Ben Howard- Union Transfer, Philadelphia 9/21/12

I’m not a professional writer, and I don’t pretend to be one. As such, I try not to write anything negative about my musical experiences, which accounts for the giant hole in 2012’s timeline.  For example, out of an entire Folk Music Festival, City & Colour was the only experience I thoroughly enjoyed.  I don’t know much about Dallas Green except that I really like a few of his songs and that, when he played live in Newport, I was utterly exhausted and completely relieved to hear a singer that wasn’t whining about politics or global warming.

Keeping that in mind, I think I could write all day about the Ben Howard show I experienced this weekend.  Having only heard a few seconds of a live Ben Howard recording I caught on BBC Radio weeks ago, I purchased tickets and crossed my fingers.  It was a Friday night at my favorite venue in Philadelphia, so, how bad could it be? 

Gill Landry, of Old Crow Medicine Show, opened the evening.  From what I could tell, he is not the lead singer of OCMS, but just the bass of his speaking voice made your chest vibrate.  Of course, the boyfriend was in heaven, he loves folk-y music, and my sneaking suspicion is that the driving force for him to first listen to OCMS was that the name of the band includes a reference to his “favorite $6-a-bottle bourbon.”  I was surprised too.  Apparently there are multiple options for 6-dollar bourbon available in your neighborhood liquor store.  Regardless, I thoroughly enjoyed him.

I could have done without the artificial smoke filling the staging area before Ben Howard took his place on stage.  Once he started playing, I understood the fake smoke.  The percussion filled the room before Ben’s voice broke through…  And what a voice!  None of his studio albums prepare you for the raw talent Ben Howard exhibited on Union Transfer’s stage that night.  Let’s just combine the percussion experience of Frightened Rabbit and a voice that may have actually blown Ray LaMontagne out of the water. 

The crowd was hushed during every song, and, from what I could tell, just as blown away as I was.  Based on the incredibly messy notes I took during the show, this is the portion of the set list I can decipher: 

Depth Over Distance

Only Love

Old Pine

Esmeralda

It’s Everything

Black Flies

Keep Your Head Up

Fear

Apparently the set list was slightly modified shortly before the start of the show due to a broken amplifier.  All in all, great show, really, really great show.  Sometimes brevity is your best option, instead of dissecting and harping on every detail of a show…

As of the end of September, this ranks as my favorite show of 2012.  I sincerely doubt anyone will even come close to rivaling the live performance of Ben Howard.

The Terrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

The Menzingers-  June 29, 2012; The Barbary/Gunner’s Run, Philadelphia

The Menzingers are basically the adopted sons of Philadelphia.  Originally from Scranton, PA, they have found a niche in the punk scene of Southeastern Pennsylvania.  I love them.  They’re different.  I don’t listen to them as I would most bands.  I have never sat down to figure out where their influences came from.  I just enjoy what they produce. 

No matter how much I love the Menzingers, this night was doomed from its inception. 

On June 29^th, the temperature in Philly was approximately three bazillion degrees.  The poorly-planned outfit I had packed to change into at work before heading to the show was quite seriously the worst idea ever.  It was just jeans, Chucks and a black three-quarters t-shirt.  I should have just packed a down winter coat, because I was immediately regretting the choice upon walking out of the office.  The thought of climbing into my car to sit in Philly traffic while perched a black leather seat made me whimper a bit, but the Menzingers were waiting!

This was not working out well thus far, but I wanted to check these guys off my list.  I was already irritated with myself for putting off the Wonder Years.  I couldn’t let the Menzingers down too! 

I spent the equivalent of three minutes in the second floor bar of the Barbary, attempting to drink enough to make the stifling heat more bearable.  Not a chance.  That’s when I realized I could hear the Menzingers already playing downstairs.  It was only 7:30!  Oh, well.  They were amazing… for the five songs we heard.  We hid in a nook by the merch tables to avoid body heat when it was announced that the Menzingers would be doing an acoustic set at Gunner’s Run after the show.  That was all we needed to hear.  We were out the door before the announcement was even complete to secure a good seat and grab food like old people flocking the early bird special. 

Mistake number two of the night was assuming that the acoustic set would be relaxing.  A group of approximately 25 people, instead of finding a good vantage point in the rather nice restaurant, crowded around the corner set up for live music, completely blocking the view for the rest of the establishment. 

Gunner’s Run has great food, by the way.  And if you check in on Foursquare, you get a free Pabst pounder.  Unfortunately, if you know me at all, I refuse to drink Pabst.  I’m convinced it has a secret ingredient that will automatically turn me into a brainwashed hipster who no longer has any drive to contribute the Gross National Product. 

Did I mention that I was already miserable?

There were two women who were considered the Menzinger’s surprise guests.  I didn’t know who they were, and, quite honestly, was perturbed by their music.  I pretended to be listening until my companion shot a pleading look my way. 

Essentially giving up, we got back in the car and were home just in time for an absolutely torrential thunderstorm that lasted for HOURS.  I guess the night could have been worse.

All in all, the major positives at the end of the night were 1. We thoroughly enjoyed Gunner’s Run’s food and atmosphere and 2. I will be attempting to see the Menzingers again when I am no longer suffering from heat stroke. 

I Miss Mix Tapes

I miss the whole concept of mix tapes and CD’s.  Future generations will never understand the sheer joy that is evoked by someone special handing you a mix tape.  This person took the time to create a playlist, usually on paper, and then painstakingly recorded each song from beginning to end, strategically pausing the recording to pop in another CD or to *gasp* record a song off the radio. 

If this gift-giver was particularly fond of you, they would find an empty cassette case, which, in mix tape heyday was virtually impossible. Let me explain: Upon opening a new tape in your car or home, you would remove the insert that contained the lyrics and throw the clear, plastic case with reckless abandon into the backseat or on the floor of your bedroom, where, inevitably, it would disappear or be crushed within seconds. 

Locating a functioning cassette case was a feat in and of itself.  If you received a mix tape with an UNCRACKED case?  You better marry that person, because they clearly traveled to the ends of the earth.  One would think the prize was the tape or the case…  I always valued the personalized insert the most. 

When I was in junior high school, CD’s were the main choice for music, but the cost to purchase a burner was still prohibitively expensive.  So, to properly portray your feelings for another, you didn’t really have a choice.  We thought we were evolved now that we did not have to tape songs off the radio.  If you're from my age group, you remember listening to your local radio station, and vaulting over furniture to hit record when the song you love started.  You would be forced to hover over the tape player until the song was over, and hope the DJ wouldn't start talking over the track before the end. 

Now that we had CD's, we would have uninterupted recording, and control over when the songs started.  This, my friends, was a labor-intensive process. 

As a 10^th grader, a favorite friend of mine gave me an unforgettable mix tape that included, prepare to swoon…   Tom Petty’s “Wildflowers” and Dennis Leary’s “Asshole.”  I was fifteen and flattered.  He drew flowers next to Tom Petty’s song listing and “HA!” in a cartoon dialogue bubble next to Dennis Leary's.  Shortly thereafter, he asked me to his prom.

I have no idea whatever happened to that mix tape, but I do know I listened to it tirelessly until I bought a car that didn't have a tape deck a few years later...   And I think of Matt awkwardly standing at my front door in his tuxedo, hands shaking and shoving a corsage box at me every time I hear Tom Petty's "Wildflowers."  You don’t experience that kind of lasting memory from a fleeting playlist. 

These days, we have the technology to compile playlists on our phones.  Wait, wha???   Comparatively, I would say it took HOURS to make a mix tape, while these days, it takes all of...  oh...  three minutes to hop on Spotify, throw together a playlist and text it. 

Don't get me wrong.  I love Spotify with every fiber of my being, but part of me misses the effort of the mix tape.  *sigh*

On a more positive note, this is the first time I can honestly say I am proud of a playlist I put together for my boyfriend of almost 4 years.  Yes, I call him Wubby, a name used to refer to security blanket, because I don’t like sleeping without him.  I’m fully aware that I’m a cheeseball. 

 Wubby's Songs

Folk Payback

I'm not usually a huge fan of folky music, but my boyfriend is fanatical about it.  Considering how many rock shows I drag him to on a regular basis, I decided to spring for tickets to the two-day Newport Folk Festival in Rhode Island. 

In preparation for the 48 hour folk extravaganza, I figured I should do some investigating.   Other than my stints as a passenger in the boyfriend's car, I'm never exposed to folk.  I like City & Colour and Ray LaMontagne (saw him at the Tower Theater for the boyfriend's birthday a few years back), but that's the extent of my folk experience...  And probably some garbage that I listened to during my teen angst years.

Two words: Ben Howard.  He sucked me in from the first song I heard: "Old Pine."  I suggest you check him out.

Every Kingdom

Ben will not be at the Folk Fest, but I'm definitely looking out for a visit to the US to check him out live.

When Flowers Bloom In Fairmount

Shane Henderson- 6/13/12 North Star Bar, Philadelphia, PA

Valencia and Promise of Redemption have a resonating influence on the majority of the playlists/CD’s I’ve compiled over the past five years.  The one consistent factor in their music is the heart-breaking, passionate, sometimes angry, but always brilliant work of Shane Henderson.

Shane’s music is a rare breed.  It evolves and grows with the listener through changes in their own lives.  The lyrics of a song heard (and sung along with) hundreds times will suddenly and unexpectedly hit the listener with the emotional equivalent of a dump truck.  As an example, a friend of mine experienced a short, yet painful battle with skin cancer last year.  As if predetermined, “Still Need You Around” started playing on her drive home from the initial diagnosis, and she had to pull over to calm down.  She’s fine now, but that song will never lose its relevance to her or her boyfriend.  

As of June 2012 I had never made it to a show, always taking for granted that I would “catch Valencia/Promise of Redemption/Shane Henderson next time around.”  My reasoning was that he, like many of the bands I consider staples in my music collection, is local.  Since moving to Philly, I have been in a perpetual state of awe at how many bands are so accessible here. 

Case & point: upon entering the North Star, I firmly planted myself leaning against the “all ages soda and water bar” in the back of the venue to listen to the openers.  Within a few seconds, a male in his mid-twenties approached me and my boyfriend with free download cards for a new Promise of Redemption song.  Hooray!  Unknowing, I looked into the eyes hidden under the burgundy Phillies cap to see the familiar face of Shane Henderson.  Considering his sheepish grin and how low he was sporting the brim of his hat, I was apprehensive about blurting out “Shane Henderson!  So nice to meet you!” and thrusting my hand out for a shake, so obviously, I let him walk away, probably still doubting as to whether or not it was him.  As is my solution for most quandaries: To the bar!   

I am always apprehensive about meeting the artists I listen to, as I have been sorely disappointed in the experience once or twice, and no longer enjoyed their music the way I had before the encounter.  My concern with Shane was that he has such a powerhouse of a voice, and writes lyrics that can disarm the listener with their honesty… but I assumed he had to embody a bad caricature of a movie-based lead singer who doesn’t have time for his fans.  I couldn’t have been more off.

Inside the bar (my much beloved 21+ area), my boyfriend and I discussed how excited we both were to see Mr. Henderson’s performance.  Other than him and Ryan Adams, we do not agree on music-- at all.   Unbeknownst to me, my boyfriend flagged down the man we were discussing to pose for a picture with me, where I immediately forgot how to shake hands… and how to form an articulate sentence.  He was very sweet as he was clearly in the midst of getting ready to take the stage but still had time for us.

Settled into the show area, I was amazed.  One would think the studio versions of his voice couldn’t be sustained in a live show.  Surprisingly, they can.  There’s a raw, exposed element to Shane’s voice, as if he’s belting out his lyrics for the first time, and experiencing the catalyst for their creation all over again. 

The combination of the venue, the personality of the music and the laid back presence on stage made the show feel like an intimate gathering.  Trevor and Shane addressed the crowd without condescension, repeatedly thanking everyone for coming.

At one point during their set, Shane introduced his friend, Bean, visiting from Buffalo, who had picked up a guitar and seamlessly joined the first part of the show, reinforcing the small gathering vibe in the room. 

In a matter of what seemed like fifteen minutes, they covered a vast array of Valencia, Promise of Redemption and even Death Cab For Cutie.

I Will Follow You Into the Dark

Remember the First Day

Away We Go

When Flowers Bloom

Trace Those Steps

Dancing With a  Ghost

Safe to Say

Can We Get Away

Pieces

Losing Sleep

The Good Life

From the Second I Wake Up

How Fast

Better Be Prepared

The Space Between

I’m paraphrasing, of course, but, Shane paused to remind the crowd that any artist who gets on stage and acts like they’re better than their fans isn’t worth their time or attention. 

North Star Bar was impressive, Mr. Henderson.  Just do us a favor, and don’t disappear.  The music industry needs more artists like you.     

Are Shows Just for Teenagers?

No.

There comes a time in everyone’s lives where they think have to decide whether or not they want to “grow up.”  At the risk of sounding like Peter Pan, I say that growing up is no reason to trade in your Punk Card.   

There are 22 year olds who have surrendered their Spotify or iPod, wiping out Social Distortion, The Gaslight Anthem or even Britney Spears (if that’s your thing) for Elmo, the Doodle...bugs... or whatever the hell children listen to these days.  I've run into 40+ year olds at shows, having the time of their lives.  All I can say to them is,   I want to be like you when I grow up. 

Just because you’ve decided to get married or reproduce does not mean that your life is over.  Now that you're no longer 15 and attending a show while Mom waits in the minivan, a miraculous thing has happened.  You’re invisible to teenagers.  

 Yes, they may be a little loud and sometimes incredibly annoying, but, guess what?  They won't even know you're there…  And you, my friend, are allowed to have a beer to tone down the “tween” chatter if necessary.
 

The positives to being a 25+ show-attendee:

1.   Traveling with a gaggle of pre-determined friends is no longer a prerequisite , meaning you can arrive and leave whenever you please.

2.   You have access to the 21+ area of the venue:

a.   Which is never as crowded

b.   Occasionally leads to sitting down next to the band members you actually paid to see

c.   No screaming teenagers within arms length of where you’re standing

d.  Typically far enough away from the amps to avoid tinnitus

e.   Alcohol

3.      11:00pm on a weekday no longer feels like 4:00am on a school night...  Even if it does, the only person you need to answer to the next morning is yourself.

4.       Do you really want to stand around the water cooler the next morning contributing to the babbling about last night’s Amazing Race?  I sure as hell don’t.

So, I say, shake off the cobwebs, hit up BandsInTown and check out a show.  You know you want to… 

Senses Fail Team With Wounded Warrior Project - AbsolutePunk.net

Philly Music Ambassador Failure

We Are the Ocean, Twin Atlantic, You Me At Six & The Swellers: The Barbary, Philadelphia, PA (January 31, 2012)

First show of 2012 for me (I know, I got off to a late start). Although I’m running a little behind, I assure you, this show made up for the entire month of January where I was clearly sitting on my bum and neglecting the live music scene. Considering that tickets were purchased the day they went on sale, I had what seemed to be a ridiculously long period of anticipation building until this caravan finally made its way to town.

I hadn’t really been exposed to You Me At Six or We Are the Ocean at the time of purchase, so I did a little music perusing and investigating in the weeks leading up to the show. Conclusions: We Are the Ocean: talented, young and have a bright future ahead. A little harsher than I usually opt for on a regular basis, but they definitely made it to my running playlist. You Me At Six: Their music is a little more mainstream than I expected, but it’s catchy, gets stuck in your head (not in a bad way) and in the weeks since the show, it has been making its way into quite a few of my Spotify playlists. Did you know they did a song with Chiddy, and it’s good!? Oh, and Josh Franceschi’s Twitter is hysterical

 Upon arrival, there were approximately 50 teenage girls lined up outside in various stages of undress, reflecting unseasonable 60 degree weather. “Please let there be a bar nearby…” Thank goodness, down the street, a neon Pabst sign beckoned me and my companion to wait out the female pubescent energy currently surging around the entrance to our destination.

First, the Barbary: I have never experienced the Barbary prior to this event, and was terrified when I walked into what looked like the equivalent of small bar with a large stage crammed into it. Due to optical illusions cast by one large mirror, I honestly believed the staging area was the only part of the venue. To my excitement, what had originally appeared to be another mirror was actually the alcove where the merch tables were hiding. Lo and behold! Stairs… to the “over 21” section. You know how much I love the “old people section.”

The upstairs bar is a fairly quiet refuge for those of us who want to attend the show, but refuse to sit with the mandatory parents that lined the walls of the lower level.

Merchandise, a quick rundown: All parties were represented, and since I have a serious obsession with framing vinyl, Swellers “Good For Me” was coming home to find a place on my wall. I definitely embarrassed myself by not recognizing Anto Boros (seriously, when did he start looking like Stephen Dorff??), but I did compliment his Descendents sweatshirt, so, hopefully I still get points for not being a complete moron.

We Are the Ocean played a pretty energetic set and riled the crowd up for Twin Atlantic. My recently-converted TA fan boyfriend was geared up for the set, both taking bets on the first song. I was set on Ghost of Eddie, he was banking on Edit me. Both wrong. The first song was Beast of Myself, followed by Ghost of Eddie (yep, I got the closest, so, by default, I win). Three quarters of the way through the set, Sam McTrusty felt the need to adjust the lighting, enabling him to see the crowd.

Shortly after Twin Atlantic’s set, I walked out the front door to run my Swellers album to the car… Only to walk smack into Sam McTrusty, effectively deteriorating my ability to speak, and unknowingly squeaking out his name.

Unluckily, he heard me, making it impossible for me to walk away with my dignity intact. Sweaty and obviously tired, he wiped his face and told us that we had made his day to find someone who knew who they were. All the while, I was rudely pointing at and blurting out the names of Ross McNae, Barry McKenna and Craig Kneale in complete disbelief that they were loading their gear themselves directly in front of the Barbary… The entire band was incredibly gracious introducing themselves and even entertained what we had to say.

Sam and Craig both took time out to speak to us for an extended amount of time, sincerely asking us questions about Philly, how we started listening to their music, etc. People say this about bands every day, but they are, collectively, the nicest band I have ever met.



You Me At Six



After meeting the band, Joe and I retreated inside to listen to You Me At Six, from the old people section. I blame this on being blonde, but I was completely unaware that they were British.

Lover Boy was really the song that stuck out for me. It sounded almost exactly like the record. Based on the few minutes I spent within the small performance area, it was clear that You Me At Six was the draw for the majority of attendees. As teenagers screaming in a tiny, tiny space is not very appealing to me, we took solace in the 60 degree weather while waiting for the Swellers to take the stage. Surprise! The Swellers were outside, standing in a circle and waiting to go on.



The Swellers



And.. that’s when Anto decided to announce to the band that I was “the girl who didn’t believe [he] was in the band!” earlier at the merch table. Greaaat… They signed my record anyway.

The crowd had thinned a bit, and allowed Joe and I to move up closer to the stage, which revealed one incredibly zealous fan actually screaming lyrics in Nick Diener’s face. About five songs in, my internal school-night clock went off and I was ready to go home. I had met Twin Atlantic and the Swellers. I was still grinning like an idiot, and knew this night really couldn’t go anywhere but down.

Upon exiting the building, we noticed a swarm of teenage girls circling a tour bus across the street… Assuming they were stalking You Me At Six, I commented how the “silly girls were missing a really good band…” and how I was “super stinkin’ happy that the guys from Twin Atlantic were so nice, because it’s really disappointing when you like a band and they turn out to be unfriendly.” Little did I know, I was walking past Ross McNae on his cell phone as I was complimenting his band. He waved to us and wished us a good night, and I’m pretty sure I accosted him with an uninvited hug. What did I say? Down. I’m pretty sure I succeeded in making a fool of myself with that one.

In closing, as a representative of Philadelphia, I may have scared Ross McNae and insulted Anto Boros.

Happy Birthday, Bono!

Rolling Stone compiled their readers' favorite U2 songs in honor of Bono's birthday yesterday... 

You're welcome....

py Birthday, Bono: RS Readers' Favorite U2 Songs | by rsedit

This Wild Life: Brilliance In The Making

I have never seen anything like this and, to be honest, these guys are brilliant...  I'm still in the process of checking out their music, but from what I've heard so far, I probably would have jumped all over the guest list for life option.

Unless, of course,  they end up at the house of a sixty year old man with human heads in his freezer. 

Watch it.  You'll love it.  And then check out their music.  You won't regret it.

Watch "This Wild Life Kickstarter" on YouTube

Pornography for your ears

Bamboozle 2012 | by 123677068

All Hail The Interweb!

On any given day, there are thousands of posts from music fans scolding technology for the death of ______ (insert “the garage band,” “rock and roll,” “punk,” whatever you see fit) due to loss of revenue.  As a self-proclaimed music geek, I used to spend hours digging through friends’ hard drives, iPods and even ambushing relatives/friends/anyone I knew to bring me music magazines from different continents.  Willing to listen to anything at least once, I was starting to find my music collection a little stale. 

I am one of those people who actually used to use Napster to find new music, not to steal it.  I would listen to an album, and if I liked it, I would go to the record store and buy it.  I know!  Unheard of, right?  I must be lying?  I’m not.  I was Girl Scout too, and will always live by the Girl Scout credo….  Which is…  Uh…  Whatever, you get my drift. 

Approximately a year ago, I finally caved to Twitter peer pressure, and was pleasantly surprised to find how many bands were very active on said social media platform.  Gone are the days of discovering bands playing your city via flyers, by going to each band’s website or, god forbid, their MySpace.  

They TELL you when they are coming and will usually remind their followers via feed postings.  What the….? 

Long story short, a separate Twitter completely devoted to music was necessary.  My “real life” friends’ feeds were being hijacked by my rants about last night’s show, or the highly-anticipated new Menzingers album, which, almost definitely, was something they did not appreciate.    

After building up what I thought to be the perfect feed…  Something crazy happened…  Bands I had never heard of started following me.  At first I wrote them off as pornographic spam, like my mom, who assumes any email not from her kids is the “I Love You” Virus…  These were real bands, and by some act of god, bands I like! Internet magic, I tell you!  That Bill Gates sure knows a thing or two!  (Of course, I know Bill Gates isn’t the king of the internet, some politician is… duh)    

The most recent additions to my Spotify rotation have been Farewell Fighter, The Falling Trance, The Coronation (not yet on Spotify) Promise of Redemption (Shane from Valencia's side project), The Product…  They’re good and I would never have found ANY of them had it not been for “The Twitter.”

 All hail the interweb!

A Victorious Return of the Elusive Ryan Adams

Ryan Adams –The Academy of Music

Since being exposed to Ryan Adams, I have revered him as a musical genius.  It’s very apparent that Adams has a tendency to drop out of the limelight for years at a time, and is somewhat private.  My silly assumption was that he was absolutely and completely out of his mind.  In my heart I believed that no talent of that level can exist on a plain with us normal people. 

Lo and behold, he’s not insane (but I’m also not a doctor).  He’s actually rather personable and incredibly entertaining. 

Normally, I attend shows at smaller venues that are packed with much younger crowds, meaning that there are cameras flashing the entire set, people checking smartphones, maybe even an altercation, etc.  I have never experienced the silence that settled over Academy of Music when Ryan Adams entered the auditorium and settled into his guitar.  Noticing the quiet, from my balcony seat, not one camera screen light was visible unless Adams was between songs.  The unspoken community respect shown for Adams was uncanny.  It was as if he was a mythical creature that nobody wanted to spook. 

Witnessing Ryan Adams perform felt like he had invited you into his living room to share an evening.  He had multiple guitars propped on their stands, a piano, a stool and a microphone.  Once he began playing, the sold-out venue with a capacity for 2,897, became an intimate gathering.  The height of the triple balcony venue would normally be a feat for a solo artist to conquer.  Adams not only surpassed expectations, but succeeded in reaching every listener as well as asking them to “be careful,” as he explained his fear of heights.

Between songs, Adams shared stories of his arrival in Philadelphia, watching two large, intoxicated men yell at each other on the street and the absolute humor he found in the scene.  As one of @theRyanAdams Twitter followers, I find particular joy in his constant obsession with the Ed Hardy-wearing host of Ghost Adventures.  Much to my elation, he shared at least one anecdote about the not-so-down-to-earth character, and I was officially sold that Ryan Adams is not only talented, but he really should be my new best friend.  (I’m only kidding, because that would be crazy, right?  Right???) 

Ryan shared approximately 20 songs with the audience, and each one successfully induced a sense that you were experiencing something magical.  New York, New York particularly resonated with me as he played on the piano, you could hear every intake of breath, and it may have even been better than the studio version.  

Ryan closed his set with Come Pick Me Up, which I, personally, have found to embody all that I love about him: the pain, the honesty and a little bit of humor.  After monstrous applause, he opted for an unorthodox encore of Round And Round by Ratt and apologized as he would not be able to play much longer or he would be forced to buy the union members employed at the venue “the equivalent of a yacht.”  Classic RA (That’s what I call him, as we are now best friends.)

Your Inferiority Complex Is Showing

Alternative Press | Features | Your Inferiority Complex Is Showing

2. Farewell Fighter's "Van Jams"

This is quite seriously one of the best playlists I have ever heard.  I had it on shuffle while completing the incredibly tedious task of packing to move and found it absolutely hysterical.

Kiss From A Rose.  Enough said.

Farewell Fighter Van Jams | by leeroymo

1. Jon Diener's Windows Down Playlist

Due to the fact that I am currently in a show-lull while relocating (Don't worry, I'm staying in Philly) and my siblings/friends are experiencing a baby boom, I thought I'd share some Spotify playlists that are keeping me pacified.

Number 1.  Jon Diener from the Swellers "Windows Down" playlist.  He might be my new hero...  Enjoy.

Windows Down Playlist | by 126184941

Bruce Springsteen is clearly a genius.

NPR.org » Bruce Springsteen On The Meaning Of Music

The Menzingers have released their new album!

The Menzingers - On The Impossible Past

Anthony Raneri and A Walk to Remember

Anthony Raneri (Bayside), The Note, West Chester, PA

The Note is a fairly unique venue, more of a bar that happens to have a huge back room, as if they could just close some curtains and nobody would even know there was a stage. The Note only takes cash, so if you’re showing up for tickets at the door, make sure you have the money readily available, as the closest functional ATM is somewhat elusive to those unfamiliar with the area. I’m speaking from experience, as I was pulling leaves out of my hair when I walked in to purchase my ticket.

Bayside has been a band that I can say has been ingrained in my life for most of my growing pain years, ie: after college, during my first job, first real heartbreak, loss of friends, relocation, and they are still, if not more, influential in my life now that I’m entering the I-now-have-a-401k years. I’m can safely say that they are in the running to be one of the bands I’m still listening to at 80.

Raneri spent most of the solo show opening at his merchandise table, miraculously without attendees realizing the man they came to see was the same person sitting in the dimly-lit corner. This is what I like about Bayside. The guys are down-to-earth (disregard the “Raneri for President” t-shirt) and real, which is extremely rare in my experience.

I make it sound like it didn’t take me a full 40 minutes (or more) to realize I was standing ten feet away from him. Of course, once aware, I bumbled over to the table and clumsily bought the first shirt I saw, formed what could possibly be classified as a sentence and then meandered back to my place at the bar.

Raneri was welcomed to the stage with a roar of applause and immediately launched into self-deprecating anecdotes and snippets before his first few songs. He stands possibly 5’9” and modestly referred to himself as “ten pounds of potatoes in a five pound bag.”

Raneri’s voice has become more and more impressive over the years, clearly indicated with Sirens and Condolences, juxtaposed to the powerhouse of a voice exhibited on Bayside’s most recent release, Killing Time. Try it for yourself: listen to Just Enough to Love You, immediately followed by Already Gone. You can almost feel the growing pains that he must have endured in the process.

Most of the set consisted of Bayside songs, old and new. Personally, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when the venue went completely quiet for his rendition of On Love, On Life. He officially won my boyfriend over when he announced he would be covering a song from a movie he had recently watched. Within the first few chords, it was revealed that he was playing a song from Mandy Moore’s A Walk to Remember. I have never seen more tattooed men sing along, and proudly admit, not only that they have seen it, but that they “loved Mandy in that movie…”

Truly an experience.

Guitars, Drums and Desperate Poetry

Frank Turner & The Sleeping Souls- The Theater of the Living Arts, Philadelphia, PA

Frank Tuner never fails to live up to his title as the “King of Punk Poetry.” He opened his set with Eulogy, which is the short opener to his latest album, England Keep My Bones. At the apex of the ditty, Frank belts out, "and on the day I die, I'll say 'At least I f***ing tried!" which shifted the crowd into high gear almost instantaneously. Frank Turner's energy forced me and the only other female in our party from the balcony to the floor, and ultimately, directly in front of the stage left speakers.

The first time I witnessed the greatness that is Frank Turner, he was opening for Social Distortion. I came early to see Lucero… Well, let’s be honest, I wanted to get a good parking spot where I wouldn’t have to worry about walking seven blocks to find that my car had been stolen/broken into.

As luck would have it, Frank sincerely knocked my socks off. He played with the energy that begged the assumption that it was last stop on the tour. During his rendition of I Still Believe, he coached the crowd to echo him and the song more or less blew my mind.

Blew. My. Mind…. to the point where if, in that instant, you had asked me who Mike Ness was, I probably would have stared at you blankly for a solid ten seconds. Let me enforce that I was thoroughly convinced in high school that Mike Ness and I were destined to be together (regardless of the fact that he’s my father’s age).

The instant his set was over, I ran to purchase any of his CD’s I could get my hands on, convinced that my purchase would ensure his return to the U.S…. "To single-handedly revitalize rock music!" I had indulged in a few drinks at this point.

Needless to say, hungover and driving to work the next morning, I listened to my new CD’s, and was far from disappointed at my semi-inebriated purchases.

Back to the present:

I couldn’t tell you the set list, as I was in no position to confer with my notepad that close to the stage, but I can tell you that at some point during Peggy Sang the Blues & I Am Disappeared, my voice gave out. And then, the unthinkable: Dave Hause makes a surprise appearance to sing along to Glory Halleluiah. Sensory aneurysm ensued, and when I came to, Mr. Turner was covering Queen. That was it, I couldn't take it any more. This man is clearly too talented for his own good, of course, as is only my opinion, and I am someone who possesses no musical gifts whatsoever.

Frank Turner has a voice that was clearly strengthened through years of singing in hardcore bands, and he utilizes it at every turn. The endurance he exhibits while playing every show like it’s his last resonates in my heart and forces me to fall head over heels for every sound snippet that makes its way to my grasp.

If you’re looking for an experience rather than a “show,” Frank Turner is your man… Just keep in mind, when he is finally recognized as the second coming of Rock/Punk, it may be hard to get tickets.

Don't Be That Guy...

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Flyin' Solo With Twin Atlantic

Although I am no longer a 22 year old, I had never known the excitement of attending a show alone… Until I bought two tickets to see Twin Atlantic at Philadelphia’s Union Transfer, blissfully unaware that the show was scheduled for the night before Thanksgiving. I’m officially in the age bracket where I am on my second Thanksgiving preparing dinner for friends and family, which entails being up at around 4:00 or 5:00 AM. Therefore, those friends who are not cooking are either visiting parents, traveling out of state or are out drinking fairly early in the evening.

Needless to say, when my boyfriend let me know he couldn’t attend a few hours before the doors opened, I was stuck flying solo. How anyone could not be excited for this show was beyond me. I had taken a half day at work, and was at the venue thirty minutes before the doors opened (another first).

Union Transfer itself is not only laid out perfectly, but restored meticulously.
Surprisingly, it does not carry with it the hungover prostitute smell that normally accompanies the classic music locales, ie: the Trocadero, TLA & Electric Factory. It has yet to be determined if this is a sign of cleanliness or just that the venue just hasn’t been christened yet. *I’ll get back to you after further investigation.*

The last time I was at a show specifically for the first opener was probably in high school, when I promised my chemistry partner I would go see his band. I’m not going to lie; I still get a kick out of being permitted into the “over 21” section when I go to shows.

From my carefully-selected seat in the bar area, I was at a vantage point that allowed me to see the stage for sound check/warm-up. Drink secured in hand, I was lucky enough to see Sam McTrusty, Ross McNae, Barry McKenna & Craig Kneale warm up. I’m assuming this is what my sisters felt like when they went to see the Backstreet Boys when we were younger. Luckily, I had the good sense not to care about them (Yes, I am bragging about that.) Not only did we get a sneak peek, but Frightened Rabbit started blaring through the speakers as filler immediately after Twin Atlantic was finished and the doors were opening.

Barely able to contain my excitement, I entered the main stage area, and nonchalantly leaned against the rail separating the alcohol from the minors….

From the murmurs in the crowd, I could tell that Twin Atlantic’s thick Glaswegian accents piqued the interest of at least half of the attendees. By the end of their first song, the crowd around the stage was growing exponentially, clearly intrigued. Semi-embarrassed about being the only person in my immediate vicinity who knew the words, I held back and remained to the rear of the auditorium.

Unfortunately for those around me, within the first cords of Yes, I Was Drunk, I was in full-blown screaming-along-at-the-top-of-my-lungs mode. Multiple show-goers asked me the name of the band, as clearly, I was the crazy chick who was probably following them around the U.S. in a creepy, windowless van.

The band proved to be better live that I had even expected. The heavy riffs and McTrusty’s throaty, sometimes primal, voice repeatedly hit notes that made the entire room vibrate.

Toward the end of the performance, lead singer, McTrusty, decided to dedicate a song, You’re Turning into John Wayne, to their tour mates; A move that was pretty damn ballsy as it does have some lines, when taken out of context, that can be misconstrued as the band absolutely hating Americans. Fortunately, nobody seemed to pick up on it. As we all know, you don’t insult a Philadelphian about their heritage.

The band closed out their set and proceeded backstage. Thoroughly happy and throat burning, I looked around. Union Transfer was experiencing an influx of confused-looking youngsters wearing “BLAME IT ON MY A.D.D.” t-shirts. **Clearly none of these teenagers have seen PCU, as they would all be classified as “that guy.” If it wasn’t for “those guys,” I probably would have stayed to experience this AWOLNATION thing. Alas, I had a brining turkey to babysit and a decent drive home on one of the biggest road-trip/drunk driver nights of the year.

I can proudly say I was lucky to see Twin Atlantic at their second show ever in our good city. Good show, guys and we look forward to your return!