvious briskness in the air, but nothing that would make a person stay inside that night. Upon queuing up, my friend lit himself a cigarette, and proceeded to inhale the rolled piece of paper. Still unsure if the caffeine from coffee was working, I strolled into the convenience store in front of which we were standing. I purchased a Red Bull, and was merciless in finishing it.

Enough of the tangents.

We wait in line, we wait in line, and then we wait in line some more. It was a long line. My friend yanked a poster for the show we were going to see (I also stole one, but it was later, and inside. There it is over at the left.) Eventually, we end up turning the corner, and head down the homestretch. We can see the doors, we know we are close. By this time, however, we have ended up standing behind a group of uppity high school seniors (at first they wanted us to believe that they were Hahvid kids, but my friend and I, 21 and 28 years old respectively, quickly saw through that ruse.), who acted more like they were in the sixth grade. Far too much nonsensical conversation, and absolutely no line etiquette.

"So who are you guys here to see?" my friend inquires of the two young gentlemen and two young ladies. "Tilly and the Wall" was their quick retort. OK. We are at a bit of an impasse since Tilly and the Wall are not playing the same show that we are going to see. Suddenly we wonder if we are standing in the right line. Are we even at the right venue? Good god! Did we come this way only to screw up this badly? We ask the guy who was clearly in charge of the line, "Is this the line for Upstairs?" His response: "Yeah. It's all for the same place." Only mildly relieved, we continue standing behind the rambunctious teenagers.

Now, these hipster teens were either high, drunk, both, or just had no conception of how to behave in public. Whatever it was, they asked us if we could name over fifty colleges in and around Boston. I said I could, but before the sentence was out of my mouth, they had already hit the ground running with their list. Maybe seventeen schools in, however, they decided that it would be more fun to try and name all fifty states. Ugh. They did not even get started with this challenge, instead opting for mindless banter. Had it not been for the incredible eyes of one of the young ladies, there may have been problems. There were not, and her eyes were very pretty.

So finally, we make it inside. My friend goes first. "Hi, my tickets are on roll call for Viva Voce and the Silversun Pickups." "That show is Upstairs." "Oh. Where is that?" "Out the door, back through the restaurant, all the way to the back." I honestly wish I was lying about this, but the restaurant was right where we first stood in line. We walk in, order a Harpoon UFO (delicious) for four dollars twenty-five cents (though actually a full five dollars), pick up our tickets and enter the tiny room (capacity 194, remember?).

We are early. There are very few people in the room. So we mill around, drinking our beer, checking out the table where the bands are seated and plying their wares. We tell them to rip it up tonight. We purchase a three dollar Pabst Blue Ribbon 16 Oz. Can (which is really four dollars) after we kill our firsts. After about thirty five to forty five minutes, it is time to go.

The Kingdom is the first band to take the stage. We get maybe twenty seconds of an intro from the lead singer before he jumps into song number one. The music was nothing earth shattering, but it was definately a lot of fun to listen to live. The guy made up for in energy what he lacked in vocal talent. "He kind of looks like a fat Andy Dick," quips my friend to me about halfway through their set. Indeed.

So The Kingdom is a five-piecer out of the Pacific Northwest. They are comprised of a drummer, bassist, guitarist, singer, and keyboardist. If you take a listen to these cats, you will not be in any rush to proclaim any of them the next great musical genius, but that does not mean that you cannot enjoy their rock-indie sound with a tinge of emo and a biting wit. Though the music was good for their entire forty-five minutes, it did not inspire me or my friend to rush over and purchase one of their albums. At the bitter end of their set, however, they decided that it would behoove them to perform a song a capella. Prior to this little change of pace, the female keyboardist (quite the little tart, might I add) had no vocal involvement with the band. Fat Andy Dick was/is the only one apparently allowed to sing. Yet, during this moment of musical clairty for The Kingdom, our little female keyboardist was not only allowed to sing, but lead the charge. And she had the voice of an angel.

That is not an exaggeration. She has a beautiful voice. And the band had terrific harmonies. They finish, the crowd applauds enthusiastically. My friend and I work our way over to the bathrooms. (A quick aside here: this is proper show etiquette. You do not push your way around the venue, going back and forth and back and forth to the bathroom during a set. Not only is it incredibly rude and disrespectful to the band playing, but it completely disrupts the viewing and listening pleasure of all those attending. Yes, I am looking at you, aging hipster, with your receding hairline and fauxhawk, and your jeans just a size too small, and your $55 "vintage" Tee. Just stop it.) There are two bathrooms, a person a piece, and only one of them locks. When we get there, there is a small wait, and the keyboardist (name: Jenna Roadman) is hovering around. She is much prettier up close than in any picture or even from seeing her from the back of the room. She is putting a giant scotch tape "W" on one of the bathrooms, so that the ladies may have a little bit of privacy when using the facilities.

"You have an absolutely amazing voice," says I to her.

"Thanks so much," she replies.

"Yeah, do you sing on the album at all?" queries my friend.

"Well, Chuck [the lead singer] sounds like a chick on the album, so that counts," snidely she remarks back to us. And with that, she disappeared into the restroom. When we moved back to our spot, and in front of the bands, we heard the instrument guy (this will be explained momentarily) yell "Awesome a capella dude." It was.

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So we each purchase another Pabst, and head back to our spots. Now Viva Voce is ready to go. And went they did.

Allow me to explain this band. They are a two piece. A man and a woman. Kevin and Anita Robinson. Apparently they are married. The man, Kevin, plays every instrument one could possibly imagine, but not the guitar. He pounds the skins (very well too), does a little keyboarding, harmonica-ing, sound mixing. You name it. Oh, and he sings. Yup. Anita, on the other hand, is a one instrument type of gal. Gheeee-tar.

I am going to make this very short, but probably not too sweet. Anita rips. She shreds. If the guitar were hot dogs, Anita would be Kobayashi.

As her guitar riffs were assaulting our eardrums, my friend and I were trying to pinpoint who she sounded like. I say she has a lot of Stevie Ray Vaughn in her, in that you get a lot of blues-y type wail. I forget what my friend said. It is not all that important.

Viva Voce (pronounced Vee-vah Voh-chay), plays melodic, indie, folk, blues, rock, grunge type music. They also have a little electric distortion too. Their set was really good. Tons of energy. The music was really crisp and clear. If one ever has a chance to see them live, there are a ton of worse ways to spend your night.

That is Anita and hubby over on the right. My friend says he fell in love with her. I am sure you can see why. Though she is much more attractive in person for sure.

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And now the time has come for the headliner. Firstly, background. The Silversun Pickups are a four-piecer out of LA. Brian Aubert plays guitar and sings, we have Nikki Monninger on bass, Christopher Guanlao pounds the skins, and Joe Lester tickles the ivories of the keyboard.

Now, the SSPUs have been on tour for a while, or this is the story I am told. If you have not meandered on over to their website or MySpace page, I suggest you do. So, I can wait while you listen to some of their music.

Listened yet?

OK. Now, I hope it becomes clear why it is important that I mention that they have been on tour for some time. As you probably heard (you did not... you did not listen to a thing), Brian Aubert does some gnarly things when he sings: he goes from low to high notes, from screeching to yelling to singing harmonically. Impressive, I know. As you may or may not know, this puts some strains on the vocal chords, and if you do not believe me, give it a try yourself. The point is telling you all of this is that he sounded as phenomenal as he does on a recording.

These cats rocked. On recorded stuff, it probably sounds as if the bass is not all that complicated or intricate (I would not know, having no knowledge of how to play any kind of an instrument), but, live, Nikki sounds amazing. (I am quickly running out of adjectives and superlatives). In fact, at the end of the show, she and Aubert even got into a little tete-a-tete with his guitar and her bass. Truly rad stuff. So she plays a mean bass, and is even more impressive in person. Oh. And she is pretty attractive, in an art teacher kind of way, which is to say that she is probably more attractive being a cooler person than prettier person. That is her over there. And it is not a particularly flattering picture. You may have to take my word for it.

So SSPU played for about an hour and fifteen minutes or there about. They played nearly their entire Carnavas album, and all the best stuff off of their debut EP Pikul. What was really good about the show was that they had a lot of energy. Despite having been on tour for most of the year, they honestly seemed like they wanted to be there, playing music, dealing with hipsters/scenesters/music snobs (geeks? nerds?)/assorted persons. Cool. They had really good interaction with the crowd, and had a good little back and forth going too, including a nice gem about us electing Kennedys in Massachusetts. (Apparently we here in the Bay State are supposed to be responsible for putting this country back on track and getting us out of this Christo-Fascist-Conservative quagmire [no, Democrats taking control of Congress does not get us out, merely stops the hole from getting deeper. That still means we are already six feet under with no way to get out.]. Aubert said something about "Can't you guys get a Kennedy in Congress to do something? Christ, paint the name Kennedy on a fucking pig and send him to Washington and he can't be worse than those dipshits there now! [Bemused laughter from the crowd.]." This was in no way a slight on Teddy. That is all.)

So in addition to playing their stuff regularly, they gave us some extended versions of stuff, added solos, a new verse in a song here and there. As I have stated, this show kicked a lot of ass. But instead of just breaking down their shit when they finished up their set, they hung around and chatted us up a bit if we wanted to stick around. It was only Midnight when this shindig finished, which is totally awesome for someone like me who has a 10:30 PM bedtime.
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Two hours of driving (one each way). A three and a half hour show with three solid to amazing bands. Cold beer. Good crowd and good company. Even better music. A really good way to spend a night.

Really, in a world where so much goes wrong on a daily basis, from someone bogarting you parking space when you were clearly waiting for it, to it only raining when you are outside, to all those bigger, more important matters of life and death that only get you down, a cold beer, good music, and good company seems to be like we are almost halfway there. The American Dream is too elusive. It ranges anywhere from making all the money in the world to just making it through the day to winning a baseball game. Maybe we should accept the fact that, no matter how hard we try, we will most likely still end up feeling like we have not done enough, got enough, made enough, something-ed not enough. And that sucks. So maybe we should redefine The American Dream: Cold Beer, Good Music, Good Company.

And the best part about a definition so attainable is that it is so attainable. Everyone can partake, and perhaps that ends a little bit of the desperation that is all to prevalent today. We should strive to make this crazy place just a little more humane for everyone else, so always work to redefine that American Dream within the context of the day: hold the door for someone, flash a smile to someone who seems down, please say thank you, let someone make that left hand turn even if you have to wait. But more importantly, buy 'em a cold beer.

Mahalo.

Somewhere along 290 to 495 to the Pike, we might just find a little piece of that elusive American Dream (Part I)

"We are in the middle of a musical renaissance."

This is what I have been told, on more than several occasions, lately by a coworker and friend. His reasoning is that the doors to the world of music have been forced open as a result of the internet. Indeed, anyone with a tape recorder and a MySpace account can get their shit out there and get themselves heard. The result is that we have a lot of crappy music out there, but we also get access to a lot of very good music that we previously would not have been able to even know about. Having very recently attended two shows with him (that would be two separate shows within the last three weeks), I am inclined to believe that seemingly hyperbolic statement. Indeed, he has broken me out of my musical rut of listening to bands that neither release new albums nor play shows. So I, too, am in the midst of a musical renaissance, albeit one purely composed of listening and criticism.

The first of these two shows was at Harper's Ferry in Alston. The headliner was The Long Winters (http://www.longwinters.com/) out of Seattle, Washington, an indie rock band with an indie rock sensibility and an indie rock sense of humor. Arriving at Harper's Ferry very early in the evening, we were inclined to consume quantities of alcohol (the quantity of consumption was not vast, but it was not miniscule either; quantities seems the appropriate word) and listen to the numerous bands opening the night. I think something like six bands took the stage of that intimate venue that evening, each getting something like forty five minutes a set, with The Long Winters obviously getting as much time as they wanted. All were lackluster until the penultimate act, Menomena (http://www.menomena.com/, it does not appear as if you can listen to any music at that site), a three piece outfit with obvious musical talent. They play some kind of intricate pop/indie/bluesy/rappy/electronica stuff. Each of the three maestros plays multiple instruments. I was dubious about their ability to recreate their sound on stage, having listened to several songs prior to arriving, but was pleasantly surprised. As I just said, they have very obvious musical talent, and a clearly defined musical sensibility, but I could not get into them, though it did seem as if most of the crowd (three hundred to three hundred fifty in all maybe?) was totally digging them, and even showed up to see them play. They rattled off four songs before getting cut off for whatever reason (I suspect a combination of time constraints and ragging on the sound guy).

The Long Winters got on stage at about 12:15 at night, and played up until 2 in the morning. Haper's Ferry being intimate, we had a pretty good back and forth going with the band, and they seemed to be digging the vibe (although they came off as having something against Boston; maybe they got mugged outside the Avalon in a past life while waiting in line for a Depeche Mode concert or something). They even gave it right back to one of the aging scenesters (how I loathe them) when he got upset when his song request was denied. "We'll get to that one, just keep looking cool in your two hundred dollar vintage army jacket" was the retort of the lead singer; said aging hipster then fled that violent scene, which at that time was only about halfway through the set. Of course, the loss of one scenester at a gig is never that bad. While the show was a good time, I cannot bring myself to purchase a Long Winters album. Sure they were fun to go out and spend ten dollars on for a show, but there is no reason to get obsessively into pretty straightforward indie/emo/sometimes punk music. I know that sounds like negative criticism, but it really is not. I like these guys, but their music is right in line with everyone else who is coming out of the northwest at this moment. Their lyrics, however, are much more complex than most other bands, which is clearly a major thing that they have going for them.

Show number two was Sunday evening at the Middle East on Mass Ave in Cambridge. It was Upstairs. If Harper's was intimate, Upstairs is downright cozy. My friend and I took note of the 194 person capacity of the room on the way into the confined space. Two notes about this venue: 1. It is wicked loud, but has great acoustics, and 2. Beer is expensive, as in three dollars (plus tip!) for the sixteen ounce Pabst cans (the ones that let everyone know how cheap you are). That being said, this show was, bar none, the single best live event I have ever been to. The nice thing about a 194 person room is that you only get people who want to listen to the music there, no scenesters (though for sure everyone there was a scenester, if that makes any sense). The lineup was as follows: The Kingdom (http://www.diealloverme.com/), then Viva Voce (http://www.vivavoce.com/), and then the Silversun Pickups (http://www.silversunpickups.com), which is a band you should probably know.

This show, while only clocking in at somewhere around the three to four hour mark, is something that requires much more description, analysis, scenester criticism, and some kind of relation to the American Dream. And I would like for you to keep reading, which I fear that you will not do if I make this too long and too boring. So, this is coming in two parts. Unfortunately, you get the lesser of the two shows first. But I will tell you these three things.

1. The guitarist for Viva Voce, of the female persuasion, is an utterly, ridiculously, amazingly talented guitarist. She shreds.
2. For ten to fifteen dollars a show, you simply cannot beat this kind of entertainment. Really just a good night out (with cold beer too!), even if you are not all that into the music. And anyone of you who reads this is always more than welcome to come to a show and enjoy a night out with me.
3. You should definitely be listening to the Silversun Pickups. Go to their website and check out their MP3s. I think you can get "Future Foe Scenarios" and "Little Lover's So Polite." On their MySpace page you can get "Kissing Families" and "Lazy Eye," which are two phenomenal songs. At the very least, listen to those guys and give them a chance.

So, then, until next time. I promise this will not always be about music, shows I attended, and my dislike of hipsters. No, most of the time you will get television, movies, literature, politics, sports, and music. All that good stuff you like, and so do I. And I promise, we will be taking a savage journey to the heart of the American Dream.

This is just a test

Indeed, it is.