April 8, 2002 by A.S. Van Dorston

The Faint, The Metro, Apr. 8
Ever since I got The Faint’s third album, Danse Macabre (’01), I’ve been on a synth pop kick. It’s totally derivative, but nevertheless awesome. So I went back and dug up my old stuff. I especially like (as do obviously The Faint) the old Tubeway Army (Gary Numan) and Ultravox when they were still more post-punk and the keyboards were analog, dirty and distorted, mixed with Bowie & Eno’s Berlin period. Soft Cell was more poppy AND sleazy, and I also liked the smoother early Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Visage and glammy Japan. Though they were all before my time, I can’t imagine any of those bands rocking out as hard as The Faint. Coming out of some unlikely place like Omaha, The Faint dress in coordinated black outfits and dance like utter fools with joyous, aggressive abandon. During certain moments you smirk to yourself as the scene recalls a combination of the SNL Sprockets sketch with Kids In The Hall’s Sex Boy (when the keyboardist doesn’t have anything to do, rather than cower like most people, he struts up to the front in his tight pants and white man’s fro and shimmy-shakes like a Vegas table dancer). The thing is, they pull it off because their conviction is self evident. They love their music, and they believe in their abilities to go beyond their influences and bring a new experience to their young audiences. They certainly aren’t the first to toughen up and update the New Romantics (Brainiac, Six Finger Satellite, Add N To X have all toyed with that sound at some point), but judging from the strength of their songs and their charisma, they might end up being the most popular.

Shannon Wright, Empty Bottle, Apr. 4
Shannon Wright is a part of a movement in economy in touring. Along with Cash Audio, Quasi, White Stripes, Mates Of State, John Vanderslice and Ed Harcourt, she proves that two people can be more than enough to rock an audience. Actually, few guitarists can match Wright’s presence, moves and intensity. As she fires off staccato minor chords, she athletically jumps and stalks the stage with more menace than exuberance. Her new drummer pounded the skins hard enough to make John Bonham seem a little light in touch. When Wright played the organ, a neat display lit up as the corresponding keys were pressed. These songs are where the dark, carnivalesque cabaret influences come out, which most closely resemble the versions on her most recent Dyed In The Wool. Wright’s untraditional vocal stylings might be hard to swallow for a broader audience, but her talent is big enough to swallow the audience. A true American original.

Eleni Mandell, The Hideout, Mar. 31
I previously saw Mandell play at Martyrs in October. This time around, her performance seemed much more lively and assured, showing that she and her band have had plenty of shows between then and now. From looking at her, one might guess that she used to be the kind of girl growing up who was a bit of a wallflower, much like Polly Jean Harvey might have been when she was younger. Like Harvey and Patti Smith, Mandell appears to be the type of performer who gets better and better with age. Her newly released Snakebite is all killer, no filler. This performance shows that she’s well on her way to becoming a powerhouse of a performer. I wouldn’t necessarily bet that Mandell will ever reach an audience beyond cult proportions, but that has more to do with marketing bullshit and our anemic pop-cultural zeitgeist than her future greatness. All the better for those of us who prefer to see an crack live band rock the joint of your favorite dive such as The Hideout.

Clinic, The Abbey Pub, Mar. 28
Lots of hype has been following this band since they toured with Radiohead over a year ago. As expected, they appeared in their surgeon costumes, which as far as rock ‘n’ roll gimmicks go, is pretty tame compared to The Residents, Devo, etc. Whatever will entertain the kids these days. Unfortunately the short set focused nearly exclusively on the new album. The show would have benefited greatly from the rawer, raucous distorted keyboard-soaked garage rockers of their earlier EPs. I like the new album,Walking With Thee just fine, but it just does not make for exciting live rock ‘n’ roll. They weren’t bad, but to live up to their reputation, they really really really really really need to rock harder.

Ed Harcourt, Martyr’s, Mar. 26
When I heard that Harcourt was touring not with a full band, but merely a trumpet player, I was set up for disappointment. The 24 year-old English singer-songwriter’s debut album (following a modestly recorded EP) was released in the U.K. last summer (and on the day of the show in the U.S.) It was an ambitious, sometimes orchestral production that was hard to imagine two people being able to approximate, let alone duplicate. Yet like Rufus Wainright, Harcourt plays a mean baby grand, and is and even better singer. I’d say he’s even better than the sainted Jeff Buckley, because he avoids the operatic excesses and clichés. His mesmerizing, intense performances were given breathers between songs with witty banter and dirty jokes worthy of Eddie Izzard. He accompanied a few songs on guitar, which added a cup of energy and grit. Every song was incredible, and was largely from Here Be Monsters and his EP. Not that he doesn’t have plenty to choose from. The young rising star has already written over 300 songs and has a second album due in the fall (I would presume only in the U.K., so thank god for cheap exchange rates at www.hmv.com). This might have been the last time I’ll be able to see him while comfortably seated in a bar. I see a future of larger venues packed with screaming fans (yes, my women companions also gave him a high sex appeal rating). Imagine that, a pretty, young, possibly straight male chanteuse, ready to bring nations to their knees. Why isn’t his record company doing a full-on media blitz? Fools.

John Vanderslice, Mountain Goats, Empty Bottle, Mar. 8
I would have thought Vanderslice’s live setup would be more elaborate, with his home-studio made albums that sometimes recall Neutral Milk Hotel in their ambitious arrangements. Vanderslice looked boyish in his shaggy blonde hair and ratty Chuck Taylors, but his songs portrayed a wisdom better suited to his age. Despite the spare setup of just John and his drummer, he filled the room with passionate singing and sometimes volatile guitar playing, particularly on the highlight, “Time Travel Is Lonely.” His drummer, a bloke from Minneapolis who was seen commiserating with Shellac’s Todd Trainer before the show, was incredible, sitting right at the front of the stage, wowing the audience with his eccentric style and difficult time signatures. I’ve never been a big fan of the Mountain Goats (John Darnielle), who has about a jillion albums full of under-produced 4-track recordings. However, his charisma and engaging storytelling drew me in, and I was cheering for the several encores along with everyone else. Though the sheer number of songs is overwhelming, and I still can’t remember a single damn one.

Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci, The Abbey Pub, Mar. 7
These eccentric Welshkins have been around for over a decade, and their core fanbase know they can depend on them for a solid performance of quirky psychedlic indie rock. Yet the performance was held back by a lack of flow. Primary songwriter and seeming bandleader Euros Childs (who looks like Choda Boy in the movie Orgazmo) was so fussy about the monitors that it began to disrupt the show. It didn’t help that they paused a couple minutes to switch instruments after nearly every song. Their more recent bucolic, folky songs duffer from the same problem as kingsbury Manx in that they’re a bit too sleep-inducing in a live context when oxygen is in short supply, and smoke and alcohol is plentiful. Maybe they need to pump oxygen into the clubs like they do in Vegas to perk people up. Then the super noisy songs are too jarring and head-rattling in contrast. Nevertheless, this band has some stellar tunes and when they’re on, you can’t tear your eyes, nor ears, away.

Elbow & South, The Double Door, Mar. 2
Because the first band didn’t show and Elbow played second instead of last, I completely missed them, grrr. One friend said their sound was more stripped down than on the album, but they are tight. South have gotten a lot of attention for their mix of Coldplay stadium rock with Mo’ Wax-style beat science. Live they seemed very young, dourly looking down at their instruments, failing to connect to the audience. I was getting pretty sleepy until they rocked out at the end. They have promising talent, but they’ve got miles of touring to go before they develop a stage presence that could fill a stadium let alone the Double Door.

The New Pornographers, The Abbey Pub, Feb. 23
The last time I saw them in September, the band sounded nearly as twee as their tinny album. But this time they were wrapping up a nationwide tour and they rocked hard. Even the weaker songs were brought to life as the band piledrived the hooks and melodies on top of an ecstatic packed house. They also introduced a few killer new tunes with some gorgeous harmonies, promising greater things to come from this band.

Khaled & Hakim, The Riviera, Feb. 14
Bestowed the title “The king of Rai” in the 80s, Khaled actually has some stiff competition, with Rachid Taha’s adventurous crossover hybrids and Cheb Mami’s increasing popularity. The first Rai show in Chicago since 1996, it was my first, and I was somewhat disappointed. Khaled’s dance-pop rhythms of late tent to sound the same. The opener, Egypt’s Hakim, was rawer sounding and more energetic, with more varied tempos, from hypnotic, snakey bellydance melodies to raise the roof stompers.

Posted in: Live, Reviews