Crib Notes

(Photo by Perry Julien)

When Morrissey last played the Tabernacle, he taunted the faithful. As fans would reach out to shake his hand, he would move close as if to welcome their gesture. Then at the last moment, he would forcefully withdraw the offer. At Chastain on Friday, there was no such hesitation. He realized that his fans were adrift among the Brahmins of Buckhead, and that any form of rescue would be a welcome thing.

Just before the encore, I decided to join the throng so that I too might be close enough to feel the sweat from the Prophet. Pilgrims have weathered less just to arrive at the holy of holies. In the quest, Tracy Clark of Atlanta’s the Preakness was met by the in-your-face rudeness of season Chastain subscribers. The leader of the group first blocked her from passing in front of him. She hardly had any intention of blocking his view of his fave Morrissey. But he was meant to play security. Once his group decided that they were ready to make their exit, the other male in his party kicked Tracy as he lumbered by. His female companion actually hit Tracy in the back. So much for civility in the confines of the well-to-do.

I persevered. And as Moz passed, I reached out my hand. And my reach allowed me just enough extension to make it easy for him to oblige. Immediately, I did a little dance up and down, and Morrissey seemed to react to my enthusiasm. Would that all barriers in the world could be traversed with such ease?

After the show, I clearly shouted a request for a set list to the guitar tech. He decided not to be so obliging and quite deliberately ripped the paper into a little ball and rushed offstage with it. Power kills!

The jeers from a vengeful crowd have led many an Atlanta club-goer to wax eloquently about the charms of the velvet rope. They imagine being ushered by a cooperative door person into the VIP room, well-protected from the eager masses. There, they might bask in the warmth of artificial light among other well-heeled specimens. After all, a taste in fashion has its own reward. And as the sound system plays “How Soon Is Now,” the rewarded Morrissey fan might feel that he has finally eluded his persecutors.

But it might not work out that way. The VIP room only imprisons him in his society of like-minded. And on that particular night, the doorman might not be so egalitarian and leave him to huddle outside with his true brethren.

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Reminder: The Travis show is July 29th at the Tabernacle. For the upcoming week, I have an added suggestion …

RECOMMENDED: Detroit Cobras w/ the Hiss
Rachel Nagy’s hard-edged vocals lead the garage attack of the Detroit Cobras. They have no equals. You love that touch of soul as they whip through a song-filled set. There are no cutting corners. And a revitalized Hiss adds to the rock action. What more do you want? A limo to the door.

WHEN: Friday, July 27th

WHERE: The Earl

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Going to college in Illinois meant Chicago was always my musical home. I used to sleep in my car just so I could be part of the excitement of the club life. The pulsing house sound, the throbbing industrial beat and the thriving live-music scene were all influences. It is no accident Chicago is host to both Lollapalooza and the Pitchfork Music Festival. A band such as the Ponys really characterizes that marriage between the city and the Pitchfork Music Festival. I love the intersection between melody and noise that is key to their sound. The new single “Double Vision” distills the hooks in a classically produced style. Brian’s reverbed twang has the right bite. Their concept fits so well at a festival that benefited from the opening night with Sonic Youth.

From the moment the gates opened Friday evening, many of the faithful rushed over to claim a spot by the main stage. This prevented them from enjoying an epic rendition of Slint’s Spiderland. Atlanta today bubbles over with a psychedelic sound, but our indie music has been heavily touched by Slint’s approach. Even if some may have found the sparse approach a little boring, there was a deadly precision to the band’s presentation. David Pajo’s ringing tones underlined an economy that has been so often imitated.

While the format of a single album may have restricted Sonic Youth from going all out, the band offered a memorable performance of Daydream Nation. And there were moments when Union Park seemed to quake as Sonic Youth exploded. As Lee Rinaldo ran his slide down the guitar for “Eliminator Jr.,” there seemed to be no limit to the band’s intensity. Kim Gordon was in rare form as she went from slamming her bass to showing off her lively dance skills.

Sunday evening, Of Montreal tried to outdo itself. (more…)

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Saturday night, the potent Atlanta heat penetrated whatever claimed to be air-conditioning at the Earl. Fiery Furnaces singer Elizabeth Friedberger patted her head and commented on the heat. From their early performances, their music has taken a decidedly jazz free form with Matt’s soulful B-3 blues licks. If the Georgia humidity had more of an opportunity to soak in would that have brought more jack to those funky grooves? She and her brother originally hail from the Chicago suburb of Oak Park Illinois. Trust me, those Chicago summers can get brutal. Regional influence may be more than a question of temperature.

My thesis advisor professed it was the mother tongue, the language actually passed down from the mother, that most affected our psychological makeup. Pam Howe of the Atlanta band Ph Balance was a devotee of Paul Weller and I got to know her on the Weekends dance floor while we all rocked out to Brit dance music. But I swore that her Southern drawl got thicker as she performed under the lights of the Echo Lounge.

Deerhunter brought its experimental sound to open the Saturday night show at the Earl. Jesus and Mary Chain is oft-cited as one of their influences, although there is certainly none of that Glasgow swagger that always accompanied the Reid brothers. Deerhunter closed the set with Fluorescent Grey described by Bradford Cox as a song about necrophilia. One only needs to hearken back to the scandal at the Walker County crematorium for local inspiration. The heat and close summer quarters might make us feel that the dead are not that far away.

In the post-electronic age, regional character may give way to other influences. Many Northern transplants would have never ventured south without vigorous doses of air-conditioning. And as the air-conditioning blasted the café dance floor at MJQ and the DJ played New Order, we might as well have been as far from an indigenous Atlanta culture as possible.

Both Deerhunter and The Black Lips extend that DIY sound that has become associated with Rob’s House and the Stickfigure label. There is a frustration borne of Atlanta suburban living, uniform and lifeless. The facelessness has encouraged hordes of kids to move to East Atlanta and Cabbagetown to soak up the ghosts that still haunt the city. There seems an almost staccato drone that emanates from the cicada and the mocking bird. It only reminds us of the summer swelter.

RECOMMENDED: As most Atlanta music fans give praises to that loveable hot dog dipped in corn batter, I will be heading to Chicago for the Pitchfork Festival. Chicago locals The Pony’s and Ken Vandemark are exciting additions to the lineup. The Atlanta-Athens area is well -represented with Of Montreal, Mastodon, Deerhunter, and Cat Power.

Not to be outdone, Corndogorama will be graced by a set by Mastodon on Sunday

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