Old Sept. Blues

I could talk your ear off about My Morning Jacket, in fact I already have.

Sometimes the depth of my reaction to the music they play makes me uneasy, like something that ought to be reserved for relationships with, you know, real people. I remember standing in the Ascot Room in 2003 completely baffled that they were playing to such a small crowd (~100 hardcore fans), and hoping that eventually the audience would grow.

It has and the experience is different. My ambivalence about certain songs on Z and Evil Urges certainly plays a part, but it's also weird to be assaulted by a light show and bludgeoned by enormous stacks of speakers. McCaw Hall sounded magnificent, but nearing the two-hour mark I found myself wishing for something a little less overwhelming. I believe the quiet parts are now generally louder than they were five years ago, but I could be wrong. It's also harder to ride the music to four or five monstrous peaks rather than one or two.

The prevailing feeling for me is one of an intensely intimate relationship that couldn't last at that level forever. Now it's complex and even bewildering, compulsive more than anything. Expectations are impossibly high and memories will always seem more powerful, more real than what's actually present and happening today. The music coming out of the speakers will never sound as good as the music I hear in my head--only louder.

Then again, I'd still probably give up every other amazing show this year for an enormous room full of people high-fiving each other the entire way through "One Big Holiday," or shivers from the old familiar reverb on something like "Dancefloors." It's all a little confusing.

MLB 2008

The baseball season is (basically) over again, and really the only thing I noticed apart from the Indians somehow finishing at .500, was Albert Pujols. Reading about Chipper Jones' batting title, I noticed Pujols was #2 and went to look at his career numbers like I always do at the end of the season.

He's still comfortably ahead of Manny Ramirez in career OPS, as Todd Helton falls further away every year though he's currently still third. (Barry Bonds does not count as active, although even given his scandalous career the stats are so much better than everyone else's in the steroid era that he deserves some kind of recognition. Like if NASCAR had a drunk driving race and he lapped the field several times.) He's only finished below fourth in the MVP voting once in his first seven years. And he obliterated everyone else this year at the plate by slugging .050 higher than the next best hitter.

Sad, Sad Song(s)

ADDENDUM: Apparently Hutch Harris has referred to music on the new Thermals album as "songs from when we were alive." Apropos and awesome.

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I was thinking today, listening to Bon Iver, about how much I seem to love funereal* music. For Emma, Forever Ago is more precisely a breakup record, though if you didn't listen to the lyrics closely its solemnity could fool you.

Off the top of my head I listed three potentially top-50 records explicitly about dead acquaintances: Songs for Drella, Panda Bear's Young Prayer, and M. Ward's Transfiguration of Vincent. Devendra Banhart's Rejoicing in the Hands sounds like it has to fit in here, but I've never read anything to qualify it conceptually. Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here technically qualifies, though mostly I was listening to that five or six years ago. As far as breakup records go, there's also Blood on the Tracks and probably a few more I can't think of right now. I can't go much further in such a conceptual vein, but there's a lot of stuff that feels similar.

This is an important contrast from another mode, let's call it "alienated nostalgia," in which you'll find Junior Boys, "Marquee Moon," Thom Yorke's solo album and others. I tried to describe this one back in August of 2006.

Of course there's plenty of overlap. My Morning Jacket used to work very close to funereal, particularly on the first album and parts of their second, though it's not a place they go very often anymore, except live. Joy Division are closer to alienation, though "Atmosphere" would be funereal and Susanna and the Magical Orchestra's cover of "Love Will Tear Us Apart" is very deeply so. LCD Soundsystem's "All My Friends"/"Someone Great" diptych. Scores of hip hop tracks are shoutouts to dead compatriots, though I specifically think of Bun B's "The Story," which was already sad/inspiring when his partner was in jail, and then attained a level of brutal irony when Pimp C died not long after getting out. Black Mountain is loud and funereal on their most recent record, and the Thermals are loud and frequently nostalgically alienated, though it might not sound as such at first listen.

Dubstep is another "hauntological" genre, though strictly hauntology would be a third field of its own. Burial is mostly nostalgically alienated, but Kode 9 & The Spaceape are more funereal. Shackleton's "Blood On My Hands" is powerfully funereal, particularly with likely reference to the World Trade Center towers.

Properly very little of this is goth and really not at all emo. The first requires moody wallowing and the second aggressive wallowing and for the most part this is constructive, forward-looking stuff. Making a monument to get past something rather recording oneself jumping back in the same, sad puddle.

*The only thing I've ever played for anyone eliciting the word "funeral" (except Band of Horses) is Sagor & Swing. More properly, that's the sort of music you might hear in a funeral parlor when you go in to discuss details with the mortician than at an actual funeral.

Last of the Summer Music

TV on the Radio is great. I noted on Saturday that even though they might not be the most stunning live act, they're engaging and in contrast to almost every other band in existence, their set is energizing. Most of the time after a show, no matter how great it was, you might be buzzing a little bit but also a little worn out. TV on the Radio are inventive and interesting enough that they actually give back energy to the crowd, which is something special.

Mogwai is really loud. Like, loud with my earplugs in. I'm still not sure exactly why people get so excited about them, though I might figure it out someday. Fuck Buttons went exactly as expected, which is to say perfect. I've never been part of a more attentive (standing) audience. Half an hour into the set it was an extreme aberration when a couple started talking sort of loudly, and they received more annoyed glances than I've ever seen. In my opinion this reflects quite well on both Fuck Buttons and their fans.

Then there was Bumbershoot. The Walkmen were strong and made great use of a horn section. And "The Rat" is still amazing even though I haven't listened to it regularly for a few years now. I actually had sort of forgotten about the refrain near the end ("When I used to go out...") so it hit me extra hard; a nice surprise.

Man Man are obviously on a different level from almost all other bands. I still don't know what I'd do with that racket coming through my headphones, but in a live context it all makes perfect sense.

Black Keys played the only full set I saw on Sunday, and they did their thing as solidly as they always do. The Black Keys in a small room are to the Black Keys in an arena as a sports car on asphalt is to a sports car on gravel. Still a good time, though. The Shackeltons were kind of fun, The Whigs were kind of dull, Final Fantasy (I stayed almost until the end) was a good experience, especially the overhead projector art, if not my favorite set of music, and Tapes 'n Tapes sounded better than I'd imagined. Then again, everybody sounded great at the Rockstar stage.

Exactly the same way nobody (except The Thermals) makes any sense sonically in the Exhibition Hall. Dan Deacon played from a table on the floor, organizing a dance off, relay races, and a sort of square dance-type promenade thing which form a giant two-sided ring around the room. He also played with the house lights all the way on, claiming he'd prepared for an outside show in the sun. I don't know that I've ever seen security actually enjoy crowd control before, but they were obviously having a good time orchestrating the organized mayhem. I wonder how much they'd been briefed about this one beforehand. The sound was weird, and the bass actually only sounded good underneath the stairs.

Arthur & Yu were a revelation live, approaching the sonic richness of Fleet Foxes, which I hadn't expected from the demo-style fidelity of their album. I kind of regretted leaving early for Battles, whom I found amazing but still not compelling.

So now I'll probably take a break and skip The Juan Maclean (I don't relish anything approaching closing time in Fremont on a Wednesday night) and whatever else might happen prior to the Decibel Festival, when I hope to take in more electronic music than humanly possible. Highlights: Audion, sets in Volunteer Park, and Dixon very late Saturday night (4am?). It's very frustrating that My Morning Jacket precludes the ambient showcase, but I still hope to head over to Neumo's afterward for some of The Bug and hopefully all of Supermayer's set. Napping and strategically sleeping-in will be key.

And SXSW 2009 is very tentatively on the calendar. Plane tickets should be okay, and I'm sure hotel rooms are still bookable at this point. It'll probably be more film- than music-oriented, considering the insane stories I've heard about trying to get into the more popular shows there, but anyway.

Dragons & Tigers

The Vancouver Film Festival just put up their full schedule yesterday, so I've been combing through to try and piece together a workable weekend, riding the train up Friday morning and back Sunday night.

I'll probably start out with a full slate of films and delete one by one as I decide I need more time to wander around the city. With the ten listed below, I'd have several hours both Saturday and Sunday morning and probably some time Saturday night to see the sights.

Friday

Hansel and Gretel (Yim Phil-sung)
Summer Hours (Olivier Assayas)
The Chicken, The Fish, and the King Crab (José Luis López-Linares)
A Christmas Tale (Arnaud Desplechin)

Saturday

The Juche Idea (Jim Finn)
Wendy and Lucy (Kelly Reichardt)
Under the Tree (Garin Nugroho)
Teak Leaves at the Temples (Garin Nugroho)

Sunday

Sita Sings the Blues (Nina Paley)
Chelsea on the Rocks (Abel Ferrara)