Gigs/Concerts – Page 2

Jaga Jazzist (Esplanade, Singapore, 13 March 2007)

Before Tuesday’s Jaga Jazzist gig I’d listened to their albums now and then over the years but often found myself zoning out and switching to catchier stuff. Experimental jazz just doesn’t push my buttons the way squalling guitars or hip-hop beats do. But when choosing which Mosaic gigs to go for I had a hunch that they’d sound better live than they do in my bedroom, so I took the risk – and damn, if all risks we take in life could yield such amazing payoffs I’d be a self-made stock market trillionaire and spend my free time snowboarding nude down Everest.

You might think a band in love with the sound of their own music would be off-putting but Jaga Jazzist’s unadulterated joy in their performance is absolutely infectious. So many bands’ live shows end up somewhere near either end of the spectrum between pure technical finesse and pure showmanship – Jaga Jazzist simply show up at the sweet spot representing the perfect combination of both and live there the whole gig. They play tighter together than any philharmonic orchestra I’ve ever seen, but unlike any philharmonic orchestra I’ve ever seen they love having the audience clap along.

You know how on reality TV when people are imploring the viewers to vote them into the next round, they always promise they’ll give “200%” in order to improve and blah blah blah? Most people just say stuff like that without really thinking about it, but the Jaga Jazzist gig was like a live demonstration of what it should mean. After each song you can’t believe they still have the strength to continue. I’d assumed their rambunctious drummer/conductor/spokesperson was just trying to put on a good show for the start of the gig but would have to wind down his efforts soon enough to conserve energy. Instead, I think he only got more ebullient as the night wore on. As someone who’s played in an orchestra I can definitely tell you that long instrumental pieces are way more tiring than they might seem from the audience, and I only played the damn violin!

The highlight of the gig for me was the song Oslo Skyline, which they “renamed” Singapore Skyline for the night. It was a showcase of everything that had blown the audience away during the gig – their individual virtuosity, their breathtaking co-ordination as an ensemble, and the amazing light design (it had been really beautiful throughout the gig but reached its nadir here). It was one of the most memorable moments of live music I have ever had the privilege of experiencing, and earned an instantaneous and universal standing ovation.

If you think I’m veering into hyperbole, the truth is that any purely verbal description anyone could give of this gig would actually be an understatement. If you were there, I’m sure you understand what I mean. If you weren’t, beg, borrow or steal to make sure you watch them the next opportunity you get. You don’t need to like their music beforehand – I certainly didn’t, and I can’t even begin to imagine what this gig must have been like for someone who was already a big fan of their sound – as long as you love any music at all, just turn up and I truly believe they’ll do the rest.

Yo La Tengo (Esplanade, Singapore, 12 March 2007)

Let me make this clear upfront, I’m not capable of being very objective about a Yo La Tengo gig so this isn’t a review, it’s just the attempt of a rather verklempt fangirl to capture how tonight made her feel.

About ten years ago, I bought my first Yo La Tengo album. Coming across it by chance while browsing in Borders, I recognised the name from lonely Internet indie wanderings and BigO magazine reviews, so although Electr-O-Pura didn’t sound like the most promising of album names I decided it was worth risking the $16 (yes, Borders sold a fair number of good indie albums for cheap back then) and snapped it up. Ten years later I’m home from my third Yo La Tengo gig, and the fact that they’re still able to make me feel the wonder and excitement I felt when I first heard Electr-O-Pura is meaningful in all sorts of ways that are hard to talk about without sounding cheesy. So consider yourselves warned.

Setlist:

From A Motel 6
Our Way To Fall
Pass The Hatchet, I Think I’m Goodkind
Little Eyes
The Weakest Part
Beanbag Chair
Mr Tough
I Feel Like Going Home
Big Day Coming
Tom Courtenay
Watch Out For Me Ronnie
The Story Of Yo La Tango

Encores:

We’re An American Band
You Can Have It All

It was quite a short gig (about 90 minutes) – their time was limited because Rickie Lee Jones was playing later on. But given that I emerged from the first time I saw them (where they played much longer) unable to speak, perhaps it was for the best.

As you can see from the setlist, they played a number of songs from the new album, most of which were as fun as they are on the recording but not particularly different either. Unfortunately, they didn’t play Black Flowers. But fortunately, they played the fuck out of The Story Of Yo La Tango. I have not the words. All I can say is that there was a lot of beautiful noise for a very long time, and at the end half the audience sprang to their feet screaming.

Apart from the new album, they played 2 songs from Painful, which is my favourite YLT album, so yay! They started the gig with From A Motel 6 and later played the rawk version of Big Day Coming, with Ira on keyboards literally tottering under his assault. They launched from that straight into Tom Courtenay, which is one of my favourite songs from Electr-O-Pura and OF MY ENTIRE LIFE, so um, yeah, little tears.

From And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out they did a lovely Our Way To Fall and a slightly disappointing stripped-down (yes, even more stripped down) version of You Can Have It All which didn’t really work for me. Only one nod to Summer Sun, which is fair, and Little Eyes features the coolness of Georgia drumming and singing lead vocals at the same time, so I was happy there too.

When they walked off the stage after The Story Of Yo La Tango, I was surprised they hadn’t played anything from I Can Hear The Heart Beating As One yet, but placed my hope in the encore. When they came back on Ira asked some members of the audience for requests. The first guy apparently said “Anything” and the second guy was drowned out by everyone else in the audience shouting our own requests. After the third guy Ira climbed back on stage saying they’d try his request but didn’t know if they had enough time, then launched into We’re An American Band. I’d have slightly preferred Deeper Into Movies but it was great to hear this too, so thanks, third guy!

After the gig there was an autograph session for the first 60 people who bought an album at the merchandise stand, so I bought the new one and got in line. At this point the shaking and slight teariness that started during Tom Courtenay came back, so I spent most of my time in the queue quietly freaking out. I had no idea what to say to them, but because music (not lyrics, just music) makes me more emotional than books or movies ever have, it was looking highly possible that I might burst into tears.

My turn came. This is how I remember it going:
Me (lots of stammering edited out): Um, I can’t really talk about 10 years of listening to you in 10 seconds, so I’ll just say thank you. Thank you so much.
YLT members: [general smiles and thank yous]
Me, babbling on: I’ve seen you 3 times now, and each time you’ve been wonderful. [They’d finished signing my CD by now so I staggered off figuring I might as well make my escape before I said something truly mortifying.]
YLT members (I don’t remember who said what), calling after me: Where were the other 2 times?
Me: London. [Staggering off again.]
YLT members, calling after me again: Where in London?
Me (stammering): Shepherd’s Bush and Somerset House. [At this point my descent begins.] It was a crime that you opened for Calexico, they should have opened for you.
YLT members: [Laughing.]
Me: [Finally staggering off for good.]

Look, it could have been worse. My idea of what constituted “a crime” was clearly lame (also a little unfair given that I actually love Calexico, just not as much as I love YLT), but at least I didn’t cry. And sitting in my room a few hours later, it’s already easy enough to forget my lameness. My abiding memory of this night will remain those ten seconds where with all my bumbling sincerity I finally got the chance to tell some of the musicians who have given me the most happiness in my life of loving music: thank you. I don’t expect this to mean much to anyone else or even to the band themselves, but it meant a whole lot to me.

Good Vibrations 2007

I’m not a huge fan of any of the bands that played at Good Vibrations, but who passes up the opportunity to see the Beastie Boys and Jurassic 5 in Singapore for $40? Kudos to the organizers, I hope it was worth your while and that you do it again.

I haven’t really listened much to J5 since 2000 apart from a couple of unsuccessful attempts to enjoy their latest album in preparation for this festival, so I couldn’t identify that many songs apart from the old classics. Still, I’ve always had a soft spot for this sort of old-school ensemble rapping so I didn’t have to find the songs familiar in order to enjoy them. Highlights for me were Jayou and Quality Control; they also played Concrete Schoolyard and Improvise but I’ve never been that fond of those. I apologise to anyone I might have startled when I burst out with “FINALLY!” when the flute sample in Jayou, er, finally kicked in, because doing half the song without it constitutes cruelty to Michelles.

Don’t hate me, but I’m not a big fan of the Beastie Boys. I realize they’re hugely significant and all, and appreciate the effort they put into good performances and videos, but something in their flow just doesn’t do it for me. (I attempted to explain it here but actually, I still can’t.) Also, given that all the Beastie Boys albums I own are from the days when cassettes still ruled (i.e. any album before Hello Nasty, which I did buy on CD but later sold), I wasn’t exactly able to do much memory refreshment in preparation for their performance either. Based on the songs I did recognise though, they did Root Down, Sure Shot, Ch-Check It Out, one of the better instrumentals from Ill Communications, No Sleep Till Brooklyn, So Whatcha Want, Body Moving, 3 MCs and 1 DJ and unsurprisingly, Intergalactic and Sabotage for the encore. One thing I did enjoy was how they’d do half a song to its original beats, then Mix Master Mike would switch to beats from a fairly recent top 40 hit and they’d just continue with that. It worked well and kept things refreshing for me, plus everything just sounds great to the beat of Pass That Dutch.

Lastly, no account of Good Vibrations 2007 would be complete without paying tribute to these particular members of the audience. In the name of bad 70s fashion, wearing wigs and fake moustaches in Singapore heat, entering and staying in character even before the Beastie Boys were performing, and of course posing so awesomely for my photo, I salute you.

Gig Bites

Because I’ve had the curious problem of not being able to write about each new music event I’ve attended because I’m hung up about not having written about the last one, here are some quick memory-filing notes about the last bunch of events I’ve been to, just to clear my mental RAM in preparation for Good Vibrations and Mosaic. (And in April, All Tomorrow’s Parties!)

Eclectic Method (Zouk, 10 Nov 06): After two years of waiting to see them, I was bitterly disappointed. Too much lazy use of catchy crowd-pleaser beats like from Drop It Like It’s Hot as a substitute for doing stuff that was actually interesting.
Gamelan Shokbrekker (Esplanade, 25 Nov 06): The bare bones breakdown is that it was a collaboration between an Indonesian gamelan orchestra and Norwegian free jazz musicians, but the incredible synergy the performers managed to create between their different musical styles is really just something you had to be there to understand. (If you’re interested though, try the recordings here from their 2006 London Jazz Festival performance.) I love Mogwai and all, but don’t underestimate the intricate mesmerizing wall of sound a determined gamelan orchestra is capable of. Gig of the year for me.
Kid Koala (Red Dot Design Museum, 20 Dec 06): About four times as crowded as his first visit here, and not even half as good. Still, his inherent adorability always makes me want to get all Elmira on his ass.
DJ Kentaro (Ministry of Sound, 8 Feb 07): His On The Wheels Of Solid Steel mixtape’s been one of my iPod stalwarts since its release, so I was pretty excited to see him. He was brought in as part of some HP promo event presumably intended to demonstrate how technology brings da world togetha, so there were performances by various artists going on sequentially in Singapore, KL, Korea, Hong Kong and Taiwan, and linked by live video hookups between the various countries. Unfortunately through cluelessness I think we must have managed to miss the live transmissions of both the performances we were there to see (Kentaro and Hifana), so thank God Kentaro came on again after the live transmission was over and did another set, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Hip-hop, old and new drum’n’bass, club salsa (I think it was, but all Latin music sounds the same to me so I could be wrong), Coldcut’s Timber (wish he’d also shown the video though), bits of that organ sample, everything got seamlessly and effortlessly mixed with just the right amount of turntable pyrotechnics. And all for only about 30 people on the dancefloor. Party on, Singapore.

Jens Lekman (Bar Baa Black Chic, 24 Jan 07)

I have to give it to Jens Lekman, it takes a certain je ne sais quois to start your gig in a packed club of indiepop kids by playing a yodelly folk track, segueing into dancehall, and then playing about 3 or 4 more tracks on the console without singing a single note into the microphone while intermittently tossing glowsticks into the crowd. I can’t say I thought it was the best way to start off (dude, I didn’t stand in this sardine can for the past two hours in my pointy work heels just to hear you DJ) but hey, maybe that’s just the way he rolls.

I quickly forgave him when he finally started off his set with Black Cab, my favourite song on Oh You’re So Silent Jens, though it’s a pity the backing track was a little too loud and drowned out his singing. The next highlight of the gig for me was how enthusiastic the crowd was in singing along, most audibly to the chorus of I Saw Her In The Anti-War Demonstration, the “ba-ba-ba-ba” bits of A Sweet Summer Night On Hammer Hill, You Are The Light and the “I’ll come running with my heart on fire” bits of Pocketful Of Money, where he basically let the crowd take over and only needed to sing the backing vocals.

The last two highlights of the night for me were completely unexpected. A Postcard To Nina, which I wasn’t familiar with, is a hilarious account of a visit to Berlin to see his penpal Nina, before she moves to San Francisco with her girlfriend. She invites him to dinner (“great vegetarian German food”) at her parents’ house, only to inform him on the doorstep that she’s told them he’s her boyfriend. He delivers the next line to us with deadpan understatement: “And then it gets really awkward.” I can’t really do the rest of the song justice by describing it here, but a quick Google search suggests it’s a crowd favourite at lots of his gigs so perhaps a copy will surface online.

After finishing Pocketful Of Money, he wondered aloud what song he should sing next and someone shouted A Man Walks Into A Bar. Deliberately mishearing (I assume), he said “A man walks down the street?” and promptly launched into You Can Call Me Al! To the American-accented guys next to me who had the following conversation – “I’ve actually not heard this one before. Is it a cover?” “No, I don’t think so.” – I can only say I envy you for having escaped one of the most annoying songs of the 80s. But in that funny way that things go, I loved his cover, so here I am today digging out Graceland and listening to it again for the first time in a while.

By the end of the gig, Jens had a glowstick-waving, flower-strewn (during the gig he’d been throwing orange gerberas into the crowd) audience in the palm of his hand. He ended things off much like they began – a little strangely – by playing Scala’s cover of Heartbeats on the console, then leaving the stage to come meet the crowd. My track record of debilitating mortification from meeting people I admire suggested I shouldn’t attempt any communication with him, so I waited outside while Atarashi got his autograph, after which the least I could do to thank her for rocking so hard was to buy her prata.

Setlist:

Black Cab
I’m Leaving You Because I Don’t Love You
The Opposite Of Hallelujah
I Saw Her In The Anti-War Demonstration
A Sweet Summer Night On Hammer Hill
You Are The Light
Maple Leaves
A Postcard To Nina
Pocketful Of Money
You Can Call Me Al
Julie

Jens Lekman Plea

Because I suck, I left it till too late to buy Jens Lekman tickets, and now they’re sold out. If anyone knows of any extra tickets that become available, or existing tickets that aren’t being used for whatever reason, PLEASE hook me up (email syntaxfree at gmail) and I’ll display my gratitude by buying you beer and singing your praises. Alternatively, if you hate my guts and are willing to give up your ticket to see me humiliated, I’ll stand in the road outside Bar Baa Black Chic proclaiming my undying love for Coldplay and singing a Coldplay song of your choice.

Addendum:
Q: HOW MUCH DOES ATARASHI ROCK??!
A: PRETTY FUCKEN HARD.

Thanks ever so much, I owe you one. :) :) :)

Mo’ Money Mo’ Mosaic

Lord have mercy, the Esplanade has more than compensated for the borefest that was last year’s Mosaic festival (Jason Mrazzzzz and Kingzzzzz of Convenienzzzzz) with this year’s lineup. My bank account’s going all “Bitch, please,” but I’m justifying it as a week of birthday celebrations.

So far, this is what I intend to attend:

12 March: Yo La Tengo (third time!)
13 March: Jaga Jazzist
14 March: DJ Vadim
15 March: Chick Corea and Gary Burton
18 March: Femi Kuti

This is just the trimmed-down list I arrived at after a painful priority-setting exercise resulted in the Duke Ellington Orchestra, Terry Callier, Jose Gonzalez, Rickie Lee Jones, Nerina Pallot and Ursula Rucker being relegated to my second “if I can spare the cash” tier. I’m still a little wracked with guilt over the choices given that I’ve seen 2 of the first-tier acts before already (YLT and DJ Vadim), so if you think it’s a travesty that I’m passing up the chance for one of the bands in my second tier (or any others in the lineup) please let me know and I might waver.

Ellen, My…Er…Bellen

Ellen Allien’s set at Zouk last night was cruelly short, ending just before 4, and before I’d got the chance to storm the DJ console and ask her to marry me.

Her set didn’t feature as much fembot voiceovers as I would have liked but it was still intensely, braincrushingly good for the most part. And when, during a beer break, I finally heard that wondrous disembodied voice proclaim “You…make…me…go MAAAAAAAAGMA!” I shoved my beer into Alec’s hands, raced back to the dancefloor, and went apeshit. I think anyone who drinks beer in Singapore will understand that sacrificing the first five minutes in which beer is actually cold and not nauseatingly warm should be ample proof of my love. O Ellen! How many more warm beers I would have drunk just to explore unknown trrrashsssscapes with you a little longer!

Still, in almost all respects it was a better night out than DJ T and M.A.N.D.Y. had been the previous night, except that I’d like to suggest to the dude in the striped cap that 1) it would be good to find a dance style that doesn’t involve elbowing people in the boobs and not apologizing, 2) your goatee looks like pubic hair, and 3) wearing the SAME CAP to two sweaty smoky club nights in a row is kinda gross.

Since the night ended earlier than we’d expected, we channelled our mutual lust for Ellen into supper at Arab Street. Cheese-coated chillies and almond spice smoothies are great at any time of day but when consumed while reclining on the cushioned floor of Ambrosia at 5.30 a.m., they approach divinity.

Darren Hanlon / Dave Pajo (Esplanade Recital Studio, 4 March 2006)

I’ve been meaning to write about the Dave Pajo gig for so long. To me it was the first and only indie gig in Singapore this year that I’d been excited about, and in hindsight I wish I’d bothered to promote it in advance on this blog. I guess I took it for granted that he’d draw a crowd, especially with the rapturous reception that the Tortoise gig got last year, but I was completely wrong. The turnout was abysmal, even worse than the Analog Girl / Konki Duet / Lovers gig the previous night. This upset me, as it always does. I almost wish I were jaded enough to be resigned and indifferent to it.

Darren Hanlon opened, and was pretty great in his own right. Being a good “guy-with-guitar” act is damn hard. First, you have to have good songs with good music and good lyrics, which approximately 98.5% of such acts do not. Second, you have to be able to communicate those songs to your audience, which for present purposes we shall assume are not rabid fans who have already spent hours listening to your album and memorizing the lyrics so that they can sing along conspicuously at your gig. Clear enunciation and lyrics that don’t read like pseudo-poetic stream-of-consciousness burbling really help in this, but personality zing and lack of pretension also tend to be a huge plus. Darren Hanlon has all of these.

Despite having to start off “cold” in a big, barely populated room, he managed to command everyone’s attention quite effortlessly, simply through sheer force of likability. He was good at introducing his songs in a way that got the audience interested in them, and then at performing the songs well. I realize this sounds like a no-brainer but it’s amazing how many acts I’ve seen that are incapable of this. It’s hard to really describe the songs themselves because they ultimately just sound like a guy playing his guitar and singing in a cafe. It’s just that if you were in the cafe where he was playing, you’d stop your conversation, listen until he was done, and even if you didn’t buy his album at the end of it, your day would be that much better for having listened to him. Perhaps this doesn’t sound like lavish praise but hey, there are bands who sell millions of albums that I couldn’t say the same for.

Then Dave Pajo started, and proved that almost everything I just said about “guy-with-guitar” acts was a load of bullshit. He gave so little acknowledgement to the presence of the audience beyond an occasional muttered “thank you” that he might as well have been performing in his bedroom. He had that sort of overly emo indie guy look that turns me off straight away. I had and still have no idea what any of his songs are about even though I’ve listened to them so many times. And yet I was transfixed.

One spotlight, everything else dark, the performer almost motionless except for his hands on the guitar. No introductions, no banter. Quiet songs for a quiet room, sung without the harmonies or other studio gloss of the recording (his solo album). He’d laid out about ten bells on the floor, and played them by tapping the handles with his feet. It wasn’t a gig for all people or all moods, but it suited me and mine just fine.

After the gig there was time for teh ping and catch-up with Benny, who happened to be in Singapore for the weekend to attend a friend’s wedding, and had come along with us to the gig. Even though the gig had been great, this was probably the best part of the evening for me.

Even though I attend lots of music events in Singapore and have gotten to know some of the people in the scene over time, I somehow never talk uninhibitedly with them about the music I’m into because I don’t know how my conversation will be received. With Benny I know that nothing I say will be taken as affected, snobbish or reactionary even though our tastes clash far more often than they coincide. I can struggle inarticulately to explain how something I’m listening to fills me with wide-eyed wonder, or line up all the pejoratives in my vocabulary and fire them at something that fills me with disdain, and even if he completely disagrees with me in either aspect, it’s all good. We discuss it, argue about it, level snarky insults at each other, but ultimately part ways with no less respect for each other’s music taste or knowledge than before. (Except the bit where he likes Serena Maneesh.)

Thanks for a good evening, Benny, and please come to Singapore more often – I miss you.

Erlend Oye (Esplanade, 15 March 2006)

Erlend Oye was playing interesting stuff when we arrived at the Mosaic Club, but many people weren’t dancing. I have a feeling the vast majority of his audience were Erlend Oye fans rather than house music fans so perhaps that’s why they weren’t really in the groove but honestly, at some points I felt like yelling “DUDES, ERLEND WANTS YOU TO DANCE, NOT STAND THERE STOCK STILL GAWKING AT HIM!” After all, as he demonstrated several times himself, no one needed to actually dance dance, just jumping around happily would have been fine too.

On the whole he played about one and a quarter hours’ worth of music I found interesting (including remixes of Kings of Convenience songs which I generally much prefer to the originals), and forty-five minutes of boring indie/pop standards eg. The Cure’s Close To Me, Springsteen’s Dancing In The Dark. I found these fairly dull.

What I did find enjoyable and endearing was his personality. He interacted pleasantly with the crowd, and dealt extremely well with technical problems that twice brought his set to a complete halt – the second time, as a Kings of Convenience remix suddenly just stopped playing, he continued singing the vocal a capella while looking for a new song, finally substituting “I think I found a good song” for the lyrics he was singing. Quite charming.

Ultimately though, this gig wouldn’t have been worth $30 and missing the America’s Next Top Model finale for me if not for one moment right at the end.

He announced the last song, put it on, and came down to the dancefloor, a ring of ecstatic fans forming around him almost instantly. Although originally in this ring by sheer coincidence of location, I stepped out of it, figuring that it would be nicer to make room for people who were bigger fans than I – essentially, almost everyone else in the room.

At this point I spotted Dominique trying to physically drag a struggling, protesting Han (huge Erlend fan) in his direction. Being no stranger to the paralysis of extreme starry-eyed admiration I bounded up to assist, knowing that friends who refuse to let you wuss out are necessary in such situations. (Lifelong mortification is still better than lifelong regret.) Unfortunately, Han was putting up quite a fight and after a while I decided it probably wasn’t best for her first meeting with Erlend to involve being hurled at him like a human cannonball.

So I took another tack. Given that I only get star-struck by people I actually admire, I had absolutely no qualms about approaching him myself. I danced into his little bit of Erlend ring-space, yelled that I had a friend who loved him but was too shy to say hello, and pointed at Han. Upon which he plucked her from Dom’s arms, wrapped her in his, and started dancing with her.

That was when it finally felt worthwhile. And if you don’t understand why, you’ve never been a teenage girl.