Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros: Hot Mess or Hippie Heaven?

Indie music shows have a reputation for being too hipster. Walk into the 9:30 Club on any given night and both band members and audience members alike will have on thick, plastic framed glasses, impossibly tight jeans, and intense facial hair. Last night's band, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, in contrast to the usual fare, was more hippie than hipster.

The relatively new ten member band is known for its unique sound that crosses Loretta Lynn with Jefferson Airplane. In other words, psychedelic country. The band tell relatable stories of love and family. Their most famous song, Home, has an interlude where the lead singers (Alex Ebert and Jade Castrinos) recount how they realized they loved each other after Jade fell out a window. Many of their stories have a home theme. "Janglin" is about returning home after some trials:

"Well our mama’s they left us
And our daddy’s took a ride
And we walked out of the castle
And we held our head up high"

All these stories are set to a bazaar of instruments, including the sitar and ukulele that were popular with 60's psych bands. Similar to 60's psych bands, some Magnetic Zeros were also decked out in Indian garb. Alex wore a white linen blazer, which he removed halfway through, and match pants. His hair looked like a birds nest on top of his head, and his beard would have made any Nineteenth Century woodsman jealous.

The hippie look would have been fine if it didn't carry over to the presentation of the show. Not only did he kind of look Christ-like, Alex had too much of a Messianic thing going on. He walked into the crowd three times. The last time was too close for comfort. He also dictated many aphorisms from the stage in between songs. Aphorisms about dying and such and how we should all love each other.

Jade was also a little too happy. As in so busy being happy she didn't show up for the first part of the show. She struck me as the manic pixie dream girl type. In addition to having a pixie haircut, she literally bounced around the stage, and seemed to be that person who the band has to put up with every night but always ultimately forgives. Aaron Embry (the pianist), who technically opened for the larger band, could barely do a complete set because Jade was so late. The last straw to Jade's behavior was during "Home." The audience was completely ready for the song by then and started getting excited from the first whistled notes. But then Jade went and messed up the lyrics to the second verse.

Unfortunately, my final memory of the show was ruined by Alex's insistence that everyone get on the floor for the last song. Yeah..the beer floor of the standing room only 9:30 club. This was difficult on many levels.

On balance, it was one of the least enjoyable, but more eventful concert experiences of the year thus far. If it wasn't for Gare's snarky presence, it would not have been fun.

She & Him Delight at 9:30 Club

The most memorable part of the She & Him show at the 9:30 Club last Wednesday occurred before Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward got on stage. Arriving around 9, for a slated 9:30 start-time, a few friends and I tried to squeeze our way to the front. We attributed the early packed-ness to the non-hipsterness of the crowd. When we finally found a spot to stand, two angry couples standing near us confronted us for encroaching on their territory. "We've been here since 7:30," one girl protested. An argument over who loved Zooey more then ensued. We stayed put in the end.

She & Him took the stage on time. Deschanel and Ward were joined by three musicians and The Chapin Sisters, their back up singers. Known for singing cute renditions of Sixties' songs in a lilting, breathy voice, Deschanel sounded much throatier live. She sang the first few songs with a deeper voice than I expected, and furrowed brows, as if she were really concentrating on the lyrics and hitting her tambourine at the right time. But maybe it was just to make sure the mix was right. The sound was definitely set to accentuate Zooey's voice, which I appreciated since She & Him's songs tell stories of love lost and found.

Deschanel and a Chapin sister jumped up and down in the background to Ward's solo riffs. Since it felt like 90 degrees in the packed 9:30 Club, I was impressed by their energy. In the middle of their set, Ward and Deschanel did a few acoustic songs alone, including a Joni Mitchell cover "You Turn Me On, I'm a Radio," and a brand new cover of the Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice."

The main highlight was seeing M. Ward take a center stage from time to time in contrast to his more muted presence on either of their two albums, Volume I and Volume II. In addition to the solo musical interludes, Ward also had a mike set up on stage left for his few solo lines, like in "Rave On" and "You've Really Got a Hold on Me."

Though there were a few mistakes scattered about--Deschanel singing an extra bar, or coming in too early -- it was a fun show overall. Moreover, this is only She & Him's first headlining tour in the two years since their first album came out. If Ward and Deschanel already work so well together on stage, I look forward to Volume III and another tour.

All good music acts seem to come to DC at once. Hence the fortnight in March/April when DC greeted Spoon, Shearwater, Woods, Real Estate, The xx, Yeasayer, and Vampire Weekend. Though the month of June can't top that, it got off to a good start with appearances by The National at DAR Constitution Hall on June 6, and Broken Bells at the 9:30 Club on June 7.

The first time I saw The National, it was at the smaller Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City. The audience communed with the band as Matt Berninger told one story of heartbreak after another. His longing, apathy, and embarrassment--"I want to hurry home to you/put on a slow, dumb show for you"--became our longing, apathy, and embarrassment. Since Berninger's only instrument is his baritone voice, he sort of mashes the fists of his hands together to keep beat. This motion, coupled with his tendency to close his eyes, gives off an air of true anguish.

Turns out, this experience of communing with The National carries over to even seated, larger venues known for their poor acoustics, such as the Constitution Hall. First, the Antlers opened with anguished renditions of a few songs from their album, Hospice, which tracks a young girl's progression with cancer. The Antlers sounded more angry than melancholy as their music bounced off the Hall's walls. They did end their set with a spectacular version of "Two." "And no one paid attention to you when you stopped eating. 'Eighty-seven pounds and this all bears repeating," they sang their final lyrics and segued into several minutes of impassioned riffs.

After a short intermission, The National took the stage with "Runaway," a number from their new album, High Violet. Similar to their previous works, High Violet explores intimacies gone awry, and the sadness of middle-American male life. Berninger's deep voice and profound lyrics probably saves the band from being labeled emo. The band followed "Runaway" with "Mistaken for Strangers" - one of their biggest hits from Boxer. It's easy to see why. The lyrics are accessible, yet coy:

"You have to do it running but you do everything that they ask you to
cause you don’t mind seeing yourself in a picture
as long as you look faraway, as long as you look removed"

The music also engages, with a hearty blend of strong beats and horns. The set basically continued in this pattern: new song, followed by one or two old favorites, followed by new song, for the entire set. A set of at least 22(!) songs. Towards the end of the show, Matt Berninger jumped off the stage and marched into the crowds singing "Abel," enabling physical communing. Just when I thought he couldn't top that, he climbed into the boxes of the venue during the encore to "Mr. November," a DC appropriate song about politicians.

After the spectacular show, I had twenty-four hours to wind down until Monday night's Broken Bells gig at the 9:30 Club. Broken Bells has been criticized as "a great-in-theory but mediocre-in-execution collaboration between Danger Mouse and the Shins' James Mercer." Mediocre in creativity, maybe, but not in enjoyment factor. Though it's hard to tell the songs apart when listening to their eponymous first album straight through, one can't help but tap their feet along. The album is aurally interesting when compared to other albums; just not internally when comparing songs to each other. True to their name, they sprinkle their songs with bells at random moments.

The entire concert experience last night was very light and summery. The Morning Benders, a Californian band with a very west coast sound kicked the night off. They were chatty, asking the audience to yell out our choice between "Loose Change" and "Hand Me Downs." We chose "Hand Me Downs." They closed with an intimate version of "Excuses," where Chris Chu, the singer, took his mike off its stand and literally crooned at us to the lush.

"And I made an excuse
You found another way to tell the truth
I put no one else above us
We'll still be best friends when it all turns to dust."

I felt like I was in the 50's.

I missed Broken Bells' opening song, but I'm pretty sure they played through their entire album. Since that's only a forty minute record, the band supplemented it with some terrific, totally non-hipster covers. They played "Crimson and Clover" and "You've Really Got a Hold on Me" among others. Though Danger Mouse did not look happy to be there, the rest of the band rocked. All their songs were set to a projected background of images that made it look like the band was playing to a background of a film of their concert. Craaaazzyyy.

The Inanity Coming-of-Age-in-the-Age-of-Rock Movies

Now that the boomer generation is getting old, and the generation that remembers where they were when the Beatles premiered on Johnny Carson is getting really old, nostalgic movies are coming out about the birth of rock. Two such films, Taking Woodstock and Pirate Radio, cover much of the same material. Young, straight and narrowish people are suddenly exposed to romantic hardships, hidden secrets of the past, and forced to grow up all with music in the background. Taking Woodstock, which aims to vaguely trace the history of Woodstock, centers on twenty-something Elliot Teichberg, and his journey to bring a music festival to his town of Woodstock while gaining independence from his parents. Pirate Radio, which aims to trace the history of off-shore radio stations in Great Britain in the 1960's, centers on a teenage Carl's stay on the Radio Rock ship while he discovers sex, the identity of his father, and civil disobedience.

Neither film is particularly insightful. Both revel in cliche and heavy-handed delivery of messages. Taking Woodstock tries to tell people to believe in themselves, and break loose by having Elliot (Dmitri Martin) discover his homosexuality and get high on acid to Jefferson Airplane's "Red Telephone." Long sequences of haziness illuminate the freedom of drugs. Similarly, Pirate Radio tries to sell people on the idea of fighting for what you believe in by having Radio Rock's entire crew agree one by one to stay on the ship even after the government shuts it down. Elgar's Nimrod swells in the background. Long montages of random Brits enjoying Radio Rock illustrate music's liberating effect. We get it: music equals love, democracy, and all that is good in the world.

The one thing that makes Pirate Radio more entertaining to watch than Taking Woodstock is that Pirate Radio takes itself way less seriously. Maybe it's the British sense of humor, but the film seems to wink at us during a ship-sinking scene that reminds one of the drama of Titanic. Things are resolved a bit too easily, but also with humor. In one set piece, two DJ's play a game of chicken by climbing on to the mast and then jumping off. Plus, the music selection is fabulous. Pirate Radio hits all the Sixties greats aside from the Beatles, including Cat Stevens, the Beach Boys, and Leonard Cohen. Taking Woodstock only has some snippets of Woodstock acts. Though Pirate Radio is a bit long clocking in at 2 hours, its soundtrack makes an otherwise vapid movie bearable. Too bad Woodstock can't say the same.

Reasons

Earlier last week, some friends and I at work had a conversation about the demise of classical music. One coworker admitted that he doesn't see the decline of classical music as a great loss. I argued that while society should try to sustain new composers such as Nico Muhly, it might not be that tragic if live classical performance was reduced. After all, I thought, who needs to sit for two hours in a concert hall when you can hear multiple recordings of any great piece of music. Moreover, classical music is perfect for multi-tasking. I listen to it all the time at work while writing. It would be a waste to merely sit for two hours. As you can probably surmise by the title of this post, I spoke too soon. Two recent live classical music experiences (John Adams Perspectives at the Kennedy Center and an anniversary performance of the Cathedral Choral Society) have demonstrated that the live listening experience is very powerful in several ways that the recording just cannot capture.

First, the sound quality is just incomparable live. Now, this might be due to my wimpy speakers at home, but I'm willing to bet that the average ear will be able to pick up aural cues such as the entrance of a different instrument much easier live. Crescendos and diminuendos
occur much more dramatically when you are in the audience; there's no dial to adjust the volume. Also, just like how seeing someone's mouth moves helps you make out what they are saying, seeing the orchestra play helps you understand which instruments are in dialogue with
another. For example, John Adams conducted the the National Symphony Orchestra to Aaron Copland's Billy the Kid. Though this ballet suite conjures up every single western cliche (think wooden blocks making hoofbeat sounds), it was still powerful to see and hear the strings
respond to the drums in the "Gunfight" scene. This conjured up images of a crowd assembling before the gunfight, the scrambling around, and ultimate victory.

Second, all of your attention is focused on the music. There are no distractions like books, work, or housework. Such focus makes you more tuned in to the work, and forces you to ask what the music is actually about. Though Elgar's Nimrod is often played at funerals, listening to the Enigma Variations as a whole piece made me realize that fragments of Nimrod echo throughout. It's not as much dirgelike as it is a celebration of Elgar's friend Augustus Jaeger, whom Nimrod is about.

Third, there's more variety. Live performances are going to differ from your definitive recording, whether something is played faster or louder. In addition, a live show may expose you to different pieces you hadn't heard before. Though I was drawn to the John Adams
performance by his fame, I hadn't heard The Would Dresser before. The Reilly and Friends performance even included a specially commissioned piece by Dominick Argento called the Choir Invisible, set to a George Eliot poem. Reilly and Friends also put together many short pieces that would never appear together on a recording, from the Aria of Bach's Goldberg Variations to William Walton's "Coronation Te Deum"

These three points bring us to the fourth: live performance leads to rediscovery and an expansion of knowledge. For example, in Adams' introduction to The Wound Dresser, he explains that he means it as an allegory for AIDS and as a recognition of the American ordeal of
nursing, something that is rarely acknowledged. Reilly Lewis paired the Aria from the Goldberg Variations with a contemporary dance, which really brought the piece to the 21st century.

The one downside is the knowledge that classical music does not hold the place it once did in American society. Looking around the NSO concert hall, I saw that many prime seats were painfully empty. But at least in the seat I was occupying, one more person was in the
process of conversion.