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From The Audience

From The Audience: St. Vincent At The Anthem

Note: The following was written by Roy Ghim and appeared in last week’s edition of 72 Hours. And … well, you all know Roy, right? Right. So enough with the explanations.

“I can’t turn off what turns me on.”

So sang Annie Clark, aka St. Vincent, at the Anthem in D.C., the lyrics a wry commentary on social media that doubles as entendre. Dropping by the gleaming new music venue (a proverbial brighter light in a bigger box) last Monday, along with a near capacity crowd, I witnessed art rock brilliance. Interestingly, it included her indie short film as the opening act. That’s a novel way to see newer indie film projects — creative in solving a distribution challenge (albeit with a captive audience) — but no less powerful in the communal way it was being consumed by a receptive audience.

Inaugurated last October, the Anthem quickly dazzled audiences with its raw industrial design, pristine sound system and intimate atmosphere — a difficult feat considering it resembles a cross between an enormous arena and the much smaller (yet still mighty) 9:30 Club. Except that it’s five times as large as its uptown cousin. Owned and operated by IMP, it’s part of a roster of venues that’s defiantly independent of national conglomerates like Live Nation that have come to dominate the concert music industry. To compete, co-owner Seth Hurwitz made what is arguably the best concert theater in the nation. Considered midsize, in-between the Verizon Center and the 9:30 Club, it fits neatly into D.C.’s live music landscape. I can’t help but wonder if New Spire Stages (nee Frederick Cultural Arts Center), with interior construction beginning in January, might be the midsize venue Frederick has been waiting for, booking vital national acts to pair with local bands. It’s potentially a quantum leap forward in putting Frederick’s music scene on the map.

Back to the show. Massive curtains retracted to reveal Act 1: a screening of Annie Clark’s debut as a film auteur. A blurring of film genres, “The Birthday Party” weaved comedy with horror. Puzzled ticket holders expecting the band to come out with instruments blazing were treated to a quirky film about a frantic mother’s attempt to maintain the illusion of normalcy during her daughter’s birthday party despite the presence of a dead body in the house. The film was backed by THX movie theater sound on steroids, compelling with a heart attack inducing soundtrack (Annie Clark’s — who else?) that set the mood on edge. Part of the “XX” horror anthology pieced together by female directors, those keen on seeing the short film in select art house theaters got their chance last February. For many, this concert was their first opportunity to see Clark’s film, a fascinating way to bring indie cinema to the public. Reading between the lines of Clark’s songs about isolation within a digital world, it suggests a commentary about the ways to see cinema; sure you could see it digitally on-demand (one avenue to view “The Birthday Party,” which does bridge a distribution gap for indie films), but nothing beats seeing a film with thousands of people seeing/hearing it for the first time, and getting a visceral reaction — together.

Act 2 reveals St. Vincent, coming out from a small opening in the curtains, armed with a mic, guitar and possibly a backing band further behind. Except with each song, stage-ninjas (they really do exist) pulled open portions of what increasingly looked like an empty stage. The Washington Post described her outfit as a “magenta fembot get-up,” part rock spectacle that nevertheless seemed to hold a deeper meaning — an act of a fierce feminist being transparent with her vulnerabilities — and possibly showing the absurdity of objectification. Gliding effervescently through her older catalogue of songs, reworked and reimagined, it took some getting used to the fact there wasn’t a backing band. Many things can go wrong going solo — from creating atmosphere to going live without a wire — keeping up with a backing track has it’s logistical challenges. Not many people can pull off a rock show like this and deliver. The deceptively minimalist concept, just herself, her voice and her guitar was all the fireworks needed.

The triple threat of her angelic how-can-she-sing-like-that voice in unison and in counterpoint with the shredding of her electric guitar (custom built by — you guessed it) with disorienting moving pictures behind her all amounted to not just a concert — but art as performance. It stripped away some of the pretenses and allowed the deconstructed songs to be appreciated in tandem with the focus on the delivery of her voice, her stage presence and her brilliant guitar work. Channelling Prince and David Byrne, the deconstructed music coming out from the PA speakers was transcendent.

An intermission and costume change later, Act 3 showcased her newest album, Masseduction. Illustrating the paradox of being connected by millions via technology, yet feeling increasingly out of contact, the solitary figure cut by Clark cast a wide shadow across the LED colored stage. Paired with images of her own looped films (that rivals the weird visual landscape from a Talking Heads concert circa 1983), the juxtaposition turned out to be devastatingly effective. The Washington Post observed, “Watching St. Vincent perform in front of St. Vincent is like being caught between two mirrors, an infinite loop of isolation.”

December 7, 2017 0 comment

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From The Audience: Somi At The Weinberg Center

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The following is written by the fabulous Imade Borha. If you dig, you can follow her on Twitter here. Enjoy!

Ten minutes before Somi’s concert Thursday night at the Weinberg, I wanted to cuss all of Frederick out. There was hardly anyone there. As I sat in my seat, right behind a grey-haired gentleman who didn’t know what airplane mode was, I was shocked that Frederick wouldn’t come out to listen to the talented chanteuse who eloquently sings of the African diaspora.

Somi melds disparate worlds together in her jazz-infused music. Her latest album, “Petite Afrique,” chronicles the African immigrant journey of living in America. The album was inspired by the sights and sounds of the West African community in her Harlem neighborhood. “The Lagos Music Salon,” Somi’s 2014 album, is like a travel journal of her pivotal time in Lagos, Nigeria. And “If The Rains Come First” created a template of Somi’s boundary-less music. This 2009 album included a collaboration with influential South African musician Hugh Masekela.

But Thursday night, it seemed just over 50 people (100 at best) in the Frederick area witnessed Somi’s talent. The empty seats were like the elephant in the room during Somi’s concert. Every time she gazed towards the back of the Weinberg, I cringed hoping she didn’t see the paltry audience before her.

Somi never mentioned the crowd’s size, but she did thank the audience for being present. As soon as she said that, a small group yelled, “Thank you” back to her. That was what Somi’s concert was like. An intimate performance in front of an audience much smaller than the artist’s musicality.

Somi entered the Weinberg stage wearing a yellow striped dress with a yellow beaded collar. She took her time singing, as if she was trying to set a mood. Her voice varied from being soft and mellow, to soaring, to quick, rhythmic notes, like there was a lightning bolt in her body. Somi was backed by a small but nimble ensemble of a bassist moving from upright to electric, a guitarist, drummer, and a pianist who moved from an acoustic grand piano to what seemed to be a Wurlitzer keyboard.

“Am I black enough for you?,” Somi sang from her “Petite Afrique” song, “Black Enough.” Somi plunged herself in the highlife-jazz music. She danced, with her hands and arms slowly cascading. She even did some rhythmic breathing to punctuate the song’s rhythm. She ended “Black Enough” with her arms raised. She uttered a phrase that appeared in many Black Lives Matter protests: “Don’t shoot me!”

With her warm voice that seems to shimmer in the upper register, Somi is able to sing bitter truths without coming across as harsh.

“Ankara Sundays,” a song about a woman who has one day of the week to live fully with joy, has an underlying current of both sorrow and resilience. Somi delicately performed this song while a funky bass riff played behind her. The band made the song feel like a living organism in knowing how to swell the instrumentation into a triumphant chorus.

The next song Somi performed, “Two Dollar Day,” was inspired by her time in Lagos during the Occupy Nigeria movement in 2012. Protests formed when gas prices skyrocketed due to the government’s removal of fuel subsidies. Somi explained this to the audience before singing of a woman who is stranded, unable to pay for fuel.

“Can’t get home,” Somi sang, in a way that made the notes linger. She has a way of creating visual images that makes you see the people on the margins of privileged society.

“Brown Round Things,” a song Somi performed about prostitutes, is another example. Somi was in her element during this somber song, as she shaped and elongated her notes in a fluid way where the words flowed together.

One of the last songs Somi performed was “Ginger Me Slowly,” a personal favorite of mine, that was stripped down to just a guitar backing with snaps from her band members.

The final song Somi performed was “Last Song,” which is likely a closing staple of her setlist. “Last Song” is both pensive and exuberant, and it felt even more important since she was singing in front of a mostly empty Weinberg. To commit your best when hardly anyone notices you is a sign Somi is giving her all like each concert is her last.

October 30, 2017 0 comment

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From The Audience: The Pretty Reckless At Rams Head Live

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Note: The following was written by Bill Mercurio. He headed over to Baltimore to check out The Pretty Reckless at Rams Head Live on Friday. And he did so via his car, a car that he has named Larry. If you’d like to tell him how much you love him – or how much you think The Pretty Reckless sucks – feel free to shoot him an email at bmercurio@newspost.com.

Wow. Who knew? Certainly not this humble (and occasional) reviewer. The Pretty Reckless flat out Bring. It. Live. This is an one impressive hard rock act. And I’m not referring to Miss Gossip Girl’s, umm, many charms.

Thanks to a recent car purchase – love me some Larry! – and a maddening commute, your correspondent enjoys scores of hours of commercial-free satellite radio every week (must listen: Jason Schwarzman’s Sirius show – love this dude. Thank me later). Throw in a Napster subscription and a plethora of music channels on FIOS and you’d think I’d know plenty of The Pretty Reckless songs. Because they play them all the time, right? Actually, no. They do not. In fact, it’s literally never, so I really don’t get to hear any TPR. How does this group find fans? There’s some serious secret squirrel stuff going on. Even my better half – always on the lookout for new material – asked me, “Wait, who are you going to see?”

So, until Friday night, I was a casual fan at best, mostly because of the estimable visual appeal of Taylor Momsen (sorry, not sorry). I really just only knew “F&*ked Up World” and a smattering of others. But … thanks to the promise of a free ticket and a dispiriting lack of – what shall we call them? – conflicts on my calendar, I decided to slog it all the way to Charm City, endure a mediocre Mexican meal, miss some of the baby band, barely dodge a street fight (one of the Charms I hear!), stand in a long line for lame merch (umm, some of us don’t wear black, ever), and lose my reporter’s notebook; yet I still absolutely enjoyed one of the tightest, head-bangingest rock shows I’ve seen in many years.

This extremely dynamic four-piece – free of lame backing tracks – has clearly spent plenty o’ time in the woodshed. Way light on the effects, lights, gimmicks etc. No floating pigs or visual aids, and that was wonderful because Momsen can sing. How can she look that great and sing that well?

But anyway. Back to the action.

Starting around 10 p.m. after openers Them Evils (meh) and Holy White Hounds (meh +), and in support of “Who You Selling For,” Momsen kicked off the 12-song set with “Follow Me Down.” Yup. Nailed It. Plenty of peeps singing along. Good hook. Perfectly executed. Energetic, hearty pipes that can fill a capacity show at Ram’s Head Live. Then, roughly (I did lose my notebook after all, and this is from memory gentle readers), it went like this: “Oh My God,” “Hangman,” “Medicine Man,” and “Prisoner.” Great stuff from their first few releases even though the set did seem a little brief. Two openers and you cats could only play 12 songs? Throw in two or three more songs. Kill the drum solo.

Also worth pointing out: The crowd was far more diverse that I expected. I assumed to see far more of those annoying splenetic millennials you’ve read about, plus the de rigeur crowd of local hard-rock aficionados. Not the case. We had moms and older folks, head bangers, Libertarians, pagans, stenographers, and so many of the other persuasions that cause the new administration concern.

As is my wont, the required blow-by-blow for guitar nerds: Ex-Famous axeman Ben Philips coaxed a fairly clean tone out of his ES-355 copy, an axe he used on almost every song (a Les Paul showed up late in the gig although I could barely tell a sonic difference). The semi-hollow body surprised said humble correspondent! Who, this side of Alex Lifeson, attempts this for 11 songs, feedback-free? It was surprising how well this instrument accommodated the room and the band’s angular driving ethos.

A technically proficient player, Phillips seems bound to garden-variety rock riffs (“Going to Hell”) for the A sections, although he does allow himself to go “outside” at times and, in general, he brings tasteful chops, tones and dynamics to the clambake. I don’t get the sense that his playing really challenges or inspires the band or surprises the audience with context or ideas – the best players do this. And he’s not overly concerned with melody, though I love that he holds back. Still, he’s a very solid player and rare is the hard rock player not given to overplaying. Kudos.

OK, enough of the wonky crap.

This was a very good show. Tight and focused. Watch Ms. Momsen shed a leather duster after a few songs. Sing along to her blue yet often clichéd lyrics. Endure the drum solo. It’s totes ma-gotes worth it. I give it five Schwartzmans.

November 21, 2016 0 comment

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From The Audience: Katie Powderly Reviews Mandolin Orange’s ‘Blindfaller’

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Editor’s Note: The following review is written by Katie Powderly. She reached out to us, asking if we’d be up for publishing her take on the latest record by Mandolin Orange. Such is why this is under the “From The Audience” moniker: Any time anyone wants to write something for us in this context, we’ll forever be happy to publish it. To learn more about Katie, check out her Facebook page here. The credit for the photo of her goes to Emily Gude.

Perhaps there are things more powerful on this earth than a man and a woman singing together in effortless harmony, but I’m not sure quite what that would be. Such is the case with North Carolina folk duo Mandolin Orange. They just released their fifth studio album, “Blindfaller,” and the two continue to do what they do best: Quietly go about the business of punching you right in the gut, without ever actually touching you.

For those unfamiliar with their music, it is time to get hip. Comprised of Andrew Marlin and Emily Frantz, the duo has demonstrated an ability to craft timeless songs seemingly out of the ether. Songwriter Andrew Marlin creates the framework of the songs with his lyrics and simple, yet haunting, melodies. Then, he and Emily Frantz flesh out the arrangements, adding instrumentation and harmonies. The two take turns playing guitar, adding fiddle, mandolin, and sometimes banjo. For this recording, they have added a full band to fill out their sound, which works well. In the midst of the songs’ foundations, one element soars to the foreground: Andrew and Emily’s harmony vocals that bounce and weave on a bed of melody. And the lyrics. Those lyrics.

Andrew Marlin embodies the characteristics of any exceptional songwriter: He is quietly observant, adept at creating compelling narratives using an economy of language. Songwriting is not a long-form art, and Marlin needs very little time to make an impact with his words. Historically relying heavily on the use of metaphor to create cryptic yet interpretable narratives, this album marks a departure from that writing style into the world of very literal language.

Track two, “Wildfire,” is a scathing indictment of some of the inhabitants of Andrew’s southern home. It’s criticizing “the rebels” who “run wild,” who romanticize the historical legacy of slavery and institutionalized racism, who perpetuate the myth that the entire South is ignorant and racist, and who pine for the past as opposed to focusing on building a future.

Civil war came, civil war went
Brother fought brother, the south was spent
But its true demise was hatred, passed down through the years

It should have been different, it could have been easy
But pride has a way of holding too firm to history
And it burns like wildfire

I was born a southern son
In a small southern town where the rebels run wild
They beat their chest and they swear: we’re gonna rise again

In just one short verse, he deftly positions himself in the context of the small Southern town, paradoxically both a part of it and simultaneously separate because of the “wild” behaviors of “the rebels.” He is the South’s native son — and therefore an integral part of it — though he remains detached from those who would have been his peers, divided along lines of ideology. Marlin doesn’t need to “rise again” because he has not fallen in the first place. He’s not allowed himself to succumb to the racist beliefs passed down like poison through the veins in the lineage of some of his neighbors. Pretty poignant and rather political for a modern day folk album, yes?

Though Andrew and Emily’s vocal delivery is understated, subtle, and almost soft-spoken, these songs prove that they are not to be mistaken as shy or hesitant. There is nothing reluctant about the messages herein. They know exactly what they’re doing.

And “Blindfaller” is full of zingers just as potent, leaving you to toss and turn them over in your mind throughout the quiet of your day. For example:

When did all the good times turn to hard lines on my face? — “My Blinded Heart”

Whiskey never holds you like a good girl can. — “Hard Travelin’”

Now she’s the one that you call “home.” — “Cold Lover’s Waltz”

When did all the sad songs that we used to know come to haunt me so each lonely night? — “My Blinded Heart”

Perhaps the most charming aspect of their music is that you must pay attention in order to ascertain their underlying lyrical messages. Playing softly in the background, their songs just sound pretty. Yet upon closer inspection, they are highly political, they are unafraid to take a stand.

And take a stand is what Mandolin Orange recently did upon finding out via “The Wall Street Journal” that Mike Pence, Republican Party nominee for Vice President of the United States, had used one of their songs at a rally without permission. The duo reflected on Pence’s transgression, and then penned a response on their website decrying his actions and publicly stating their opposition to his politics.

November 2, 2016 0 comment

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From The Audience: Jeff Beck At Wolf Trap

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Note: The following was written by Bill Mercurio. He’s been a Jeff Beck uber-fan for longer than you’ve been eating hamburgers (unless you’ve been a lifelong vegan, in which case, just forget I said that). He attended the Jeff Beck/Buddy Guy tour at the fabulous Filene Center precisely one week ago today. He even took the blurry picture you see alongside these words. If you’d like to tell him how much you love him – or how much you think Jeff Beck sucks – feel free to shoot him an email at bmercurio@newspost.com.

Even at the whopping cost of $1,500, I have never regretted my trip to England to see Jeff Beck perform a special show in London. Despite the depths of the great recession – even staring down a stack of unpaid bills – never did I wish I had that money back. That three-plus hour show included walk-on performances by Paul Rodgers, John McLaughlin and Terry Bozzio, as well as a set by the White Stripes. So yeah, definitely worth the dosh.

Experiences should always trump stuff, right?

Which brings me to last week’s Jeff Beck gig at Wolf Trap. Surely I was set up to be disappointed, right? Not at all. As a matter of fact, July 27 ranks as one of my favorite Jeff Beck shows, and, given my multi-decade history with the best Yardbird, that says a lot.

For the uninitiated, Jeff Beck is one of the truly transcendent electric guitarists of all-time, and his countless contributions to guitar-based rock, pop, jazz, fusion and rockabilly cannot be overstated. Dude’s a two-time Hall-of-Famer for a reason and last week’s show proved why, confirming that my man crush on a 72-year wifebeater-baring axman is wholly-justified. For 75 flawless minutes, the deeply talented six-piece band delivered a just-about-perfect rock gig. Beck’s playing is as enigmatic as ever – expressive, dynamic, and teeming with vibratoed chord fragments and intervals, glissandos, sweep picking, very quick legato runs and his patented machine gun triplets. Kid loves him some pedal tones, too – it’s just another day at the office in terms of the guy’s fretwork. But this tour in particular will find purchase among casual Beck fans, those who don’t care about his unusual picking technique and his sublime use of the trem bar. Here’s why: All 17 tunes were highly-engaging in their own right, offering a diversity of genre, meter and era. There’s something for everyone; run don’t walk.

The players – which included two singers, Rosie Bones and Jimmie Hall – moved effortlessly from funk to a boogie woogie instrumental (penned by the late and criminally-underrated Johnnie Mack) to standards like “Morning Dew,” “A Change is Gonna Come,” and “Superstition.” Miss Bones, a youthful, Cockney-inflected sprite, was the energetic center of the performance, stalking the crowd with a megaphone (a reference to the new album’s cover art), dancing by herself and falling to her knees. I loved the energy, and take it from me, most Beck shows could use a little more Jazzercise – even hardcore fans understand that an ear may grow weary of 15 guitar instrumentals. (Although I wish he had played “Nadia.” That gorgeous, evocative melody, rendered as only Beck can, is a compelling live piece; take out “Big Block”).

Of the 17 tunes, only 10.5 were penned by Beck – yeah, I give him half of “Superstition” – which reveals his sincere appreciation of other people’s musical ideas as well as his confidence in presenting material from the Beatles to Hambone Willie with both fidelity and passion. Again, there’s something for everyone.

And when I say everyone, I mean everyone in the crowd bought what Mr. Hall was selling on “Morning Dew.” By the time the gritty Wet Willie front man leaned into the second verse, it. Gave. Me. Goosebumps. As the tune continued to build, Beck’s “brown” tone filled the arena and drummer John Joseph found the right mix of rolls and double bass licks without stepping on the singer’s toes. I felt privileged to experience it, so much so that I muttered to a friend the following: “Rod who?”

Unfortunately, when we saw Mr. Hall later in the night, on “Rollin’ and Tumblin,’” he didn’t quite seem able to connect with it. Perhaps it was the tempo or the fact that Hall had lost his mojo by being sidelined for 30-plus minutes, but … meh, it seemed flat. Imogene Heap – who crushed it on You Had It Coming – knew how to cut through and over the countless double-stops and claim her own space. Regardless, Beck furiously stormed all over the neck on this tune, no fret was spared, and he tossed in a few lengthy glissandos to boot.

Another special moment came quite unexpectedly. “Cause We’ve Ended as Lovers,” unarguably one of the most poignant guitar instrumentals of all time, and a tune I learned and taught note for note many years, has always been a tremendous live show letdown, and, really, the perfect time for me to freshen my drink. That’s because in every performance – from “Secret Policeman” to “Ronnie Scott’s” – the tempo has been sacrificed, and far worse, the guitarist overplays on what is necessarily a spare and haunting farewell; it just never worked for me live (the “Ronnie Scott’s” version wanders unnecessarily). In the 1975 studio version, Beck proves Miles Davis’ declaration that “music is the space between the notes … it’s the notes you don’t play.” Well, last week, he didn’t play a lot of notes, as this version breathed, tension was built and resolved, and no busy hands were to be found. It was an epic live moment for this rare piece, and a fanboy’s moment to cherish.

Ms. Bones sang on tunes from Loud Hailer, which included “O.I.L.,” “Scared for the Children,” “Right Now,” and the Tom Morello-approved “The Ballad of the Jersey Wives.” All were rendered brilliantly, although the latter was especially compelling as Bones channeled her inner Emily Gaines as the vamp continued on and on. I didn’t find the rather long solo on “Children” to be cohesive or engaging; it seemed like it needed a stronger melody or hook.

Also of note: Consistent with all Beck shows, there was very little spectacle; it was a stripped down affair and the one visual element was the Loud Hailer album cover image projected onto the back of the stage.

The opening act, blues legend Buddy Guy, started on time – bonus on a school night! – and brought his customary flamboyance, bombast and swagger to his 50-minute set. Mostly working the upper register of his Fender all night, his stinging solos were as edgy, aggressive and effective as always, and his 80-year-old voice is holding up beyond natural limits. His set benefited from his keenly dynamic drummer who showed consistent respect for the main instruments, maintained a crisp just behind-the-beat pocket all night, and employed just the right amount of syncopation (the sound-man didn’t do him too many favors as the crash and splash cymbals were difficult to discern and the snare drum seemed damped). As is his custom, Mr. Guy went wireless and patrolled the sweaty masses for several minutes, soling out of control. Overwrought with feedback, this attendee could have done with less of this form of showmanship – frankly, musically, it was a hot cacophonous mess at times but … eh … it’s show biz, and most of the crowd eats it up.

But back to Beck. As has been his practice for the last few years, Geoffrey Arnold closed with his solo rendition of “A Day in the Life.” Here’s a tip: Don’t head for the doors early. It’s musical manna, and the rare example of what comes from a virtuoso re-imagining one of the pop world’s best-known melodies. If nothing else, it’s worth a listen on YouTube.

As we departed, a member of my group, while learning of Mr. Beck’s age and history, commented, “I always hear about Eric Clapton being so great; this guy is really good, too.” Indeed.

At least $1,500 per show of good.

August 3, 2016 0 comment

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From The Audience: The Frederick Music Showcase Vol. 2

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Note: The following was written by Nick Ring. We’ve done this once before – all the way back in August – and we can’t say this enough: If you’re out there, and you feel like writing a bit about the stuff we have going down, we are happy to give you a platform to opine. Always and forever. For those who may not know, Nick is a member of local funk group Jack Funk, who you can check out on Facebook here. They will be commencing for a special semi-acoustic performance at Paddy’s Irish Pub in Charles Town, West Virginia, on Saturday, while next Saturday, they’ll return to Olde Towne Tavern for a night with Go Slow. Their debut LP, “Good For Your Soul,” is currently available on all the requisite Internet platforms (iTunes, Spotify, Amazon, Google, etc.), and, of course, on CD Baby. We thank Nick. We love Nick. We love you. And to all a good night.

Remember the inaugural Frederick Music Showcase? Hard Swimmin’ Fish, The Knolly Moles, Heavy Lights and Old Indian broke the ice, so to speak, for more local acts to follow in their footsteps and share the stage of our historic downtown theater. Needless to say there was much anticipation for this year’s event — who’s gonna play, what will they wear, what are we going to eat and drink, and most importantly, where’s the afterparty? The answers brought joy to us all: Retro/Ricole feat. DaMood, Katie Powderly and the Unconditional Lovers, Silent Old Mtns., and Freddy Long Band; who cares; Monocacy Brewing brews and Pork Authority BBQ; and where else, but The Cellar Door.

Retro/Ricole kicked off the night with a high energy performance. It was the first ever live hip-hop performance at the Weinberg, as we understand it. Backed by the rockin’ six-piece band DaMood, flush with keys/synths, trumpet, and trombone, the showman Ricole led a song-blending set that got the crowd moving like only hip-hop can. With a cast of collaborators featuring masked dubstep dancers, lovely backup singers, guest emcees and a few shoutouts to the crowd, it felt like a real family affair. There were hands clapping and waving overhead. There was an upright bass, an electronic drum kit, heavily distorted guitar, and on a few songs, there was even a ukulele. Overall, Retro/Ricole’s performance was a kind of variety show bearing new sights and sounds at every turn. And the people dug it.

Katie Powderly and the Unconditional Lovers next took the stage. As Powderly graced the theater with her mellow, mid-tempo brand of acoustic rock storytelling, seats were filling up in the Weinberg. Her subdued voice and slight twang (evidenced by her cowgirl boots) lulled the crowd into a sweet sort of nostalgic daze. You may have recognized the guitarist and bassist in the band – those would be the Durr brothers, Neal and Evan on guitar and bass, respectively. They pop up all over Frederick performing with a number of bands, playing whichever instrument needs to be picked up … because that’s how they roll. Katie introduced the Unconditional Lovers, giving each some time to shine, and shine they did. “If you’d like me to sing you to sleep every single night, we can make that happen,” Katie told the audience, mentioning she’d be in the lobby with CDs for sale.

Silent Old Mtns. then commandeered the Weinberg Center with their animated six-piece indie outfit, shuffling through an original canon of dynamic, multi-layered folky rock. With a verifiable smorgasbord of instruments and attitudes, their music filled the performance hall thoroughly, bringing young fans bopping to their feet and singing along to cinematic crowd-favorites like “Trenches.” If you haven’t seen these guys live, not only are they multi-talented musicians, but they’re comical and endearing with their stage banter. The banjo player, Sam Whalen, who cocked his head and strutted like a rooster across the stage as he plucked, and dramatically tossed shakers onstage and off, at one point said into the mic, “It’s Frederick out there, which means friends and family. All you strangers … tonight that means you too … congratulations.” You have to enjoy a band that can successfully blend electric guitar, bass, drums, keys, banjo, slide guitar, mandolin, and melodica, all while hitting three-part vocal harmonies and having a good time. Oh, and did I mention the horn sit-ins? Bottomline: The dudes have got great, natural stage presence.

For those who stalk Frederick Playlist, you might have also noticed that the first three bands performing were also featured on the Frederick Playlist/Flying Dog compilation from last fall. Also, now is a fine time to give a shout to Mr. Todd Walker, who kept the tunes rollin’ from above in the lobby between acts for the second year running.

Finally, the Freddy Long Band began their set with a rendition of the “Star-Spangled Banner,” which featured Long on the table slide guitar, a nod to our very own FSK (not the mall). The band wore full black suits, taking a more formal departure from the “t-shirt and jeans blend of pop, rock, soul and honesty” we’re so accustomed to seeing on Market Street on a Friday night. This horn-heavy line-up toted not one, but two saxophones, one trumpet, and one trombone player, along with bass, drums, and Freddy’s contributions on acoustic, slide, and electric guitars, as well as harmonica, keys and vocals. The singer-songwriter and namesake of the band echoed a sentiment that I feel each performer of the evening expressed at some point: A, “We did it, Mom!” feeling, finally taking the stage after years of being part of the Weinberg’s audience. They were now watched by loyal friends and family, and embraced by the artistic community of the city. Freddy also fulfilled a four-year-old’s request to hear the song “Let It Go” from the movie Frozen, which the girls’ parents recorded on their phones because it was past her bedtime. That’s just the kind of guy he is.

This second installment of the Frederick Music Showcase demonstrated a unique juxtaposition of artists from the impressive array of talent that Frederick has to offer. From hip-hop to pop-rock, electronic drum kits to ukuleles, the evening held something for everyone. I saw couples whose normal Thursday night routines might consist of little more than catching their usual prime-time television show instead waving their arms in the air to local music that they may never have known existed. It’s a true testament to the virtue and beauty of the collaborations that make the Frederick Music Showcases possible.

March 3, 2016 0 comment

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From The Audience: Giraffes? Giraffes!

written by contributor

Note: The following was written by Trevor Davis. He attended Saturday night’s show and wanted to write a little about what he saw. If anyone else is out there and would like to write about an event we produce from an attendee’s perspective in the future, please reach out and let us know – we encourage it! For now, though, here’s Trevor’s take on Saturday night.

If you like art, music, or entertainment and haven’t had the chance to experience 200 East, do yourself a big favor and catch the next event. On August 8, I walked into the old Frederick News-Post building and immediately understood the allure. Large murals painted by various local artists covered the walls. Local painter, Tom Kemp, was set up in the back of the room painting on canvas. Flying Dog was serving their delicious craft beer at a bar in the corner while a small kiosk served kale chips, tomatoes, and vegetarian chili. You would never know this venue is normally a vacant building. Fans packed into lines at the merch tables, played cornhole, and danced to the enchanting rhythms emitting from the stage. Local band Kabob-O-Taj opened the evening, followed by performances by spaced-out local group Time Columns and headliner spirit band Giraffes? Giraffes!.

I had an opportunity to sit down around a bonfire and spend time with Giraffes? Giraffes! as well as Time Columns after the show over some sweet Flying Dog nectar to ask them a few questions.

You might not expect a national touring band that have been together for a decade, released multiple albums, and established an almost-cult fan-base like Giraffes? Giraffes! to be so modest. But when I asked how it felt to arrive in a new city they had never played before — where fans were wearing giraffe costumes — drummer Ken Topham smiled and answered, “I still can’t believe it sometimes.”

Guitarist Joe Andreoli quickly gave the credit to Time Columns. “Their promo vids all week is what created the hype,” he said.

What’s even more unbelievable is the energy Andreoli and Topham exude on stage and the effort that goes into making it all happen off stage. The two have an intimate and fun chemistry that could only come from hours and hours of practice and years of touring, but they also take care of their own bookings and promotion, as well as record themselves. These guys do it all.

This DIY attitude is something that Time Columns has adopted and made work for them over the years. The group’s guitarist, Kenny Eaton, owns and operates a recording studio, Mystery Ton Studios, where the band records most of their material. Time Columns’ wild drummer, Jordan Miller, also owns a recording studio and with his professional videographer skills has been able to create some impressive music videos for the band. Throw in their perfectionist bassist, Stefan, along with all three of the group’s members’ ability to pitch in to book shows, give interviews, and receive free Chipotle on the road, and you have yourself what they like to call a math rock band.

So, I asked the question, “Wait. What is math rock?” After some confused looks between Andreoli and Topham — and multiple responses about overlapping genres of post rock, prog rock, and experimental rock — I found that the answer wasn’t easy.

Miller chimed in: “It has to do with syncopated drum beats and all the jerky time signature changes like doing math. Like progressive rock with more punk attitude thrown in.”

“Math rock is a subgenre of progressive rock — bands like King Crimson and Mahavishnu Orchestra — that is mostly instrumental and rhythmically complex … most non-math rock songs stick to 4/4, 3/4 or 6/8 meters,” Eaton explained.

Giraffes? Giraffes! were on their ninth day of a 10-day tour when they played the 200 East Art Haus, and I wanted to know more about being on the road and the ritzy hotels they stayed at every night.

Topham informed me that they “never stay in hotels or motels. I think we’ve stayed in two since 2005.”

So, what do they do? They couch surf. Joe excitedly revealed a story from a few nights prior in Chicago where they had the chance to stay at a fan’s place. After being directed to an abandoned and empty building for the evening, Andreoli said, “I had to sleep with my knife in my hand all night.”

On their last day, before heading up to their final show in Pennsylvania, Giraffes? Giraffes! recorded two videos at Mystery Ton Studios, so look for that release in the near future. I also recommend keeping your eyes peeled for the talent in Frederick’s continuously expanding music and art scene.

August 11, 2015 0 comment