Bumped

Fuck it.

Darkness? You're getting bumped. When your founder/lead singer/front man quits the band, you exit the top 3. This is a list reserved for current, active bands, and there's no room for flakiness. Only the strong survive, my friends. The Most Awesomest Live Band list now stands as follows:

1) Pearl Jam
2) Drive-by Truckers
3) My Morning Jacket
4) The Darkness

I have to say that, personally, Monday night's show was just slightly better than last night's, but only because of the setlist. I thought the band might have blown their load(s) a little early by coming out big with "One Big Holiday," though it was pretty killer when the curtain dropped on cue during the opening guitar solo. On second thought, I don't know what I'm talking about. Those first 30 seconds were unbelievably awesome, and I think I've officially converted Rocky into a diehard fan. Earlier in the evening, we'd been discussing Built to Spill's stage presence (or lack thereof); ten minutes into last night's show, as Jim James pinballed around the stage, Rocky leans to a friend and said, "now that's what I call stage presence."

The Twilight Singers at The Cat

I've got a bone to pick with all of the music lovers and listeners out there. Over the last few years, since I first heard Blackberry Belle and began trying in vain to convert my friends into fans of the Twilight Singers, nobody has once mentioned just how damn good they are live. Maybe we were treated to a rare performance at the Black Cat, but something tells me that last night's show was par for the course with Dulli, et al.

When the band came through town last June, playing at the bigger, more established 9:30 Club, I had a ticket, yet opted to stay in for the night. I'm not sure why, but I think I was tired and skeptical that the Twilight Singers would be any good in a live setting. I think I may regret that decision for a long time to come. From the moment they stepped onto the candelabra-lit stage and the opening notes of "Teenage Wristband" twinkled out of Jeff Klein's keyboard, I knew I was going to see an amazing show. Songs were played from all incarnations of the band, focusing on their two better known and more recent albums, Blackberry Belle and Powder Burns, including "Papillon," "Fat City," snippets of "Amazing Grace" and "Shine One You Crazy Diamond," and a killer "Underneath the Waves" to close the show. I kept waiting for a kickass live version of "Decatur Street" but it looks like the band hasn't played that song for some time, so beggars can't be choosers.

As for the band itself? They were phenomenal. Bobby MacIntyre did his best Keith Moon impression on drums: sitting in the dark at the back of the stage, all I could make out was a flurry of hair, sweat, and drumsticks whirling around. And who knew Dave Rosser could hit those high harmonies meant for Apollonia, all while dominating on lead guitar? Also trotted out for a few songs in the middle of the first set, as well as for the encore was baritone-singing extraordinaire Mark Lanegan, formerly of Screaming Trees, giving Dulli a much-needed periodic rest. Scott Ford's bass was steady and, thankfully, cranked up pretty loud, announcing to the crowd that the band wasn't messing around, and as his first note rumbled out of the speakers and through my core, a huge smile crept upon my face. Jeff Klein spent most of the evening behind the keys, occasionally trading rhythm guitar duties w/ Dulli. And the brawn and the brains behind the Afghan Whigs and the Twilight Singers, Greg Dulli, was in top form. His voice sounded strong, despite a recent vocal strain which caused the band's Athens, GA show to be canceled. And by the end of the evening, he looked like he could still play for another two hours.

I think what surprised me most was how much energy the five-piece band brought to the stage. Their albums are so heavily produced that I had a hard time imagining how that sound would translate into a live setting. But witnessing the Twilight Singers in person made me realize that all of the horns, strings, backup singers and effects heard on the albums are really not necessary. I'm not trying to imply that the albums are worse because of the production, far from it, but I am trying to say that the live experience is so much more energetic. The band that plays on Blackberry Belle and, to a lesser extent, Powder Burns is extremely sensual and moody, recording albums that should be heard in their entirety. The live band, on the other hand, is fun, boozey, and slightly surly, temporarily transporting all witnesses from whatever dreary day-jobs they might have to the moldy, throbbing basement in New Orleans where Greg Dulli pounds his guitar, keyboards, and scotch with equal force.

After finally getting the opportunity to see the Twilight Singers live, I think I now know what Greg Dulli's mindset must be going into every recording session with his ever-rotating band of musicians. He's clearly trying to bottle that magic that can get an entire room of Washington D.C. hill staffers, lawyers, and consultants moving to his drums, his guitars, and his screaming voice. What I do know for sure is that I'll never, ever let a little thing like exhaustion get in the way of attending one of their concerts again.

DC Freaks - A $12 Beck Extravaganza

Single-handedly the greatest experience of my life, and I feel as though I’m not the only one who shares that feeling.

Sometime yesterday afternoon, the going-out gurus leaked the secret: Beck was doing a surprise show at the Black Cat’s Backstage at Midnight; tickets were to go on sale at 9. Those of us who were fortunate enough to find this miracle of a leak should consider ourselves extremely lucky. The excitement will not drop until at least a few weeks.

Heading over right after work to stand in line was probably a bit aggressive, but I would gladly do it again to see what I saw last night. We were the few, the proud, the extremely bored and under-appreciated who sat on the sidewalk in front of the Black Cat from 6 until 9 waiting and watching the line lengthen behind us.

At this point, I need to stop and reflect on the way that the Black Cat staff handled last night: very poorly. Every wannabe hipster employee they had was on a rookie cop power trip the likes of which I haven’t seen since our parties got busted in high school. There is enough material here for a post all its own, so I will leave it at that . . . for now.

About 9, we all shuffled in and got in another line in the Red Room to get stamped for a second time. $12 to see Beck = fucking genius. Now it was another 3 hour wait until the big event which we all passed in passive excitement and beer fueled camaraderie. About 11, everyone decided to get in line again at the door for the Backstage and wait standing up for an hour to get good placement for the show—man we love standing in line because there isn’t a single bad spot in the Backstage.

When the Black Cat elite decided to let us plebeians through the door, we shuffled to our spots and waited. The lights dimmed, and the myriad band of musicians strolled onto the stage to a welcoming of screaming and shouting, jumping and fist-pumping.

Beck told us they had just made it down from New York filming the Letterman show (which was airing right at that time), and they had the pleasure of having their set terrorized by Borat—we could catch it on TiVo if we wanted. Then they jumped straight into Black Tambourine—a Civil War uniform-wearing, wig-donning dance machine playing a black tambourine was there (of course!). Black Tambourine turned into Devil’s Haircut, and the night progressed and we smiled.

Jumping and sweating and screaming, we loved every minute of the show. Beck apologized for not having any of their gimmicks with them, but he promised they would make it up to us—the Backstage didn’t have enough room for puppets he said. In an effort to “make it up to us,” Beck started taking requests. “We can play anything,” he said. And they did. DCist attempted a complete set list, so I will let you go there if you have interest. I will tell you that when he played “Hollywood Freaks,” that was all me baby!!! He changed it to “DC Freaks,” and we all felt strangely proud.

He told us “Happy Halloween,” and eventually he told us that curfew was being called on him and us—alas, it was coming to an end.

Beck’s all electric set was charged with energy and the crowd played off the band just as well as the band played off of the crowd. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that Rocky here is very happy he was a part of. Hell yes, Beck’s beat is correct!

Now I know how Kim Jong Il feels...

Ah yes, the proverbial "morning after" post...

Some thoughts on Wilco's show at the 9:30 Club last night:

1) There are some bands that are just so consistently solid that there's really no point in trying to review them. Peal Jam is one of these bands, and yes, Wilco is another. I'm not trying to say that these two bands are similar in any way; what I'm trying to say is that you're rarely let down when you buy a ticket to one of their shows, because the odds are very good that your high expectations will be met. And anyone who would be taking the time to read a review of one of their performances is probably a big enough fan that they've seen them in person themselves, so they already know what a Wilco or a Pearl Jam show sounds like. In short, I'm not going to waste my time and your time doing a song-for-song overview of the show, because you already know that it was very good, and that it was exactly what a Wilco show should be.

2) I made it through the show alive, and intact. I know some were concerned for my safety, what with Tweedy getting all Hulk on us, but the concert went off without incident. It's pretty S.O.P. for concerts in DC, but he did go through the typical "fuck the government" routine during one of his banter sessions, mentioning that we have the best and the worst in this town: beautiful buildings with terrible people working in them, etc. But no angry republicans/hill staffers stormed the stage, and the riot gear could remain in the closet for one more night.

3) Big, sweaty, hunch-backed guy with the GIGANTIC head wearing the khaki shorts and the Nike Dry-Fit long-sleeve t-shirt? Yeah, I'm looking at you. I know you're drunk, and I know you're buying those two lesbians a ton of drinks, and they're being nice to you, but let me save you some time and money: it ain't happening, brah. You might be too wasted to realize this, but somebody had to break the news to you.

4) Also, big, sweaty, hunch-backed guy with the GIGANTIC head in the work-out clothing, can you tell your friends to shut up? I really, really hate being that guy that gets all pissy about loud concert attendees, but there are a lot of people who spent a lot of money to be here ($80 - $160 per ticket on Craig! You've gotta be shitting me!), and most of them didn't realize that "Radio Cure" had backing vocals with the slurred lyrics, "DUDE! This shot fucking sucks, bro! Red Headed Sluts, dude. That's a fucking shot," and "Hey pussy, drink up! Put it back! PUSSY!" You and your obnoxious posse have spent the entire show over by the snack bar where you can't even see the stage, taking shots, ordering drinks, and macking on lesbians. There's a little place in Arlington called Whitlow's where this is acceptable behavior. I know they might sound similar, but the 9:30 Club with Wilco performing is not Whitlow's.

5) Was anyone else struck by how many tall dudes there were at the show last night? I don't think any studies have been done, but Wilco might have the tallest average fan of any band in America.