bad metaphor

“Gosh, I don’t want to pester her,” I said to my friends as I peered down the dark alleyway behind the Blue Note. “Aren’t we kind of creepy anyway? Who skulks about in the shadows waiting for a girl they don’t know, besides rapists?”

“It is so not creepy,” said James, as he tried the door of a trailer parked behind the building. Thankfully, it was locked and no one official with a baton or a glaring face saw us.

Note that I am not the type of person who ordinarily likes to try and interact with celebrities, major or minor. Even if they seem reasonably approachable. Once I stood about five feet away from Ira Kaplan of Yo La Tengo, who was just idly chatting with a sound guy or whoever, with no one else mobbing him for autographs or anything…and I was still too shy to walk over there and introduce myself. At the time I thought about it and just decided I had literally nothing witty enough in my brain to contribute to a conversation with the King of whip smart rock nerds. Maybe my buddy Indie Dan could, but not me. I was too tongue tied to even shout “you rock!”.

Eventually a band member or two emerged from the doorway, and the flicking of lighters combined with wafting cigarette smoke set me at ease. A few Andrew Bird fans joined us in our groupie vigil, waiting to pounce on the headliners as they popped out of the door. Andrew Bird emerged first, and an elated Krissy managed to beat back some blonde floozies (pfft) to get a photo opportunity with the Bird. Then out came Miss St. Vincent, Annie Clark herself, and my helpful friends pushed me forward. Took a photo with her, babbled something about how she should come to Lawrence, and she said something about how her sister had gone to school there, and she’d been to a frat party there once. I’m not sure if in my drunken, giddy state, I did true justice to the many exciting tourism opportunities of my town in the two minutes I spoke with her. Once we walked away, we played it cool…ish…until we rounded the corner, and then skipped back towards my car like three schoolgirls high on pixy sticks.

Later, I saw that she added ‘Lawrence, KS’ to her spring tour dates. And yes, I may have boasted constantly about it for the rest of that week.

Fast forward to the Bottleneck, last Monday. I was glad I got my tickets over a week ago, as the place was packed and I’d even shown up early, by rock o’ clock standards. This band from Sweden called Wildbirds and Peacedrums opened for St Vincent, and they were only the most incredible band I’d seen in ages. These two gentle looking hippies strolled onto the stage: “we are from Sweden,” said the woman timidly, and the pair promptly proceeded to blast our eardrums with their music. She had a full, brassy soul singer’s voice, and he attacked the drums in a decidedly non-peaceable fashion. At some point during their set, I even questioned whether St Vincent was going to be able to adequately follow this act.

I shouldn’t have doubted: St Vincent brought it that night, with the backing of her incredible band. She had a robotic yet strangely winsome manner while casually shredding her guitar. The flautist – wait, that sounds like a fried Mexican snack food – flutist? Flute tooter – yes, that guy, and the violinist were top notch, intertwining their notes seamlessly to give the impression of a fully loaded orchestra. They walked off stage to go take a smoke break for a song or two, leaving just Annie Clark and her guitar to do a scorching rendition of the Beatles’ “Dig a Pony”:

Not from her performance at the Bottleneck, obviously, but it’ll do. Just crank up the volume and pretend the lights are red.

After the show I contemplated waiting for St Vincent again outside the show, autograph my new ticket, and thanking her for coming to Lawrence (because obviously she came at my behest, and not because she has like any family members here or tour dates to fill, or any other good reason. hee). But judging from the murmurs around us, a lot of other people were planning to do so, and this is the coldest February in Kansas I’ve ever shivered through. So I decided to just go buy some merch and replay happy music memories in my mind, in the warmth and comfort of my home.

As I sit here typing at work, sipping tepid coffee, I think, “maybe mid-week concerts in out-of-town venues are not the best idea.” I will not allow my current temporary state of sluggishness, however, diminish the impact of how bitchin’ awesome last night was; seriously how cool was that?!

Ahem. So I was super nervous about getting there on time, scooting from work a bit early so that I could get gas and snacks for the road (ohh yes, there will be snacks). Swung by krissy’s place of work, where she was hurriedly trying to break loose – this being the busiest time of month for her job, she ran out to my car at 5:07ish instead of 5:01 at the dot. Well, no matter. Peeled away and took the slowest route possible to K-10 (it’s amazing how long it takes to get anywhere in this small town. Maybe if y’all didn’t drive 15 in a 30 we could be getting somewhere, peoples!) Drove into the sprawling Corporate Woods where my roommate Jamie was waiting – went so quickly that we actually passed him and had to double back. Oops! We made it out alive, with everyone in the car, and dove into the traffic nightmare that is I-70 leading out of Kansas City at 6 p.m.

Approximately one hundred porn-store, fireworks and Jesus billboards later, we rolled into Columbia at 8:00 on the dot. Giddy with excitement, krissy ran ahead of us to try and take a candid photo, I guess – causing the random guy walking ahead of us to freak out. Hey, if I did not know krissy, I would have assumed she was about to mug him too. After random guy determined we were not trying to jump him, we found the Blue Note and walked in just in the nick of time – St Vincent was kicking off her set with “Actor” – loud, jangly guitars. YES. We ran in and forgot about our seats, but it’s okay because I’ve determined the Blue Note is magically set up so that even short girls can see from pretty much everywhere you’re standing. Sloped floors for the win!

St Vincent and her backup band. I would describe her music as “a tea party in the middle of a Black Sabbath concert.”

St. Vincent’s set was smashing, as expected, but short – I bought the tickets before I realized she would be the opening act for Andrew Bird. Now don’t get me wrong, Andrew Bird is absolutely fantastic live, and put on a great show like he normally does. But I was a little disappointed that she didn’t play longer. I’ve seen Andrew Bird before and he comes by Lawrence quite a bit, but I don’t know if St. Vincent will come to Lawrence itself anytime soon. Maybe Kansas City, I hope. Anyway! Andrew Bird was also super, though I think I prefer watching him without his backing band. It takes the music to a new level of sublime, watching him play EVERYTHING and loop it all together masterfully with his cascade of pedals. No discredit to the musicians playing with him, though, as they are very talented and kept me dancing (and spilling gin and tonic) all night.

Andrew Bird is an impressive multitasker.

Summary review: I am going to start rating shows according to how intense the stench of unwashed butt and ashtray surrounding you becomes, before you are distracted enough to notice. According to this system I would give St Vincent four cigarette butts, and Andrew Bird three and a half.

St Vincent mentioned during her set that they would be outside signing things after the show. In my G&T addled brain, I thought this meant after the whole show, and she would be out there signing things after Andrew Bird finished. I ran out to the merch table to be one of the first ones there, and the girl behind the counter informed me that St Vincent had actually been there during the break. D’oh! While I was sulking about this, Krissy and James informed me that while I was saving their spots and texting them to hurry up because Andrew Bird was starting…they were out there chatting with “Miss St Vincent” (Annie Clark giggled at being called this, so says Krissy), getting her autograph for me, and hugging her. AHHH! I was ecstatic that they got her autograph for me, but really bummed that I had missed her, so James said “let’s go lurk outside her trailer and see if she’ll come out.”

“Augh, that’s creepy…okay sure let’s do it!” So we ran behind the Blue Note and waited in the alley for her to come out. Andrew Bird emerged, and Krissy waited patiently for a couple of blondies in four inch heels to get their autographs, before making her move.

Krissy and her boooooyfriend, in her ideal imaginary world at least.

After that we loitered / lurked for a little while longer, which would eventually prove fruitful when her bassist called over to Krissy : “psst! She’s here!”

Annie Clark, being nice to lil ole me! Ridiculously gorgeous and sweet as Marcon pie!

After rambling to her about Lawrence for some reason, she wished us a safe ride home. I walked about five feet from her before I started skipping, and then realized “oh shit she and her friends can still see me.” So I stopped and waited till we turned the corner to resume. YAAY! I wish I had the presence of mind to thank or otherwise acknowledge her bassist and other backing musicians, who put on a great show as well and tolerated our lurking, but I was a bit overwhelmed.

By the time we made it home, past sleepy truckers and torrential rain clouds, we were past ready for sleep. Not ready, though, to discover that our roommates had inexplicably started locking the bolt to the front door, and to also discover that neither of our keys to that bolt are effective. Eventually Eli heard the desperate ruckus we raised outside, and rescued us. A happy ending to a happy evening.

St. Vincent and Andrew Bird!

SO EXCITED! Though I have to say I prefer the dirty, crunchy guitar version of “Black Rainbow” over the quiet, sweet collaboration between the two. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be thrilled if there was a duet or two tonight at the Blue Note, though.

Like most people under the age of thirty with ears, I’ve been fawning over the Arcade Fire ever since their debut album, “Funeral.” I’m not much for musical hype, but I considered “Funeral” to be the most stirring album I’d heard in years. They managed to conceive a tightly cohesive concept album using a variety of instruments (including the oft-maligned accordion and hurdygurdy), and crafting songs about various subjects ranging from “exile due to military dictatorship” to “bad weather”. The Arcade Fire absolutely smashed the music scene with a stellar first album, and an also excellent EP. Wild success at the outset, however, tends to prove the downfall of many a promising band.

Not so with the Arcade Fire: “Neon Bible” is a stunning album, and in many ways stands superior to its predecessor.

The band sounds fuller this time around, with more advanced production and instrumentation. They accomplish this without sounding overly slick and polished; the raw energy from the first album is tamed into a more subtle, powerful and controlled sound here. The best comparison can be drawn between the EP version of “No Cars Go” and this latest version. Initially I was a bit disappointed upon hearing that they repeat a song – really, have they been around long enough to justify recycling songs yet? Any disappointments vanished once I listened to this new version. It is, simply put, sublime. Everything, from the interplay between Win and Regine’s voices, to the ethereal guitar in the background, transforms the song from merely a great tune into a near-religious experience. The quieter songs, such as the titular track, also show how well the band’s sound has matured. My personal favorite is “Ocean of Noise,” which brings me almost to tears with every listen. Also, I defy anybody with taste to resist the slow crescendo of the organ in the closer, “My Body is a Cage.”

Though I’m quite blown away by the album, just as with “Funeral,” “Neon Bible” is not without its flaws. My main hangup with the album is, as addressed in the Pitchfork review, the track order. I can even forgive some of the sillier lyrics (and they do get pretty ‘rage against the machine-ish’ on tracks like “Windowstill”), but the track order is jarring to the point of distraction. For instance, I’d heard “Black Wave / Bad Vibrations” prior to buying the album and fell in love with it. But when I listened to the CD, and heard it come up right after the stunning organ fade-out of “Intervention,” “BW / BV” sounded awkward, thin, and totally out of place. I still love the song and all, but every single listen I’ve had the same negative reaction when track five rolls around. I’m not sure where it should be moved to, though. Maybe it would be better as a B-side.

Like the Pitchfork reviewer, I feel that ending the album with the stunner “No Cars Go” would have been best. “My Body is a Cage” is a good track on its own, and probably would have served as a perfectly fine album closer, had it not immediately followed such an energetic, satisfying track. Flipping the two might make more sense sonically. I’m certainly no composer, but I’m also apparently not the only one getting my panties in a bunch over the track order. Such issues, however, can be easily resolved through iTunes playlists and whatnot.

For those of you who haven’t gotten the album yet and are interested in such music, I definitely recommend it. “Black Mirror” is available for a listen at the band’s website. In addition, there’s a podcast of one of their concerts up on the NPR website. Give it a listen, and if you like what you hear, go get yourself a neon bible.

Conclusion, after a whole night’s listen: I have absolutely fallen in love with “Neon Bible.” It will probably drive me to drink and break my heart one day. It is that beautiful.