Show review: Autolux @ Great American Music Hall, Aug. 11

Carla Azar beams "The 

Bouncing Wall" into the

GAMH ether on Aug. 11.

Holy crap is it great to see Autolux back in action.

Six years have passed since the L.A. trio released its debut album -- or, six years that the band has had to take a Louisville Slugger to the question, “When is your next album coming out?” 

With that, last week Autolux liberated Transit Transit from the confines of record label turmoil, offering up a solid follow-up that expands on the dreamy art rock of Future Perfect by dipping into more sonic effects, piano-driven Beatle-esque melodies and drum machine grooves.

Translating this more complex sound live is a bit more complicated than the three-piece blissed-out rock of live performances past. Their tour kickoff show at the Great American Music Hall on Aug. 11 went off grandly with only a few hitches that are expected of any first show, but the band has plenty of time on their month-plus tour to work out the kinks.

If there’s anything Autolux proved to the packed GAMH it’s that they’re ready to move the *cuss* on. They played the entirety of their new album, bookending the show with the opening first two tracks and closing with "Heartless Sky," despite an audience pleading for "Capital Kind of Strain."

Good move. Some members of the crowd -- which contained a few overenthusiastic frat-packers up front who insisted upon an awkward "Autolux! Autolux!" football chant at times -- perpetually requested tracks from the Future Perfect canon, but the band didn't cave.

Vocalist/bassist Eugene Goreshter seemed surprised at the shout-outs for so many "oldies but goodies." But I think Autolux proved their new songs' worth with energetic renditions of "Audience No. 2," "Census" and the epic "The Science of Imaginary Solutions."

Sure, the guitar could have been louder at points and technical issues didn't do "Spots" and "The Bouncing Wall" justice, but the songs of Transit Transit are perfectly Autolux -- beautiful, drugged-out, but not in a junkie kind of way, and utterly rocking.

That's not to say they ignored their first record, as those "oldies" are still damn good. "Plantlife" toward the end of the show served as a peak for me, seeing these three beast musicians attack their instruments, particularly Carla Azar on drums.

I left the show on an Autolux high, contemplating a drive to L.A. to catch the last show of their tour, Sept. 18 at the El Rey.

Show review: Wolf Parade @ Fox Theater, July 30

Wolf Parade rocked the Fox Theater in Oakland in a way I haven't seen them rock before.

I don't know if it was the absence of sound manipulator/synth player Hadji Bakara, who quit the band to work on a Ph.D., or vocalist/keyboardist Spencer Krug's longer hair, but for a band that often infuses their sound with baroque keyboards, Wolf Parade had a respectably rowdy crowd thrashing about the front of the stage throughout the entire show.

Part of it could be the excitement generated by their setlist Friday night -- they played an equal mix of songs from all three of their albums, yet placed their most epic tracks where they counted most: opening with "You are a Runner and I am my Father's Son," the song that launched their classic debut Apologies to the Queen Mary;  peaking midway with an orgasmic rendition of "I'll Believe in Anything;" and closing their first set with "California Dreamer" and finishing the show's encore with "Kissing the Beehive," colossal tracks from their second record, At Mount Zoomer.

I have to say the songs from their latest album, Expo 86, sound even better live, despite the Fox Theater's sometimes inferior acoustics (Wolf Parade's delicate keyboard lines sounded a bit fuzzed over on Friday). Expo 86 hasn't grown on me as immediately as their first two records, but "Cloud Shadow on the Mountain" and "What Did My Lover Say" especially earned a deserved spot on Wolf Parade's setlist.

One thing that really stood out was vocalist/guitarist Dan Boeckner's fired-up presence. Sure, Wolf Parade has always been balanced with Krug and Boeckner's alternating vocals, but I've always been a Krug girl, enjoying Krug's odd yelps a bit more than Boeckner's deep-throat crooning. I guess I'm not the only one who felt that way, as I overhead a fellow concertgoer exclaim "Go Dan!" and "See?" during the second song to his obviously Krug-loving wife.

But after Friday it ceased to be a Krug-or-Boeckner question. Wolf Parade is the ultimate yin-and-yang band.

Show review: Atlas Sound - Great American Music Hall, Nov. 3

“Don’t worry – we’ll do some weird shit later,” proclaimed Atlas Sound frontman Bradford Cox a few songs into his band’s set at the Great American Music Hall on Tuesday.

Known for the loud, fuzzy, purely pop yet sometimes utterly strange sounds that fill both his solo Atlas Sound records and those of his primary band, indie rock darlings Deerhunter, Cox decided to go "normal" for a night and took the stage with an acoustic guitar, bright white lights shining down onto his crisp, white, buttoned-down shirt, and launched into a stripped down version of "My Halo" from his latest album, Logos.

This set the tone for a show that found Cox and his four-man backing band offering new interpretations of  Cox's recorded work. Many songs transformed into soft pop lullabies, yet still allowed room to throw in a bit of the aforementioned "weird shit" and rocking climaxes. “Quarantined” and “Recent Bedroom” were blended into a hushed acoustic-based medley, buffeted by spacey sound effects, of course, while“Walkabout” lost some decibels but retained its chirpy pop melody, with Trish Keenan from co-headliner Broadcast on backing vocals in place of Animal Collective's Noah Lennox, who sings on the album.

At the show Cox proved he's easily one of the most engaging performers in the live spectrum these days. For one, he keeps the surprises coming musically and is malleable to last-minute song requests. And then there's his endearing loquaciousness -- he offered commentary between each song and responded freely to the audience, so it felt more like a friend was up on stage rather than some musician worshipped so devotedly by bloggers worldwide. But what's most refreshing is his sincerity. This is a guy who's driven by his passion for making interesting, and beautiful, music, and isn't trying to bullshit or get one over on anyone. 

Playing the encore alone, Cox strapped on his acoustic guitar with harmonica attached for a rendition of "Logos."

Mr. Cool Indie Rock Guy suddenly became Bob Dylan. It was totally unexpected, and totally just right.

Show review: Entrance Band @ Great American Music Hall, Nov. 23

Discovering the Entrance Band earlier this year was like finding a new religion, a rock 'n' roll religion that re-imposed upon my musical mind the staples of what rock should be: riffs and beats that sound as powerful and exciting as they instinctively feel; bona fide technical wizardry from three monster musicians; lyrics that explore life, death, love and everything else that matters; and just enough sex and drugs to be too cool to bring home to mom, unless she grew up in the '60s, of course. Now a faithful attendee of Entrance's Bay Area gatherings, the latest being a knockout show on Nov. 23, the sabbath, at the Great American Music Hall, I joined a devout flock of a hundred or so hippies and headbangers crowding the stage, flanked by a few curious stragglers along for the ride. For all the brilliance of the performance, however, I couldn't help but feel frustrated that more than half the audience left before the L.A. trio even set up their instruments, thereby missing one of the best shows of 2008. I guess co-headliner Rodriguez was a hard act to follow, as his resurgence (read his interesting story here) and own feast of '60s folk rock was satisfying enough for some. And let me make the point that Rodriguez rocks, no doubt about it. But not too many bands circa now can top the Entrance experience. And back to religion, I want to spread the word about the Entrance Band, not so much to convert but to connect. In the church of rock 'n' roll, the more the merrier. Singer/guitarist/shredder Guy Blakeslee (aka Entrance), bassist Paz Lenchantin and drummer Derek James straight up summoned spirits with the Middle Eastern rock dervish of an opener "Valium Blues," which sidetracked midway into famed Nirvana cover "Love Buzz." The Entrance repertoire that I've seen over the course of four shows doesn't pull out a bad one in the bunch. The GAMH setlist featured standouts "Still Be There" and "You're So Fine," peaking with "MLK" and an incendiary version of "Grim Reaper Blues" to close, which the band teased into a thundering climax. On an end note, Wolfgang's Vault posted Entrance's entire Noise Pop, Cafe Du Nord show, the performance that got me all up on the band's jock, on its Web site. Check it out.

Show review: Les Savy Fav @ Great American Music Hall 4/27/08

Here's a tip for the two wannabe Democratic presidential candidates looking to swing the voter pendulum back in their directions: To win over the masses at your next campaign stops, remove the political sticks up your asses and follow the lead of Les Savy Fav singer Tim Harrington. Step 1: Arrive onstage decked out in the attire and speech tendencies characteristic of the city you're in to create instantaneous relatabiliy, and never break character. For Les Savy Fav's headlining spot Sunday at the Great American Music Hall, Harrington waltzed onstage sporting a tie-dyed tee (so positively Haight Street) about 5 inches too short from concealing his well honed beer gut. He'd proceed to flit his '60s-era tan suede fringe jacket over the heads of the front row, beckoning the audience to "come out the other side" in a feigned stoner stupor. Harrington carried on the drugged-out, San Francisco hippie circa '67 act the entire show, to the point of searching the floor of the crowd for a "missing dime bag." Needless to say, but here I am saying it, the guy made everyone laugh. What's that saying again? Laughter is the best policy? The way to an audience's heart is through their funny bone? For reals, though - be the good humor man (or woman) and win over the masses. Step 2: True democratic tactics require stepping beyond the podium and into the crowd itself. By the third song, Harrington lugged his microphone and portly body (think a fatter, balder and beardier version of comedian Zach Galifianakis) into the audience, shouting into the faces of his rabid horde of post-punk disciples and inciting them to bark back. Through the set he'd navigate all the way to the rear of the venue and then fight his way back onstage, only to jump off again to locate a small table and drag it into the heart of the crowd, where he hopped up to finish a song. Imagine Harrington, the sun, with hundreds of sweaty planets merrily succumbing to his gravitational pull. Now was Harrington gunning for a democracy, or a socialist state of live performance? He'd share his beer with the hair adorning the front row, his spit-water with the first five rows, his snot rockets with the stage. And his antics came full circle during the final song when, almost stripped bare in a black, skintight bodysuit with a hint of lime green underoos peeking through, he crawled into the crowd, lay down to be cradled in the laps of two fans and called upon the entire audience to follow suit in a bit of Sunday rest. Before you knew right from left and up from down, scores of flannel-shirt- and wife-beater-clad worshipers fell onto their knees and asses around Harrington, a rock 'n' roll sit-in for the modern age. Step 3: Hey hey. My my. Rock 'n' roll will ... get people EXCITED. Now you, Mr. and Ms. Politician, should attempt this by rousing crowds with viable strategies to jerk this country out of its shithole. Not being familiar with much of Les Savy Fav's songs before this show, I expected a hard-edged post-punk sound, e.g. Sonic Youth-ish, driven by the band's two guitarists, but surprise surprise, they were even punkier than that. Hardcore stringbean (too skinny to be beefcakes) boy-people quickly shoved their way up front at the beginning of the set (fuck you, guy who elbowed me in the collarbone) and screamed along devotedly throughout. Les Savy Fav's got groove, too, danceable indie stuff. Step 4: If all else fails and winning the presidency is but a distant dream, have a backup plan. When touring the world with a critically-acclaimed rock band isn't enough, keep your day job: Harrington still works as a graphic designer for VH1. I wonder if he dons the black mugger's ski mask he wore onstage in his corporate office, too.' Les Savy Fav "The Sweat Descends" live from McCarren Park Pool, Brooklyn, NY, July '06:

Show review: Worker Bee @ a warehouse in Oakland 3/7/08

"Say it aint so, Joe." Friday night at 10:30 I got the call. "Worker Bee's playing this warehouse party in Oakland. Hurry, I think they're gonna start soon." How do I love a Worker Bee show; let me count the ways. I'm there. So I bolted from my Inner Sunset sanctuary in San Francisco and rushed across the Bay Bridge in record time. I strolled into the festivities to the sight of kooks, everywhere: artsy people, stripe-attired hipster people, hairy, hairy flower children people, enthusiastic bohemian girl people salsa dancing with enthusiastic gay boy people; and a whole shitload of drunk people. Apparently this happening sprang from the Murmur celebration, the openings of Oakland art galleries on first Fridays of the month. And the band serenading my arrival wasn't Worker Bee, but a Latin-tinged gypsy band that seemed the true hodgepodge - both extremely diverse in age and nationality. After a bit of beer and lot of gawking, I sought the comfort of the great outdoors as my excitement built for the beloved San Jose foursome I came to see. The guys in the band, some drinking and otherwise just hanging out, seemed to be waiting for their set, too. And await we did. As I stood on 24th Street partaking in those fresh Oakland street smells, some performance art guy served up a reputedly mesmerizing set in the warehouse. And more time passed as a Heart cover band convinced most of the art party lushes that heaven was indeed adorned in spilled potato chip bowls, empty beer bottles and the holiest of holy hymns, "Barracuda." Turns out I showed up two hours early, with Worker Bee setting up around 1 a.m. By this time, most party-goers filed out front to cap the raucous Heartfest with a cigarette-soaked lungkillingfest. Worker Bee launched into their first song, sounded good, to a sparse frontage of faces in a room once overflowing with bodies. Weird, what happened next. Maybe it was bad juju, or a full moon clouding the night. During Worker Bee's second song, guitarist/vocalist Evan sounded, um, off, with other members smiling at him and signaling that he was in the wrong fret. At this point, they stopped and then restarted the song. Then some really tall drunk (high?) guy in the audience went all bull-in-China-shop and fell back-first into a glass table, unbroken but scarred. And the band played on, but then Evan's guitar cord frustratingly unplugged and he rushed to reconnect it. The show didn't go on for much longer. Soon Evan abruptly disconnected his guitar and walked into the bedroom next to the "stage" area where band equipment cases were housed. Thinking Evan was simply going to change his guitar, I waited, hearing the clicks of the guitar case latches from the next room. But out came Evan empty handed, continuing to put away his gear as other band members stood surprised. Show over. Flabbergasted, I tried to focus on anything but the awkward stage area. I've heard of shows ending prematurely because of riots or manic singer tantrums, but I've never personally been to concert that ended so suddenly. Despite the trek across the Bay and the long wait, I wasn't about to complain about a free show - but it was disappointing. I hate to see something overcome the spirit of a good band. There's a smidgen of selfishness in wanting to hear more songs from a band that clearly isn't enjoying the show. I never want fakery, though - better to burn out than fade away? No matter what the reason, it's disheartening to see people you have faith in give up. And I'm sure there's more to the story than what I saw from an audience perspective. Maybe it was just bad juju. Here's hoping for a smoother set next go 'round.

Best show of January: Silian Rail, Japandi, Lanterns, Planets @ The Bike Kitchen 1/11

Live-music fiends typically wouldn't expect much from a show housed in a grimy, makeshift bicycle repair shop. But San Francisco's The Bike Kitchen, a firmly underground venue tucked covertly in an alley off of Mission Street that's more a pisser's paradise than indie rock hangout, put on the best concert of January. The somewhat disturbing sight of two guys cloaked in form-fitting white suits, complete with Mexican wrestler masks veiling their faces, launched a night that bursted with quality noise and tight, rhythmic rock complexity. The mysterious bass/drums duo Planets' visual spectacle straddled the border of artistic and silly - a projector transmitted random images and color patterns onto both a wall and the guys themselves, while corny jokes tendered amusing between-song banter. Bulletproof song execution became the evening standard. Headlining San Francisco two-piece Silian Rail created a whole lotta ruckus with minimal instrumentation in taut and thoughtful arrangements; and San Diego aggressive-progressive instrumentalists Japandi, whose drummer almost killed himself during the penultimate song by playing the drums really, really, really hard, flaunted impressive technical skill. But the standout performance came from San Diego's Lanterns, four guys just out of high school who play really catchy shoegaze-noise rock ala Sonic Youth. Lanterns are the goofball garage band who endearingly have no clue how amazing they sound. While the rhythm guitarist and the bassist trade off on vocals - kind of shouted like the old (good) Modest Mouse - and the drummer holds the fort with dynamic rhythms or circus beats, a second guitarist supplies an ethereal wall of noise to round out the wholly original, but melodious, racket. With the oldest member barely 21, the band is still very green and a bit sloppy, but their strong songwriting chops and youthful energy evokes a feeling that's downright magical. My new favorite band had me at hello. Christmas lights adorning amps and bicycles looming over the "stage," which swayed threateningly when bumped by thrashing members of the crowd, complemented The Bike Kitchen's ambiance. "I love that a surprise member of the audience gets up to play in the next band," a friend whispered in my ear before the show ended. Despite preconceptions of cliquish hipster snobs, the underground music community actually fosters an equality lacking in more mainstream circles. Where else can you party among your 50 best friends with the most exciting music around as your soundtrack? Check out some raw video of Lanterns playing "Sweet Weapons" in a 2007 set at San Diego's Che Cafe:

Show review: Form and Fate @ El Rio 1/5/08

A spell of wicked winter let up just as San Francisco's Form and Fate took to the stage of the Mission dive paradise El Rio on Jan. 5. As the city lay strewn in mangled fences and shredded trees following a Friday tempest, the five-piece bass/three guitars/drums combo proved a mighty force of their own as they crafted a brief but compelling set of all-instrumental post-rock. The genre has always had close ties to nature and weather - both build slowly and organically progress into an affecting and powerful climax - and Form and Fate brought the same unignorable presence of a storm into their loud but lush epic-length songs. Their music, still fresh to my ears besides a few MySpace samples, conjured a meatier Mogwai, metal heavy but also evoking the same dreamy and dramatic splendor. Touches of psychedelia and the avant-garde - guitarist Adam Myatt wielded a theremin during the first song which mimicked the shrill wail of a banshee - crept into the mix, coalescing into a colorful prism and alleviating black-and-white predictability. The band seemed to focus on rocking out rather than note-perfect technicality (they overtly faltered during a melody change on one song). But with their palpably intense energy, the end result was a shockingly impressive set by five talented Bay Area musicians. To check out: their latest EP "Recirc" and 2007 full-length "The Form and Fate of Lakes."

Show review: Tool @ Bill Graham Civic Auditorium 12/11/07

I have a new favorite mode of transportation and it's not the fucking bus. Although I do enjoy riding the fucking bus. It's watching Tool perform live. Their show at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium surpassed being a rock concert, although it way rocked. It was spiritually elevating, to be both abonimably cheesy and extremely truthful. Now I'm far from being one of those Toolheads or whatever you want to call their fanboy/girl disciples. But their songs and visual presentation are too highly evolved to not notice superiority to 99% of bands around (Radiohead = 1% what!). The show wasn't perfect. I'm not enamored with "Jambi" as an opener; Adam Jones made a few technical mistakes; and although Maynard James Keenan stimulated my imagination by letting the audience sing the "Vicarious" finale, he really did pussy-out. But the setlist and lighting were magical. Highlights: "Schism," "Flood" and "Wings For Marie"/"10,000 Days," a song that never ceases to make me want to cry myself to death, but in a good way; the drumoff featuring Tim Alexander from Primus and Trans Am man during "Lateralus"; and the most surreal concert moment of 2007 when Jello Biafra of the Dead Kennedys joined Tool onstage for a cover of "Holiday in Cambodia." The guy looked like a punk rock Weeble from my vantage point at the mid-level center seats. But it was cool to witness such a silly moment sandwiched between such weighty music. Also, band not cranky = good; light show that simulates both heaven and a UFO abduction = good. The best part? All of the surprises. People like to complain about Tool's predictability, they have the same setlist every night, blah blah blah. The guys really threw a "wrench" (hardy har har, blech) into what fans expect of them. It all added up to the most complete Tool show I've been to - so far.

Free live music galore

Once upon a Thursday December 6, two friendly Berkeley record stores let a couple of indie rock bands play within one hour and one block of each other to make all the music lovers smile. Parker Street Cinema, an all-instrumental bass-piano-drums trio, performed first at Rasputin Music to a crowd of about 10, a surprising number because a) the band's roots trace to UC Berkeley and b) the drummer actually worked at Rasputin's. Nevertheless, they put forth remarkable energy despite the sparse audience. Their math rock gone classical sound dazzled in its uniqueness, the songs sparkled with complexity and the band rocked on the whole, but ultimately the lack of vocals couldn't help but create the feeling that something was missing. Soundtrack music to rescue princesses to. Would have been cool if the guys, all tight musicians who played wonderfully aggressive, had let out the odd spontaneous shout. Ow! Fuck a duck, I had to battle a smoke-breathing friend and thus arrived late and heard only two songs by Six Organs of Admittance at Amoeba Music. About 50 people witnessed this impressive one-man show play his totally compelling, first class gritty white man's bluesy folk music. Wielding a fierce acoustic guitar and wicked skills, this guy slayed me in a mere 10 minutes. And the piece de resistance? Catching (most of) Worker Bee's set at Cafe Pergolesi on Friday in Santa Cruz. I'm amazed every time I see these guys. Mesmerizingly powerful, blow-the-roof-off song dyanamics that startle the unaccustomed listener - like the 11-year-old boy at the cafe who jumped during the last blast of "Small Talker." The new stuff's the shit. And I lived happily ever after.

Show review: Wolf Parade @ The Great American Music Hall, 9/12/07

Wolf Parade wasted no time surging to the forefront of the indie rock scene. After a hasty formation in 2003, a hotshot debut opening for Arcade Fire and the release of just one full-length album, they quickly elicited drools from both fans and critics who hailed the band as the next big thing. The Montreal quintet, still at work on a forthcoming record rumored for an early 2008 release, offered a preview of new material at a sold-out show Sept. 12 at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco .

While some crowds cringe at a band’s live straying from beloved favorites, Wolf Parade fans welcomed the new songs, which were alternated among cuts from “Apologies to the Queen Mary.” Musically, whatever Wolf Parade lacked in technically perfect re-creations of their songs they compensated for with spirit, with the band freely slowing down or speeding up tracks as they saw fit. The sluggishly carnal vibe of “You Are a Runner and I Am My Father’s Son” not only sparked the audience to back up the band with floor-rocking stomps, but its slackened pace created a powerful dynamic contrast amid a segue into the punk frenzied “Fancy Claps.”

Cryptic lyrics hinting at relationships dominate new tunes and build upon the band’s established tracks with dark themes that belie the pop sensibility of melodies. Compositions blend typical rock sound layers — straightforward guitar riffs and simple drum beats — with harmonic keyboard embellishments and whimsical effects that oftentimes simulate a hectic emergency situation in a spaceship control room. Wolf Parade could provide the soundtrack to a fairy tale — but only if the story takes place in another galaxy.

The unique range of the two singers shined brightly onstage despite competing with instruments played with such strong individual personalities that they commanded attention on their own. While the almost alien-sounding originality of keyboardist Spencer Krug’s voice is what makes the band revered among most fans, guitarist Dan Boeckner’s throaty, virile growl offers a charming and grounded counterpoint to Krug’s ethereality.

Audience enthusiasm seemed to intensify throughout the set. Not only did Wolf Parade inspire mass sing-alongs, unabashed dancing and spontaneous cheers, but during climactic show-closer “I’ll Believe in Anything” one blonde showed her excitement by giving the band a full-on two-minute breast parade sitting topless on the shoulders of an accomplice. It’s notable that a flamboyant spectacle typically witnessed at butt rock concerts and music festivals occurred at an indie show in such an intimate venue; not to mention the refreshing sight of Wolf Parade inciting a crowd known more for playing the role of the cool hipster spectator into unbridled hip-shakers and flashers.

Time will tell if Wolf Parade can keep up with the restless pace they set for themselves. But judging by the ADD nature driving band member side projects — including Krug’s Sunset Rubdown and Boeckner’s Handsome Furs, both touring this fall — they aren’t going just anywhere. They’re going everywhere.