Page 28 - the NOISE November 2012

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Laura Gibson; The Bohannons; North Americans
but I guess this is psychedelic folk. The auto- harp and tuba are nice touches.
After Cotton Jones, we get up off our ass- es and descend to be one with the people. Maybe I’m just getting too old. This crowd is young. Young young young. I remember what it was like to be this young and excited about the new hot thing.
The Orpheum’s doing this new thing where they have this guy to push himself through the crowd with a box tray of PBRs and other swaggy beer. I love convenience. One of the Waldos smashes into and positions himself directly in front of me. He’s super excited about the show, good for him. His cozy-head- ed peers are all doing the same, proving their die-hard fandom. Even in my youth I was never the type to push myself through a crowd of people just to get inches closer to the band. This is what dragging my ass down to the stage while everyone was taking a piss or getting a drink was all about. Plus the mix sounds better a few dozen feet back. Okay, I’ll stop. Man I’ve gotta pee.
The folks who’d tell me I needed to check out this band Dr. Dog were often not the sort I felt I needed to be taking musical tips from. Also I’ve got this thing about animal band names, there’s just too many. That’s an awful reason. Swans are great. But as I’m sure you already know, Dr. Dog is music where it’s hard not to dance to, or at least tap your feet. And when someone puts it on around me I’m probably not gonna leave the room. Even on the songs I wasn’t that stoked about I could still focus on the bass and drums and get my groove on.
It’s nice to see that the actor who played Wayne Arnold has found work. It’s rough out there. I seem to like the Scarecrow’s songs a lot more than the guy with the normal voice, I don’t know why that is, but when all three of them are singing together it’s pretty bliss- ful. As far as I can tell they are flawless, real professionals, even though I have nothing to compare this performance with. No wonder these guys are so huge, again it’s that pleas- antly familiar, but uniquely different thing going on. I like the guy in the back at the
“Meatball Palace,” he seems stuck to tambou- rine duty, and never smiles.
The beer guy pushes through again and I get a tray in the back. Seriously contemplat- ing starting a movement. We don’t have to
stand for this people! It’s simple economics, stop supporting it and it will go away. I’m sure I’m the only one who cares. Sometimes this is the consequence of leaving your house.
But I’m having a good time, and I’m glad these guys seem to be so fond of Flagstaff. We need more acts of this caliber making a point of stopping here. Maybe it will spread and grow. However, unfortunately for Dr. Dog probably by this time next year all the kids with the state-sponsored paraphernalia will have moved onto Kitten Podiatrist, sport- ing their Kitten Mittens and dancing in that new old fashioned way. More power to them really. It’s nice to have something to believe in. The band breaks for the encore, but noth- ing too crazy, we can be real in Flagstaff, we don’t need the rockstar illusion. They jam out a few more and then it’s wading through the sea of people and we’re back and cozy in the comforts of home, and it’s barely 11 o’clock.
The Bohannons
Unaka Rising
This is American Music
jjjj
The Bohannons play those guitar riffs every child wants to play the moment they realize how evil the electric guitar can be. I don’t know if that still happens. It has to. Somewhere be- tween the Rolling Stones and Black Sabbath, for some of us, when MTV actually played mu- sic videos, and not being allowed to watch it because it just wasn’t Christian.
Several issues back, our very own Tony BallZ spent thousands and thousands of words dis- cussing how misunderstood Lynyrd Skynyrd are- how all those ‘Y’s amounted to more than redneck bullshit. There’s no mistaking where Tennessee’s Bohannons are coming from. “Cold Dead Hands’” irony is unmistakable: guns are dumb. Charlton Heston is spinning. The song had me nearly up and cheering.
But the Bohannons had me from the start. “Goodbye Bill,” during the breakdown, our singer implores, I suppose to Bill, “Goodbye, Bill, I die a true blue rebel and there is no time to mourn, to organize. And Bill, when I die I want you to carry my body across the state line ‘cause I don’t want to be caught dead in the
state of Utah.”
Me neither, Bill. Me neither. The vocal-
ist sounds like a whiskey-soaked mosquito buzzing over the thick pond of riffs. The Black Crowes meet the Jayhawks somewhere in mid- dle America on “Two Riders.” It’s somewhere so flat all you can do is drink to not go crazy.
So bring the bourbon. These guys, if not on this finely produced record, have to be fun live.
North Americans/Them Savages
Qualivid
Self-Released
jj
Both bands do two songs and then both bands do the title track, “Qualivid” together. A nice concept. The North Americans are sort of proggy in the way they put as many parts as they can into a song. The drummer sounds nuts at times, like he’s trying to hold it all to- gether, but all he can do is keep playing a beat until something happens and things start to make sense again, but it’s his drum beat that caused the train wreck in the first place. And
it’s not really a trainwreck. The listener can hear what they’re doing- “Okay, we’ll play this part, then we’ll play this part, then we’ll go back into the first part but only half of it, then you’ll do that drum fill and then we’ll just jam until I give the signal and you’ll do that second drum- fill, then we’ll do the first part again, then the ender part, then the first part again, and then the real ender. With energy.”
“What if we do the first part, second part, this sweet riff, then the second part again, then the first part, then we jam, and then first part, ender, first part, ender?”
“Okay, let’s try it.”
On their facebook page, they call it, “Cali-
fornian post-indie” which is maybe the worst
sounding genre that this reviewer can think of. “Post-indie?” If you didn’t like it the first time, try
this!
The kids, man.
Them Savages sound really familiar at this point. I’m a fan. I have the button on my back- pack to prove it. Ben actually sounds quite a bit like a young Glenn Danzig on “Novellas.” Misfits around the campfire.
The best track on the whole thing is the one they do together. Them North American Sav- ages. “If we’re just here to die, let’s get wasted, let’s quit wasting time.” Or something like that. A perfect sentiment for this election season. At time of printing, only the early ballots are in. Whoever won, good riddance.
Solid Gold
Eat Your Young
Totally Gross National Product
jj
An entire album that reminds me of George Michael’s “Careless Whisper.” You know, “I never want to dance again/Gifted feet have got no rhythm...” The thought occurred to me on track four or five of this finely crafted album of synthy sad pop, and I couldn’t shake it. I flipped back through the songs and it just kept getting worse. How an entire album can do that, I’m not sure. “Should’ve known better than to cheat a friend/So I’m never gonna dance again...”
It’s the time of the year when the spirits of our dear departed are closer to us. Let’s celebrate. We’ll
be among them soon enough.
music@thenoise.us
Now that’s something I can believe in.
Jonathan Boulay
Laura Gibson
La Grande
Barsuk Records
jjj
—
There’s just some dang doozies on this tripped out gorgeous-sounding record. The kind of jam the Tucson Calexico/Giant Sand contingent go apeshit over. The third track
“Lion/Lamb” and the next one, “Skin Warm- ing Skin” are a stunning coupling of tracks, production-wise, and performance-wise.
“The Rushing Dark” could be too cutesy in it’s conspicuous old-timey vibe. It’s more Bisbee than Tucson, a little more deliberate and con- trived, but it still gets a gorgeous groove go- ing. And I could hit the right-click ‘thesaurus’ button on ‘gorgeous’ but it’s a great g-word to describe that groove. Gibson keeps that same ol’ ‘just sing into the can’ effect on her voice for, “Red Moon,” then “Crow/Swallow” gets very interesting and then “The Fire” just blows the lid right off. Even, while the joyous organ, piano and bass riffage cascade and in- tensify on that hit, Gibson’s vocal maintains, and never swells with the music until it finally comes to a finale and then it’s buried in the mix.
Gibson is from Portland, Oregon and on tour with Calexico. Keep an eye out.
28 • NOVEMBER 2012 • the NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us