My name is Wakefield.
I pulled out the first Weezer album last week. It's been a long time since I listened to it. Five years ago, it was a typhoon of fresh air on the heels of Kurt Cobain's suicide. It was a subtle reminder that music was fun and not the dark social instrument of the flannel depression. And my unearthing of the album brought back waves of nostalgia. I remember listening to "Undone" in heavy rotation on a Denver radio station while I worked off my Ivy League diploma washing dishes in the kitchen of an cheap Italian restaurant built into the side of a mountain.
Gotta box full of your toys.
Weezer was instantly lovable. All the music was so familiar. All the songs were our favorites before we even heard them. And listening again this week I almost cried. At times it was joy, at times it was anger. Weezer signified, after all, the re-emergence of pop. I tried to deny it for years but with the benefit of hindsight it is clear that they ushered in a sorry new era of poor pop musicianship and meaningless artists singing meaningless songs. Most without the self-effacing humor of the quartet.
Fresh out of batteries.
Five years and two sufferable Weezer albums later, we are all older and wiser. Matt Sharp's Rentals ("Friends of P") fell flat, their friends That Dog disbanded, and Rivers Cuomo could never convince us that he was the dark and troubled artist that he wanted to be. More importantly, we, or at least I, have realized that music, from the listeners perspective, is a personal investment and instant carnal lust is often followed by hollow disappointment.
But they're still making noise.
Laconic Chamber and Holiday Inn are two wise investments. They are not instantly lovable. The music is often dizzying and disorienting. But from the first notes of either band it is obvious that 1) they exhibit genuine foresight and craftmanship; and 2) there is something to be gained by bringing oneself to their music.
Come sit next to me.
Both performed recently at the Emergent Music Forum, the successful series of Wednesday night experimental music events hosted by Chris Connelly and Derek Morton at the Velvet Lounge. These Wednesday night affairs are always odd and reassuring occasions. The audience is small yet intent and loyal. And there is no better setting than that of the Velvet Lounge with its warm, womb-like hues and ample seating. It is perfect for a mid-week musical experiment.
Pour yourself some tea.
The evening began with an audio montage performed by Doug Wolf (of La Reproduction Interdite) and Laconic Chamber's James Wolfe. Over a percussive background of noise provided by Doug Wolf's old digital synth, vari-speed cassette machine, and tabletop sampler, James Wolfe performed on a shortwave radio with unequaled intensity. His presence on stage is one of great nervous tension and release. Whether playing violin or a shortwave radio he carries the air of a brilliant philosopher trying to fathom the deep mysteries of the universe. His near collapse at the end of his performance would have lead one to believe that he had just performed ground-breaking brain surgery rather than spinning the dial of a short wave radio.
Just like grandma made.
But it is this sort of ground-breaking, cutting edge, not-yet-accessible-to-anyone-else experience that Laconic Chamber creates. In addition to Wolfe who plays violin and bass, Dorothy Geller sings and plays guitar, Evan Shurak plays drums and Eric Bruns plays bass and clarinet. The music is quiet, yet dynamic avant-garde music.
When we couldn't find speed.
Any pretension normally associated with avant-garde is dispelled by this band's humility. They slip on stage like shadows and perform shy songs of introspection. Dorothy Geller whispers silently in Mazzy Star textured vocals which are often buried deep in the mix of music. She plays her guitar as a lute, rarely plucking more than two strings at once. Her sparse guitar and vocals create an air of secrecy about the music which Bruns and Shurak expertly enhance. Shurak was ill for the Velvet Lounge show but his percussion in recordings and other live performances is supportive and selective. Rather than carrying songs, he accents them as would a percussionist in a large orchestra. Bruns carries the melodies on his clarinet which allows the other members to concentrate on creating an ethereal sonic chamber around it and Geller's voice.
Guess what I received in the mail today.
The music's success stems from the bands ability to faithfully re-create what seems, at first listening, to be chaos. Their dogged, repeated adherence to the odd musical structures they have erected supports the suspicion of enlightened foresight. Early on, much of the music sounds cacophonous or accidental. But after many listenings to both live and recorded versions the patterns begin to reveal themselves. Wandering bass lines wear paths in the grass; a fluttering violin outlines a long migration; the clarinet meanders around the block.
Words of deep concern from my little brother.
It is repeated, concentrated, and intense listening to the music, that will bear reward. It is not for the lazy or the impatient. But given the inclination, Laconic Chamber is a worthy investment.
The building's not going as he planned.
Holiday Inn is another such investment. The trio (Jeff Grossfeld, Matt Datesman and Steve Ingham) hails from Charlottesville, VA. The band is constructed around a three-ton vintage Moog which members take turns coaxing. It forms the foundation of their thick and lethargic sound.
Legend is that Jeff Grossfeld would record bands in Charlottesville and then, to satisfy his own peculiar taste he would slow them down to half speed. It was only natural that he would begin to create that sort of music.
The foreman has injured his hand.
The band took stage around 11:30. Which was about four hours too early to truly appreciate them. Their music beckons the dread-of-sunrise emotions that arrive in our heads in the still and endless hours between three and four in the morning.
The dozer will not clear a path.
Twelve-minute songs of infinite repetition contain a mere three or four lines of slow lyrics. The single line "I hope I never see Texas again" takes Holiday Inn several minutes to extract. It is almost as if the band is permanently mired in that dark, late hour and the sleepy music, a pack of cigarettes, and a cold, open window, are the only comfort affordable.
The driver swears he learned his math.
Don't get me wrong, I still love that first Weezer album. But as we age we become more complex than the garage-borne energy that fuels such power-pop music. It is necessary, if not vital that we venture out and find bands and genres that can express and encapsulate other emotions and other worlds than that which is served to us by the mainstream lowest common denominator.
Laconic Chamber and Holiday Inn are just two such bands representing two wise investments in music. If you are willing to contribute yourself to the music, the music will produce untold dividends.
The workers are going home. |