Philthy Izzy’s Highlights of 2011

So I may rarely leave Philadelphia but, trust me, I get around… well, musically speaking. Although I only left Center City four times this year, I did make it out to more than 80 concerts. The ten best ran the gamut from Piano Pop to Noise Pop to Post-Hardcore and Digital Hardcore. And the settings ran the gamut from an historical opera house to a church basement and an Ivy League. Are there any themes? Feel free to tell me.

10. The Cute Lepers @ Kung Fu Necktie (9/2)
The greatest thing about The Cute Lepers is that they are, in thirty minutes (or even a single song), capable of convincing you that the greatest music of all-time (Lou Reed, New York Dolls, The Rolling Stones, etc.) is not only prolific, but that it can be joyously playful. Their brand of Power Pop channels all of the heroes of music history’s greatest era, without ever attempting to convince you that you need to be one of “the cool kids.”

9. …And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead @ First Unitarian Church (5/12)
You’d never think a band called “…And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead” would ever be referred to as “nostalgic”… but alas. In an odd juxtaposition, this year the band both stripped down (to a four piece, including my old buddy, Jamie Miller, of theSTART, Snot, and Normandie) and pomped up with a concept album comprised of 16 “movements.” However, the fans in attendance seemed less interested in the new material and more interested in their “Days of Being Wild” (both literally and figuratively), with tracks from 2002’s Source Tags & Codes and 2005’s Worlds Apart garnering all of the audience appreciation awards for the night. It was a night for former “alt youth,” now holding somewhat “respectable” positions as adults (I am a college professor, after all… and had to be up at 6am to lecture the following day.) to relieve our teen years with a little more refinement. Sure the band weren’t nearly as “explosive” (literally) as they were a decade ago, but Jason Reece still managed to make his way into the audience, guitar in hands, in a way that was the furthest thing from gimmicky and those of us left to shift his weight on and off of us in a manner that could only be described as balletically punk were reassured that those songs we had used to existentially soundtrack our youth were, even in hindsight, completely fucking amazing.

8. Deer Tick @ Harrison Auditorium (10/14)
Watching Deer Tick play the auditorium of an Ivy League was a bit Spinal Tap… but in a good way. The audience was neatly organized by non-removable rows of seating, it was dry and, because of a student discount… most of those in attendance were actually UPenn freshmen. However, they did manage to churn out the better part of Divine Providence (the year’s most brilliant release), a collection of songs meant for drinking, crying, farting, and fighting, with very few circumstantial hindrances. Their country ballads were just as somber and sincere. Their punk anthems were just as… “punk” and “anthemic.” And their behavior was just as crass and confrontational, despite the setting… actually, probably more so because of it.

7. Those Darlins @ Johnny Brenda’s (6/16)
Considering that music’s biggest badasses would seem to come from the realm of [minimally-commodified] punk and country, it’s surprising that the two genres don’t hook up more frequently. Not surprising, is that two who seem to hook the genres up better than all the rest are actually hooking up in a more traditional sense: Deer Tick’s John McCauley and Those Darlins’ Nikki Darlin are married? It does seem at least slightly political that I would have Those Darlins’ latest Philly gig just one spot ahead of Deer Tick’s, although I don’t think that was intentional. Those Darlins’ shows evoke the spirit of Hank Williams, Ramones, and Russ Meyer. They’re hoedowns for erotic punk abandon… and pretty much all you could ever ask for of a live performance.

6. Sleigh Bells @ The Trocadero (5/8)
Sleigh Bells are the most intellectual and intelligent outfit to sell out a 1,200-capacity venue all year. Their appropriation and cultural critique of the Rock spectacle, synthetic reproduction, consumer culture, and dance music is the most impressive I’ve seen since…(#2 on our list)

5. YACHT @ First Unitarian Church (4/26)
Never before have I seen ½ of an audience (and a respectable one, at that) storm a stage without being invited and the band not blink. YACHT are very into pop music and they’re also very into semiotics. They’re also very into stylish and joyous transgression. This evening they previewed their latest release, Shangri-La, with a performance that resembled a loving riot. At times they were Joy Division, at times they were Philip K. Dick, and at times they were Michael Jackson… but, for the majority of the time, they were all at once. It was flowery, anarchistic, and intellectual. And everyone in attendance, who danced along with them, lost at least one pant-size that night. (Read my recent interview with Claire Evans.)

4. The Airborne Toxic Event @ The Trocadero (5/7 and 5/9)
The second night of The Airborne Toxic Event’s two-night stand at the Trocadero is the only time I’ve ever nearly given myself a concussion… and is there really any better review than that? They write songs that can catch the ear of the average “music fan,” but they’re also more-than-well-versed in the musically postmodern… they’re also very well read. TATE produces spectacles that are both popularly epic and abrasively and recklessly anti-pop. I suspect their live shows would impress Barnum, Iggy Pop, and Joyce.

3. Lenka/Elizabeth & the Catapult @ North Star Bar (6/11)
Everybody knows (pun intended) that piano pop is pretty much my favorite thing in the world and I’m not sure that there has ever been a better display of it than Lenka and Elizabeth Ziman’s (and her Catapult) 2011 summer jaunt. The Catapult set up the evening with a somewhat stripped, folk-heavy set, allowing the ineffably quirky Ziman to display her serious (and they are) songstress chops. Sure, the set included the brilliantly bubbly “Perfectly Perfect,” but the vast majority of the set evoked more pensive awe in the audience than anything else – local support Shannon Corey told me that she had to stop [selling merch] and sit in order to consume Elizabeth’s opening notes. Closing the evening was Lenka, the most lovely, saccharine, and whimsical creature in my music collection. She managed a minimalistically epic set that was passionately delightful to the nth degree without being even slightly cheesy. (Check out my recent interviews with Lenka and Elizabeth.)

2. Atari Teenage Riot @ Starlight Ballroom (9/18)
Atari Teenage Riot’s reunion of sorts should have been the musical highlight of the year (It was, for me). Unfortunately, in Philadelphia, no one seemed to show up for the revolution (and it wasn’t televised). Still, Alec Empire, alongside Nic Endo and CX KiDTRONiK, kicked out the digital hardcore jams with the ferocity of history’s least agreeable revolutionaries in a display that couldn’t have been more alarming or inviting had it been choreographed by Marx himself. (Check out my recent interview with Alec Empire.)

1. The Sounds @ Union Transfer (11/1)
While their latest release, and fourth LP, Something to Die For, takes far more from (the far less interesting) House and 90s dance music than Post-Punk and New Wave, The Sounds' live sets still embrace the far more chicly abrasive "sounds" of their first two albums. Their early work was often compared to Blondie, although it’s actually not only more badass, but more likely to induce ass-wiggling. And songs like “Hope You’re Happy Now,” “Living in America,” “Night After Night,” “Painted By Numbers,” and “Seven Days a Week” proved to be still some of the most satisfying of the century… It also didn’t hurt that the band’s performance is still far more reminiscent of something to take place from the stage of the 100 Club than at a rave. (Check out my recent interview with Felix Rodriguez.)

*Follow me on Twitter @IzzyCihak.

Last Minute Gift Ideas

So everyone who knows me knows that I’m not really a big fan of the holidays. Most of you have also realized that I don’t do nearly as much rocking as I used to – I’m far more prone to indie popping these days. However, I do enjoy, every so often, indulging in my roots as a headbanger (beyond the skintight denim, glittered scarves, and sterling silver skull bracelets that I am yet to give up). These days, more often than not, it is Eagle Rock Entertainment who inspires in me such nostalgia with their CDs, documentaries, and live DVDs covering the likes of The Rolling Stones, Velvet Revolver, Jane’s Addiction, Black Sabbath, and Black Label Society. Well, they have done it again, and just in time for the holiday season. So if you're looking for a last minute for that uncle who-still-thinks-he’s-cool you may want to pick up and gift wrap one of the following recent releases from Eagle Rock Entertainment.

Slash

Made in Stoke 24/7/11

($17.98 for 2CD, $24.98 for 2CD+DVD)

…The good old double live album… the staple of any monster of rock… and, I will admit, something that I still occasionally indulge in (I mean, who doesn’t still listen to KISS Alive! whenever they get the chance?). And this is the double live album of the year (Yes, better than The Cure’s Bestival Live 2011). It’s no Alive! (or even AliveII, for that matter), but it is a good reminder that anorexic guys in leather pants, turning it up to 11 can still be cool – even if it’s been more than a decade since anyone new came along to reiterate the point.

Made in Stoke has former Guns N’ Roses/Velvet Revolver axe-slinger, Slash, returning to the town in which he was born and raised (Stoke-on-Trent) to perform for the first time, earlier this year. The band he brought with him? Alter Bridge’s Myles Kennedy on vocals and some regular revolvers of the Sleaze Rock/Hard Rock circuit for the rhythm section (Bobby Schneck, Todd Kerns, and Brent Fitz) – they do have a bit of a sterilized, radio rock feel, but not to a degree worthy of mocking. And the setlist? A shockingly eclectic mix of Slash’s recent solo material, G’N’R classics, and even a handful of Slash’s Snakepit tracks. The new material, off of 2010’s Slash (which, let’s face it, we really couldn’t care less about) isn’t shoved down your throat. And you’re not steamrolled with an overwhelming barrage of second-rate Guns N’ Roses covers either (Apparently someone else has already got that covered.)

The G’N’R numbers are a little cliché and guessable (“Civil War,” “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” “Paradise City,” etc.), but they’re spaced out enough (encore aside) and carried out competently enough to not seem painfully novel. Myles Kennedy’s voice is quite a bit closer to Axl’s than Scott Weiland’s (who has most recently been singing G’N’R tunes alongside Slash), however, at times he sounds a bit too polished, like he’s churning out a G’N’R number for Steven Tyler and J. Lo. What he lacks is grit (something neither Rose nor Weiland are lacking), making songs like “Nightrain,” “Patience,” and “Mr. Brownstone,” (which Weiland actually did great renditions of) sound fairly trite and unlistenable. Surprisingly, Kennedy’s take on Weiland’s vocals for “Slither” is actually his most satisfying imitation on the whole album.

However, the album’s greatest moments don’t come from when the guitar legend is trying to sell you on his latest output or he’s giving you your money’s-worth of hit singles from a previous band. They come from songs that I, honestly, thought would be forever buried deep in Rock’N’Roll’s basement, never to be heard again. The album’s greatest moments come from the four songs coined by Slash’s Snakepit, a brilliant project that popular history has, tragically, nearly erased. Snakepit was Slash’s first “solo” effort (which existed in two, completely separate, formations from 1993-1995 and 1998-2002), whose sound is more or less The Black Crowes, had they been reared on Hollywood and Vine (Yeah… Buckcherry didn’t invent this.) Two of these four “moments” come within the first four tracks of the set. The evening began with “Been There Lately,” which channels a soulful glam aesthetic into a bar fight and, shortly after, “Mean Bone” provides a nearly pornographic groove that wouldn’t be matched for the rest of the evening. And a little later on, “Beggars & Hangers On” stomped the asses of “Patience” and “Sweet Child O’ Mine” for the heaviest and most touching moment of the entire release.

God Bless Ozzy Osbourne

($14.98 for DVD, $19.98 for Blu-ray)

Yes, there’s another doc. about The Prince of Darkness (who really does rock, in every sense of the word). You’ve seen the Behind the Music, you’ve seen the A&E Biography and, if you’re truly cool (well, were “cool” for a metalhead in 1991), you have an old, VHS copy of Don’t Blame Me. And you’re probably thinking that there is little of value left for the video cameras to mine of Ozzy… You’re mostly correct, but after the initial, generic, un-evenly paced “look-at-what-a-crazy-life-of-ups-and-downs-this-guy-had,” God Bless Ozzy Osbourne does manage to reveal (beyond some never-before-seen-and-pretty-interesting performance footage) another side to the story of Oz… Well, not so much another side, but a side which he and his circle were yet to own up to.

Beyond the talking head interviews with Henry Rollins and Robert Trujillo and archival footage of Ozzy decapitating a dove with his pearly whites (which, somehow, through three decades of overexposure, has become dull), the crux of God Bless Ozzy Osbourne lies in the Ozzman and his family admitting, and coming to terms with the fact, that throughout his latter years in the spotlight, he was functioning on about a half a cylinder due to substance abuse that he had promised was long in his past. Yes, this is something that we all realized, but the cold, bitch-smacked sincerity of Jack, Sharon, Kelly, and Aimee actually makes the realization far from cheesy… and, in addition (and, perhaps, most importantly), makes us feel like shit for laughing at their mis/fortunes for so long (even if only for the length of the film).

God Bless Ozzy Osbourne is not quite a rock doc. It’s a bleakly sexy tale of a dysfunctional family that includes Black Sabbath performance footage. It’s not exactly Capturing the Friedmans, but it does make Jack, Sharon, and Kelly Osbourne slightly less loathsome… which might just make it award-worthy.

… I’m Still Breathing

So I realize it’s been a while since High Voltage has heard from me. I’ve been doing most of my ranting and raving on Philthy (http://blog.philthy.us/blog/) however, now that High Voltage is re-launching I am diving back into the loop. Yes, you’ll notice the site is looking prettier than ever, my column has a fresh title, and I have an updated photo (although only slightly… it was taken roughly 18 hours after my previous photo… six years ago).

(This is the standard “We’ve come a long way” portion of the “Welcome Back” column.) The last time High Voltage re-vamped I was a grad. student at Temple University. All my best friends had moved to Brooklyn or New Jersey, so I was spending my days with… well, not the coolest people in the world (casually homophobic and racist pseudo punks, to be specific). Currently I am teaching at Temple University (God, isn’t that scary?) in the departments of English and Intellectual Heritage and, instead of hanging out with douche bags… well, I really don’t leave the apt. too much. I’m actually quite proud of my Mozzian reclusiveness… plus, it gives me more time to drink PBR and watch the Criterion Collection… which are far more satisfying than pretty much every person I’ve ever met.

Okay, so my solitude isn’t exactly Proustian. I’m still a regular at all of Philadelphia’s venues that matter and I’m a long way from losing touch with what’s going on in music. In fact, if you pick up a copy of the new print issue of High Voltage, you’ll see my list for the year’s ten best albums… However, if you don’t here’s a quick run-down of my thoughts on 2011’s music: Earlier this week I saw The Sounds put on the show of the year (despite their new album being quite lame), Deer Tick’s new one is still blowing my mind (despite the fact that I’d never liked them before), Atari Teenage Riot’s reunion album and tour rocked my socks as hard as they’ve been rocked all year (despite the fact that Alec is the band’s only original member), and I still have an ineffable and indescribable “thing” for petite and quirky (and usually Jewish and Brooklyn-residing) singer/songstresses (despite the fact that I haven’t found “the one for me” quite yet).

And the column’s new name? To the first person to properly assess the allusion, I will buy a drink… Wait, nevermind. That never works and no one ever even bothers guessing. A few months ago I was discussing with my dear friend, Liz, possibilities for a new column name and asked what she thought of “36 Degrees.” She asked of its significance, to which I replied, “It’s a Placebo song about an unloving and unlovable androgynous alien who is beginning to decay.” Her reply? “OMG. That’s perfect for you!”

Buke & Gass - Live @ Johnny Brenda's

This past Friday tUnE-yArDs was in Philadelphia for a long-sold out performance at Johnny Brenda’s. However, it was openers, Buke & Gass, who provided the evening’s most impressive performance. The Brooklyn duo kicked off the evening of musical subversions armed with their self-crafted buke (a six string, what-was-once-a-baritone ukulele) and gass (a guitar-bass hybrid) and a bevy of leg-strapped percussion. About half an hour of their tunes (which sound remarkably like straight-ahead 90s alt rock) and they had the whole of the crowd participating in their charming musical anti-spectacle. – Izzy Cihak

“Whoa, Fuck”: Swans

Ever since I was a teen (actually, a little bit less), attending concerts has been my only real “hobby.” During my highschool years my mom would drop me off at the doorstep of the 9:30 Club or the Black Cat several nights a week, where I would wait on the sidewalk for hours so that I could be front row for whichever hero I had access to that night. By the time I was 18 I had seen Sonic Youth 6 times, kissed Kim Deal, and been onstage with Iggy Pop… twice. I had almost literally seen it all. I’m now a music journalist who continues going to upwards of 75 shows per years, except now it’s all free of charge. At this point it has all gotten a little blurry, a little less exciting: seeing indie rock, alt country, and synth pop bands every night that are legitimately good, but that honestly are somewhat interchangeable and that are definitely not going to change the course of music history. Yes, there are exceptions that make me as giddy as I was when I was 14, yet it’s pretty rare that I have a “Whoa, Fuck” moment. This was my “Whoa, Fuck,” moment of 2010.

On September 28 the 140-year-old Trocadero Theatre housed sounds that likely won’t be accessible to the masses for another 140 years. Legendary NYC avant art rockers Swans played their first show in 13 years. The venue was filled with freaks of all ages and walks of life: punks, goths, metalheads, queers, the people who are yet to embrace a culturally “valuable” identity, the people whose lives resemble a series of scars but are yet to be broken. Swans’ discography is as fluid and varied as their fans, but the one thing that remained constant is that it was always something that the mainstream wouldn’t fucking get. Those several hundred in attendance may have embraced different subculture identities and may have had their closets and record collections stocked differently, but the one thing they had in common was that they remained aliens, much like the band onstage. If this all sounds a bit lofty and pretentious, it’s because it is.

Swans, alongside Sonic Youth (their more fortunate musical siblings), rose from the ashes of NYC’s No Wave movement. Building on the noisiness of art rock, they added the Post Punk of Joy Division and what can only be described as slow-motion Heavy Metal and melded it with an audible (in addition to lyrical) manifestation of Genet and the Marquis de Sade for their aesthetic, still largely unlistenable and indefinable to the majority of Earth. They later gained a reputation for shows with a (sometimes literally) vomit-inducing volume. Later, in order to shed the band of any particular reputation, band leader and sole constant member Michael Gira, toyed with brilliantly bastardized takes on Folk, Blues, Ambient, and Industrial. Earlier this year Swans released My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky, which your humble narrator has described as “the scariest fucking folk music you will ever hear” and an attempt at “skullfucking American country and blues.”

The audience at the Trocadero Theatre that night lacked a consensus not only on what Swans’ music was, but how it was to be reacted to. Some banged their heads, some overdramatically swayed to the hypnotic feedback, and some motionlessly stared upon them as a piece of performance art which they wished not to disturb.

The notion of considering Swans’ set as a “performance,” would probably be insulting to the band. Gira is one of music’s greatest anti-performers: it was a song-and-a-half into the set before he turned to face the audience. Toward the end of the night, when he could no longer avoid acknowledging the praise that was almost half as deafening as his music, he spit, in his William-Burroughs diction “Don’t try to love me or else you’ll have to suck my cock,” before offering a gruffly quirky apology (this anti-hero is just as well conceptualized as Genet and possibly more so than Charles Manson).

What the band played seemed to matter less to the audience than simply that they were playing. Tracks from their latest, like “My Birth” and “Eden Prison” were accompanied, by nonsensical selections from their catalogue (it’s not like they had “hits” after all). There seemed to be little reasoning or motivation behind these particular choices, but that was the beauty of it. While they’re just about the least likely band in the world to pander to their audience, even if they wanted to, I’m not sure it would be possible. The electro-tribal “I Crawled” sounds more authentically “Gothic” than anything to be produced since and “Sex, God, Sex” still sounds like a hymn from the edge of the Apocalypse. However, the night’s scariest, and therefore best, moment was likely 1987’s “Beautiful Child.” The song seems to drone on forever, yet it gives you the distinct feeling that once it’s over, it’s all over.

Swans are not a band to be “enjoyed” in the traditional sense. Like the Marquis de Sade, they are here to break down all that we know of their medium and prophesize our approaching demise. Hearing Gira and his horrifically beautiful Swans in concert may be the closest one can reach to hearing the world’s end. – Izzy Cihak

For the Dads and Uncles (A High Voltage Christmas)

So I realize that an average AC/DC fan is about as likely to have heard of Girl in a Coma, Smoke Fairies, or Twin Tigers as they are to have seen the latest episode of The Whitest Kids You Know. Their concert-going is likely relegated to summer sheds, they probably couldn’t name a song by Belle & Sebastian, and they use the phrase “classic rock” in a positive and non-ironic manner. They are the dads and uncles of the world. But who says we don’t love our dads and uncles? And it is this time of year when we all find ourselves scrambling to commodify that love. So if you are yet to pick up a gift for your dad, uncle, or just-plain-fan-of-“classic rock,” you may want to consider one of the following recently-released DVD titles, brought to you by Eagle Vision. This entry is my nod to all of dads and uncles of the world.

Rush: 2112 & Moving Pictures Classic Albums
While Rush’s brand name finds itself alongside Dungeons and Dragons as often as it does Black Sabbath, to many they are pretty much the coolest thing ever… after D&D, that is. And, I must admit, they have mustered up a couple dozen rock radio singles that do make for good late-night highway driving (and which I much prefer to the likes of Shineback and Flystorm). The latest edition in the Classic Albums series examines Rush’s two most seminal works, 2112 and Moving Pictures.

This documentary features extensive interviews with the rock trio (a quality trademark of the Classic Albums series, compared to other mid-level rock docs who exclusively focus on the ex-girlfriends of the band and the offspring of the sound engineer), along with people like David Fricke, Taylor Hawkins, and Ed Robertson. The crux of the interviews focus on the band discussing the lyrical inspiration behind their work, which range from Ayn Rand’s Anthem (which inspired the 20+minute “2112”) to pot to sportscars. I must admit, the earnestness and passion with which they discuss a literary notion of a song being born when a man finds a lone guitar (which had been long-banned) in a cave or the freedom of being able to drive down the highway in a world where cars are illegal is entertaining to put it mildly.


Twisted Sister: Live at Wacken
Although this is a re-issue (now including a live CD) and true fans of Twisted Sister likely already have it, for those not-so-hardcore, this DVD and CD documenting the band’s reunion just might flip you. Sure, their reunion might not be as critically exciting as that of the MC5 or as popularly exciting as that of Van Halen, but it seems to be only because the band’s aesthetic is far too epic to appeal to the real aliens, yet far too subversive to pack arenas. Although the band has been a bit bastardized by a few pop singles and reality television shows, they’re far more intriguing than most people remember.

The DVD documents the process of Twisted Sister’s reunion, culminating with their headlining slot at Wacken (whose name they mispronounce several times) 2003. Spliced into a recording of their full set is interviews and supplemental footage of how they came to get back together and put on this amazingly grandiose and still-moderately-disturbing (and not for the wrong reasons) performance in front of tens of thousands of people. Yes, it’s quite a bit pompous, but Dee Snider is the furthest thing from the cliché aged frontman and still navigates the stage looking like a strung out drag queen. And “We’re Not Gonna Take It” and “I Wanna Rock” aside, their music is a lot more transgressive than you ever realized (a bit like if the New York Dolls were a bunch of Guidos). This DVD proves that the reason Twisted Sister aren't regularly joining Poison and Cinderella for summer package tours isn't because they're not competent enough, but because they're simply not that lame.

-- Izzy Cihak

(photo by Olivia Vaughn)

Girl in a Coma - Adventures in Coverland

Girl in a Coma
Adventures in Coverland
Blackheart Records Group

The Velvet Underground and Selena rarely find themselves in each other’s company under amicable circumstances. However, the two seem more than at-home on Girl in a Coma’s latest, Adventures in Coverland. This collection of covers has the band straying from their usual brand of power pop (except for their take on “Come On, Let’s Go,” which turns Ritchie Valens into a star of the Vans Warped Tour) to explore the spectrum of their musical influences, from the Beatles at their most conceptual (“While My Guitar Gently Weeps”) to David Bowie at his most Hollywood (“As the World Falls Down”). While each song has its own sound, their own Tex-Mex aesthetic maintains a surprising cohesion throughout almost thirty minutes of songs written by people they’ve likely never even met: “Walkin’ After Midnight” is imbued with an even more abrasive brand of eroticism and Joy Division’s “Transmission” is transformed into a sleek and sultry R&B jam. This Texas trio once-again proves that they are the only band worthy of their Smiths-inspired moniker. – Izzy Cihak