Paste magazine launch party with Beck

Paste launch party, Oct. 26

at the Knitting Factory, NYC

featuring Beck

I’m broke. To make matters worse, I’m luckless. When my friend Christina called me last week to say that she had an extra ticket to Beck at Madison Square Garden I considered myself on the cusp of some sort of karmic turn. Then she dropped the price on me: $65. Whew, no way could I come up with the sum.

So, while my girls trotted off to their expensive arena seats I sat at home in front of the computer. Bored and a little irritated with my situation, I perused some music sites and stumbled upon a Web competition from Paste. They were giving away tickets to the 26th issue launch party at the Knitting Factory. Conincidentally the issue features Beck on the cover, (a sore subject for me), but what the hell, I’ll fill out the form. I never expected to win.

***

When I arrive at Leonard Street around 8 p.m. knots of people stand behind a velvet rope puffing on butts. It wasn’t an exclusivity thing; apparently the club has had trouble with the neighbors. It might have something to do with all the construction on both sides of the street, little room for traffic, less for smokers. A check of my ID, an eye locating my name on the guest list and I’m in.

The main room and its adjoining area are already packed with wannabe rock stars, writers and Paste personnel. I cop a drink and move towards the main stage as the NYC-based folk/alt-country act Hem mount the stage. Singer Sally Ellyson’s voice is sweet enough, but her protruding stomach proves an unconquerable distraction. Seven and half months pregnant, you have to give the woman respect for crooning in that condition, the blandness of the band, however, deserves few if any props.

At this point I’m wondering why I bothered to show up. Sure, the tickets were free, but my roommate is super late and I’ve been standing around by myself for an hour and half. I’ve only had a few blips of conversation with other partygoers and Hem’s adult contemporary sound is just not doing it for me. I decide to have one more drink and peace out. Matt finally shows up and we order two beers.

Halfway through our Sierra Nevada and Heineken, stage hands start to assemble the stage for the next surprise band. It took an unusually long time to complete sound check and considering how disappointed I was with the first act, I vowed to be out after I swallowed the last sip of my pale ale. Who wants to stick around for a group that probably sucks as much as the last one, especially when they’re pretentious enough to take 40 minutes setting up?

At last the Paste host ambles up to the mike to announce the special guest. After tipping his hat to Questlove who had filled dead air with various guitar driven dance jams during intermissions, he said, “We here at Paste are pleased to introduce Beck!” Are you serious? Beck is playing in this small club for 150 people when the previous week he sold out the theater at the Garden? Do I hear Lady Luck shuffling in a 180 degree rotation? Well, I at least see Beck emerge from the side room and that’s proof enough for me.

Without scrims or massive video screens, without lasers or scantily clad dancers, Beck and his band plow through songs from his newest release The Information right down to Mellow Gold. After coursing through a few selections, Beck asks the audience for requests. Inexhaustible answers spring from the crowd as Matt chimes in with a booming “Devil’s Haircut.” Beck looks him directly in the eye and strums the opening chords. At that moment, Beck doesn’t play for Paste, he plays for us.

The band -- composed of a fro-ed out hipster bass player (name) with white latex pants and matching sunglasses, a percussion/dancer (name) in brick red jeans, a keyboard/sideman (Brian LeBarton ) with a pageboy haircut, a drummer (Matt Sherrod ) hitting the skins so hard the snare popps up and down and a too-cool-for-school guitar player (name) who munches on gum like cud and stands aloofly in the same spot all night – played a professional set, yet seemed to take the experience rather lightly.

***

It’s probably been ages since Beck and his band played small club. I imagine the show provided a certain leeway that performing in front of thousands of people doesn’t allow. After Beck left the stage, the band stayed on to a do an original song with the degrading and repetitive chorus “drop your panties to the floor.” No one, of course, followed their commands, but it was a light touch on an otherwise thoughtful set.

On the way out I reveled in my good fortune and relished the opportunity to call my friends and tell them about the free Beck show. As I was entering the final corridor, a face struck me as familiar. I realized it was James Iha, former guitarist for the Smashing Pumpkins. I sent my roommate in to snap a shot. I’m still broke, but at least I have a story to tell and a picture to prove it.

American Hardcore review

Modern usage for the word “hardcore” carries with it a lot of baggage. Images of explicit sexual acts abound, but to the ‘80s punks who absconded the term for musical purposes hardcore will always mean something beyond screwing (at least in the literal sense). Hardcore was a rejection of the leadership, the social niceties and the plastic façade of consumerism; a big F-U to disco balls, pop music and spandex fashion. In other words, what these young punks screamed from coast to coast was, “screw the American way.”

The hardcore punks said so in an obscenely fast, raucous way to make sure that those outside the community would take the sound as an assault not only on their ears, but also on their values. It’s no coincidence that this radical musical genre manifested as a response to an era overwhelmed by materialism. With parallels being drawn between the current president, George W. Bush, and Ronald Reagan, today’s youth may find a renewed interest in hardcore as the antithesis of modern politics. True, hardcore did little more than quell the anger of a few thousand musicians and fans by creating a new social set, but every generation needs a sufficient mode of expression.

A new documentary is letting audiences examine the hardcore movement, whether or not they chose to incorporate its philosophies into their own daily actions. Through Paul Rachman’s American Hardcore, the viewer gets a behind the scenes dialogue with the forefathers of the most extreme form of American music. Spanning the distance from hardcore hotspots such as San Francisco and Los Angeles to New York City and Boston, the 98- minute film gives not only a history of the aesthetics behind the movement, but also a glimpse at the former lives of these middle aged misfits.

Interviews of huge hardcore figures like Ian MacKaye (Minor Threat/Fugazi) and Brandon Cruz (Dr. Know/Dead Kennedys) are interwoven between classic tunes and live footage of such luminary bands as the Circle Jerks, Bad Brains and Black Flag. Mosh pits abound as pubescent boys throw elbows, knees and fists at each other in possessed fits of sublime rage. This may sound like a destructive scenario, but these kids actually built a community out of expressing their angst with American culture. Positive things grew from hardcore’s excitedly fast pulse and raucously played guitar chords: straightedge, for example, the abstaining from drugs and alcohol, became a branch of the hardcore ideology.

After five or six years of community-building, the hardcore scene began to fall apart around 1985. The ideology of the scene was so loosely held together by music that the movement never had a chance to actualize. Some of the bands, such as Hüsker Dü, lost the notion and began to play arena rock. Fans became disillusioned by the same pumping beat and excruciatingly loud guitars. Others turned to public violence and riots (and police brutality ensued).

What the participants of American Hardcore unanimously agree on is that the genre is dead, the sense of freedom and belonging gone to the wayside with it. Although many bands continue taking the title of hardcore as their style of playing, the musical similarities are superficial and the political sentiments often missing. Perhaps we are all searching for a new musical genre to incorporate the outsiders, to take a stand, to sound the call. Or perhaps the hardcore vision of a community united against the mainstream was only that: a vision.

Up with Tool, Down with Tools

I have to admit it: I was disappointed by Tool’s 2006 release 10,000 Days. After unleashing an alluring and groundbreaking album with Lateralus in 2001, I didn’t expect the band to take a detour back into the trodden lands of modern rock. Following epics like “The Patient” (Lateralus), I felt songs such as “The Pot” (10,000 Days) served as little than radio-friendly airs or possibly LP filler. (BTW: I so predicted “The Pot” would be Tool’s next big popular market sensation.) However, after attending the last show of Tool’s fall stateside tour at Nassau Coliseum, I renewed my respect for one of America’s greatest rock ensembles.

Tool puts on a great show—period. Whether the band chooses to aggrandize the visual or aural side of their supple package, the guys know how to keep a stadium crowd entertained. On past tours--most notably during Lateralus--Tool tricked out the stage ala scrims adorned with holistic art work and giant plasma screens broadcasting interpretable images. At Nassau Coliseum, they scaled back the eye candy and concentrated on epic art rock tunes, making even “The Pot” impress with an alacrity not previously revealed to me by listening to the album cut. The newer songs, especially the title track, stood ground with classics such as “AEnema,” “Forty Six & 2,” “Stinkfist” and “Schism.” My only concern after witnessing the concert is a repeat of the modern rock cycle, which now, thank God, seems to be a rabid dog begging to be shot in the head. How much more mediocre Chevelle ditties can a person take?

No doubt Tool had a big part in creating a fan base for the harder edge style of these clone bands and the airwaves dedicated solely to this kind of drivel, but it’s hardly the band’s fault that these amateurs never learned to play their instruments. Practically anyone can coax a chug, chug out of their Les Paul, but Tool’s Adam Jones can do that and carry an acrobatic lead line in 5/4 time, all while looking stylishly disaffected. Therein lays the problem: they make it look too easy. Well, scratch that, on earlier tours they made it look too pretty. I think young fans figured if they threw enough glitz and glam into their stage show, they could pass as a play-alike act. Now that Tool has scaled back the visual aspect of their performance, I’m afraid younger wannabes will take this as a cue not only to copy the band (it may sound hard, but it looks easy), but also dump the showmanship attitude. That’s a lose/lose situation, considering most modern rock bands have difficulty playing the three-chord traditional structure of their compositions.

At Nassau Coliseum, singer Maynard James Keenan’s lizard-like gyrations, bassist Justin Chancellor’s head thrash and drummer Danny Carey’s precision skin thumps served as the only human movement on stage. Projections of older stop-motion animation Tool videos along with rapidly changing light patterns behind and underneath the band nary distracted from the bombast of the music. I don’t know about all of you guys, but I wouldn’t pay $50 to see a band practically stand still among some lasers if the members couldn’t slam on their instruments. That’s the threat here. Say “yes” to Tool and “no” to all the hard rock tools. Do it or we’re facing another 10 years aural punishment.

I'm Back!!

After taking a rather large break from blogging, I have returned with a review of the band Katatonia. I have an excuse for such a long excursion; I moved to New York City at the end of Sept. I'm trying my best to jumpstart a career in freelance arts writing. Stop laughing, I'm serious.

Anyway, I will continue regular posts until someone gives me a job and I need my chops for an actual printing press (no dis to you Slate, you're the best!)

Katatonia at B.B. King’s, NYC

Katatonia at B.B. King’s, NYC

For a music lover, nothing evokes such disappointment as a lackluster concert by a band you adore. That performance passed for me last Sunday night at B.B. King’s when I attended a show by the Swedish outfit Katatonia, my heart sinking from the mediocre resonance of songs that have often quieted the tension within my soul. Katatonia’s music is intentionally cathartic with vocalist Jonas Renkse’s main topics including the decline of character, loss of love and general dissatisfaction with the surrounding world. Here exists a man whose somber sentiments until now comforted me with the touch of a kindred spirit.

Yes, I suppose I came to the show with preconceived notions of how the band would look, act and sound. I pictured a Robert Smith kind of presence, considering the tone and style of Renke’s singing. I imagined the atmospheric undertones of the band rising up to join Renske in a stratosphere of pining sounds, penetrating the darkness and decending on the crowd with the slow leak of despondency. All clearly manifest in my mind, none fulfilled.

Like reading a book, you create a dream world using someone else’s art, changing the characteristics of a face despite the author’s own penmanship pronouncing otherwise. The writer externalizes flesh and bone, his vision transferred to an alterable dimension, one that becomes a divergent environment with each new reader. It is the same with music albums where it is quite probable that your fantasy of grandeur exists only as a once removed ideal of someone else’s creation and a twice removed delusion of reality.

From Katatonia’s records I expected Renkse’s visage to express his aggrieved nature, but instead he barely offered his eyes, so covered with dark unkempt locks. Instead he bowed his head, slumped his shoulders and avoided the gaze of his audience. His nervousness at touring the States for the first time overrode the proper instincts of a frontman as he seemed to cower before the faces longing to exalt his figure. Renkse inevitably lost the audience; during a dramatic pause in “Criminals,” the band tried to get the crowd to cheer a second time with little response. The silence ensuing, it became quite clear that the disappointment was transcendental.

The other guys in the band— Anders Nyström, Fred Norrman, Mattias Norrman and Daniel Liljekvist —worked hard to project a rock star image, oddly juxtaposing their mentality with music that suggests a whole different kind of vibe. Despondent, discordant, disarrayed, these constitute the adjectives that Katatonia’s songs bring to mind, not arrogant, aggrandized and audacious. The only distraction from the showboating came from the excellence of song selection (not to be confused with the poor quality of their execution), which included “Ghost of the Sun” (Viva La Emptiness), “Deadhouse” (Discouraged Ones) and “Tonight’s Music” (Last Fair Deal Gone Down).

Continually during each tune, Nyström threw his hands up in a fist while lip-synching every lyric. When he did approach the mic with thinning fair hair and the demeanor of a middle-aged man, his voice rang strained, under-the-pitch. The bass player, Mattias Norrman, joined his antics with a deceivingly youthful looking haircut, much like one sees on the heads of Good Charlotte members. He thrashed from front to back, side to side, as if the riffs demanded a sort of anthem attitude.

Appearances aside, the sound of the show lacked the brilliance of a learned engineer and a more practiced band. Part of the problem comes inherently from B.B. King’s cramped space and architecture that hardly takes into account the science of acoustics. The band, for its part, muddied up the performance by not playing tightly. Their tendency towards drawn out drones of chords and short, repetitive sections requires precise timing as a split second delay registers almost like a mistake. The albums that I listen to, the ones adhering to my soul, never include a glitche.

It serves me right for expecting a perfection only technology produces, a concert such as this one, dependent on human competency. In a way, my reality of Katatonia’s music passed through the additional filters of a mixing board and mastering session. Those albums made me buy tickets three months in advance, the performance shriveled my adoration of Katatonia in but one hour. How distorted our perception when it’s tainted by misleading tangibility.

Reflections of Ireland

As promised, here are some of my reflections from the Goldring arts journalism trip to Ireland.

Everywhere you look in Ireland there lingers an artifact attesting to that culture’s long and prosperous history. On the left lies a landmark, a monument to some long gone, but not forgotten hero. To the right stands a doorway leading to the living quarters of a revolutionary thinker, persecuted for his belief in liberation, but not blind to a new way of life. From the ancient Kells and the Viking hordes to the English landlords and the Irish rebels, each nook and cranny of the tiny island nation bears the tale of a proud people--a strong contrast from our own history.

Their National Museum of History in Dublin contains a wealth of information about Irish civilization starting from prehistoric times when people molded cauldrons out of bronze and buried human scarifies in the bog after performing a killing ritual three times. From there you can journey through the years of Roman influence, Viking onslaught and English occupation. Weaponry such as deadly swords and crossbows as well as hand-molded chalices and broaches line the inside of cases. They indicate a time when people were deeply indebted to the fight as well as the creation of art.

A similar chunk of history can be found at the Book of Kells museum in Dublin. Here ancient scriptures taken from monks’ renditions of the Bible come alive on standing columns. The intricate Celtic designs are projected onto walls along with details about literacy in medieval times. The Celtic designs, which include colorful pigments of blue, red and gold amongst intertwining, spiraling lines, cast the shape of letters, crosses and animals, such as snakes and cats.

In contrast, my nascent nation of America has but little to offer in terms of identity. The natives who inhabited my country, and to whom the true history of North America belongs, were silenced many years ago by the white profiteers. U.S. history is built on the backs of minority peoples, while the Irish have but ancient ancestors to blame for the destruction of their culture. They were the subjugated of Germanic tribes and English law, while we, on the other side of the ocean, were the exploiters of our country’s peoples.

As with the black population in America, the Irish culture survived beyond all persecution. Despite the many attempts to subject and kill them through events like the potato famine in the 19th century and the revolution in the 21st, the Irish lasted and held onto their national character. Because of this perseverance, no matter how small, if something is branded with the Celtic seal it becomes a thing of pride in the Irish heart. With a country as large, diverse and new as America, finding a common thread is not as simple.

The Irish have a way of unearthing that unifying force in almost any circumstance. Kilmainham Jail, for instance, served as a place of suffering and death for members of the Irish Revolution (1919-1921). Instead of looking at the structure as a place of woe, the Irish use it to represent the good deeds done by those who freed the country from English rule. They keep the doors open to countrymen and tourists to teach them about the Irish rebels who were executed on the premises less than 100 years ago. Jails are normally seen as a place of repression, but the Irish have found a way to turn the prison into a symbol of freedom.

Take the second example of the Guinness Storehouse. One typecast that follows the Irish from birth ‘till death is that they are notorious drinkers. As we all know, too much alcohol can cause liver damage and premature birth, but instead of being insulted by the stereotype that they drink heavily, the Irish have turned it into something positive. Thousands of people visit the Guinness plant each year to see how the brewers construct their famous Irish beer. Likewise, Guinness exports their product to over 150 countries around the world. The Irish cliché may be compounded by the fame of this alcohol, but because it’s Irish it’s a matter of esteem.

Perhaps the idea of the Irish drinker merits both truth and pride. On the Dublin Literary Pub Crawl, you can follow the course of the most famous Irish authors and thinkers, such as James Joyce and Oscar Wilde, from bar to bar. Behind these walls lies the inspiration for some of the most brilliant work in the Western cannon, as well as drunk Irishman perched on stools clutching pints of Smithicks. The Irish can trace their literary history back to the pubs and so they too remain a national treasure.

Speaking of authors, the most revealing sense of history and pride comes from inside the works of Irish playwrites. Brian Friel’s work The Faith Healer recently enjoyed a run at the Gate Theatre in Dublin. Throughout the play the main character, a faith healer named Frank Hardy, makes repeated references to his home country of Ireland. While growing it was the place where he found his gift, now matured he has left Ireland to utilize his ability to heal and save.

The story revolves around Hardy’s discontent with his gift; it is a double edge sword that allows him to cure others, but also requires him to sense events before they happen. More often than not his forethought leads to conflict within himself. For example, the four monologues that deliver the story allude to the fact that Hardy has seen his own death by murder. Thus Hardy runs from his country, hides from his attackers; however, he cannot evade away from fate.

Hardy becomes afraid to return to Ireland because it transformed into a place synonymous with death, first his father’s and then his own. However, upon the death of his baby in Scotland, Hardy realizes that death is not confined to one particular domain; it will follow him until fate commands it to strike. Only when he faces his mortality by coming back to Ireland is Hardy able to eradicate his despondency. He and his wife spend a lovely evening together laughing and drinking at the bar until kinsmen murder him. Hardy’s life has come full circle, an act of fate. He that is born an Irishman must die and Irishman.

Another play that recently debuted, this time at the Druid Theatre in Galway, uses the country of Ireland as a central theme in its plot. The Walworth Farce, a story about a father and his two sons, repeatedly uses Ireland as a heavenly contrast to the hellish atmosphere in England. The family moved to London some ten years prior where they stay holed up in a small apartment, play acting their former lives in the Irish countryside.

The boys reference the feel of the grass under their feet, the sweet smell of their mother’s cooking and the happiness they felt as a family—all in Ireland. The father promises the boys that they will one day return home and find that joy again. Though it never happens, the thought of going back to Ireland keeps the boys at their father’s command as they play act their lives away and wish for the day when their existence will come round full circle.

Another play that harkens back to a more remote part of Irish history is the Bacchae of Baghdad, playing at the Abbey Theatre in Dublin. Although the original version, written by the Greek playwrite Euripides in the 5th century B.C., may seem to be unrelated to modern Irish life, a closer look reveals the connection.

Every inch of Western culture from America to Ireland owes allegiance to the ancient civilizations of Greece and Rome. Without their example of government, art and architecture, our world we be another place. The dramas of the prehistoric playwrites directly influence the way contemporary writers think about their work. Therefore, the Bacchae of Baghdad merely pays homage to a part of Irish heritage that belongs to an extended community.

We can all learn a lot from observing cultural practices of other nations, whether they include dumping back pints of Guinness at a pub, walking the grounds of a rehabilitation prison or watching a production of a contemporary play. Ireland is a land rich with heritage and pride; the world would do well to pay attention to their example of turning a negative event into a positive tradition.

Pics from The Gathering at the Knitting Factory

Ed Gein

The two top photos feature a guest singer.

Westcott Community Center Syracuse, N.Y.

Since the closing of Club Tundra (better known in its heyday as The Lost Horizon) the extreme scene has had trouble picking back up. Venues are few and far between, but one that remains dedicated to exhibiting local culture, including metal and hardcore music, is the Westcott Community Center. Freya and The Unholy played last night (April 14) and Path of Resistance is scheduled for next week. Here are a few older pictures of the Assassin/Ed Gein/Architect show from March. The first three are Assassin the second two are Architect. For Ed Gein photos see other post.

Courtney Rile update

Here's an update on Courtney Rile. I wrote a profile on her last summer, which has changed drastically--a symptom of life.

Nestled in the corner of the Coffee Pavilion, Tom Brigandi turns and takes a swig of his Bud Light. He pivots past his tip jar and towards the almost vacant seating area. The clapping of but four hands stopped moments before, yet he remains strapped into his six-string electric bass. It is the same instrument Brigandi used when he toured with Chuck Mangione in the 1990s. Following negotiations with his percussionist and guitar player, he leads his band in another song only a few will hear.

A few blocks away at the Ohm Lounge, an unusually large crowd of musicians gather for a “Party for the Arts.” Three Syracuse arts supporters--Jim Horsman of Center Stage Events, Larry Luttinger of the CNY Jazz Arts Foundation and Leo Crandall of the Cultural Resources Council—staged the event to celebrate those who contribute to the local arts scene. A variety of players join each other onstage, while onlookers shake hands and eat plates full of rye bread and humus.

Guitarist Mark Copani attended the party on Feb. 2. Like most Central New York musicians, he spends his free nights performing. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that many musicians together,” said Copani. “Musicians have a hard time seeing other musicians ... You kind of forget that there are other musicians doing the same thing.”

Most CNY musicians tour the restaurant and club scene where they are paid according to the amount of people in attendance. The steady decline over the past 30 years in the amount of fans coming out to hear live music is causing artists to cash smaller and smaller paychecks. The city government does little to alleviate this problem; it hasn’t included arts funding in its budget for 10 years. The county gives some money in the form of grants thanks to the initiatives of State Senator John DeFrancisco, an avid supporter of the arts, but for the most part, its solutions are lip service.

In 1990, Onondaga County Executive Nick Pirro commissioned a council called the Partnership for the Arts. When the Partnership issued its report in 1992, they found three things that affected the music community: High taxes hurt the venue owners who had to stop music series or cut pay for musicians playing at their establishments. An increase in advertising from television, radio and print diluted the message sent about arts organizations and their events. And many fans of the local music scene are aging and no longer coming out to gigs.

The Partnership suggested evaluating arts institutions on a case by case basis and finding new ways to fund their projects, which did little to help these organizations in the short term and nothing to help the individual artist.

The bigger organizations solve these issues by throwing fundraisers and revamping their advertising campaigns, while most solo artists are put the position of beggars. This is not to say that the arts organizations and the single musicians are adversaries: The Syracuse Symphony makes a big announcement each year when it has balanced its budget, a statement that sounds equivalent to Brigandi’s tip jar scenario.

Back at the Coffee Pavilion Brigandi sets down his bass after a three hour set. He looks over at the adjacent table where his plastic tip jar holds a few dollars and some change. He hands his bandmates their share and walks over to the counter to order another beer. Brigandi has toured the world with jazz star Chuck Mangione, but for now he will continue to play for one or two faces every week at a coffee house.

Syracuse arts scene

Here is an older piece I wrote. It give you a good idea of how the arts are treated in my city.

Nestled in the corner of the Coffee Pavilion, Tom Brigandi turns and takes a swig of his Bud Light. He pivots past his tip jar and towards the almost vacant seating area. The clapping of but four hands stopped moments before, yet he remains strapped into his six-string electric bass. It is the same instrument Brigandi used when he toured with Chuck Mangione in the 1990s. Following negotiations with his percussionist and guitar player, he leads his band in another song only a few will hear.

A few blocks away at the Ohm Lounge, an unusually large crowd of musicians gather for a “Party for the Arts.” Three Syracuse arts supporters--Jim Horsman of Center Stage Events, Larry Luttinger of the CNY Jazz Arts Foundation and Leo Crandall of the Cultural Resources Council—staged the event to celebrate those who contribute to the local arts scene. A variety of players join each other onstage, while onlookers shake hands and eat plates full of rye bread and humus.

Guitarist Mark Copani attended the party on Feb. 2. Like most Central New York musicians, he spends his free nights performing. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that many musicians together,” said Copani. “Musicians have a hard time seeing other musicians ... You kind of forget that there are other musicians doing the same thing.”

Most CNY musicians tour the restaurant and club scene where they are paid according to the amount of people in attendance. The steady decline over the past 30 years in the amount of fans coming out to hear live music is causing artists to cash smaller and smaller paychecks. The city government does little to alleviate this problem; it hasn’t included arts funding in its budget for 10 years. The county gives some money in the form of grants thanks to the initiatives of State Senator John DeFrancisco, an avid supporter of the arts, but for the most part, its solutions are lip service.

In 1990, Onondaga County Executive Nick Pirro commissioned a council called the Partnership for the Arts. When the Partnership issued its report in 1992, they found three things that affected the music community: High taxes hurt the venue owners who had to stop music series or cut pay for musicians playing at their establishments. An increase in advertising from television, radio and print diluted the message sent about arts organizations and their events. And many fans of the local music scene are aging and no longer coming out to gigs.

The Partnership suggested evaluating arts institutions on a case by case basis and finding new ways to fund their projects, which did little to help these organizations in the short term and nothing to help the individual artist.

The bigger organizations solve these issues by throwing fundraisers and revamping their advertising campaigns, while most solo artists are put the position of beggars. This is not to say that the arts organizations and the single musicians are adversaries: The Syracuse Symphony makes a big announcement each year when it has balanced its budget, a statement that sounds equivalent to Brigandi’s tip jar scenario.

Back at the Coffee Pavilion Brigandi sets down his bass after a three hour set. He looks over at the adjacent table where his plastic tip jar holds a few dollars and some change. He hands his bandmates their share and walks over to the counter to order another beer. Brigandi has toured the world with jazz star Chuck Mangione, but for now he will continue to play for one or two faces every week at a coffee house.

Bacchae of Baghdad at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin

As I said, my class went to Ireland for spring break. Here is the first in a series of reviews/reflections I will be posting about the trip.

Review: Bacchae of Baghdad
Julie Pinsonneault

The appeal of ancient drama comes from its timelessness. Themes such as war and characters such as the grieving mother translate comparably to our modern times. For writer/director Conall Morrison to stage a version of Euripides' The Bacchae in contemporary Iraq merely extends the template that pre-Christian Greece set for humanity over 2,000 years ago. Aptly renamed the Bacchae of Baghdad, this show currently runs at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin.

The curtains open to reveal the ravaged peaks of a Babylonian city. Pieces of cloth are suspended from bamboo poles partitioned for areas of rest and commerce. Among the ancient architecture hangs the neon knockoff of a McDonalds’ sign. It’s red and yellow illuminates against the backdrop of traditional tapestries and the entrance to Pentheus’ palace. This is the first in a series of images representing the corruptive power of Western civilization.

Before Pantheus, ruler of this city, makes his appearance the “barbarian” God Dionysius presents the issue that surrounds the play: He and his followers, the bacchae, are not welcome because they are seen as a threat to Pantheus’ dictatorship. Pantheus’ goal is to displace this Eastern troupe from his land despite the fact that he is their direct descendent through his mother who is a bacchae.

Christopher Simpson’s presentation of Dionysius brings unwarranted comic relief to a decidedly serious event. Dressed as some Rastafarian caricature with multi-colored dreadlocks and MC Hammer style pantaloons, he speaks with a non-existent foreign accent that sounds like a hybrid of Iranian and Russian as he spins around ungracefully in some sort of pagan rapture. True, no one can be sure how the ancient Greeks did it, whether pantomime and excessive expression was necessary to project throughout their massive outdoor spaces, but even they would find humor in Simpson’s over the top performance.

In contrast, Pentheus, played by Robert O’Mahoney, marches out in U.S. military garb equip with a backwards American flag sown onto his right arm. His rage and command shows through his mostly shouted dialogue, which serves as a great foil to the chorus of bacchae. These women dressed scantily in scraps of Middle Eastern fabric stamp their feet, dance and holler a marriage of ecstasy. They deliver their lines in unison, each taking turns as chorus leader throughout the play. Their frenzy and the rage of Pentheus makes Dionysius seem the rationale being, which makes Simpson’s acting all the more absurd

As the voice of reason, Simpson should have concentrated more on what a level-headed character would do rather than an ancient Greek actor. Things have changed vastly since the time Euripides wrote this play and there is no need to revert back to their techniques as the lone player.

O’Mahoney embraces the modern version, basing his model on a contemporary American general by barking out orders, standing up tall and proud and furrowing his brow—all of this comes across naturally and fits with the staging. Pentheus lives as a product of the times while Dionysius seems out of place with his fake accent and clunky movements. When he raises his calves up towards his knees and sets them down slowly as a tribute dance to the gods, he looks as if he is ready to topple over with the next movement.

Morrison reorganized this play as an investigation of Western civilization and its destruction of Eastern culture. Having Dionysius play such an over the top character pushes the Western European audience to relate to their familiar heritage rather than the Eastern representation in Dionysius.

The conundrum further compounds upon the entrance of one of Pentheus’ troops and marks the unraveling of Morrison’s central concept. The soldier’s dialogue contains the distinct twang of an American southerner as he relays the story of watching the bacchae in their natural habitat in a field among animals. The accent, though comical at first listen, presents another unnecessary character reference. The fast food sign, the inverted American flag and the camouflage gear symbolizes America without need for further stereotype. Second, his voice distracts as the fourth use of accent throughout the play: Irish for the bacchae, American northerner for Pentheus, and Greek/Russian for Dionysius and now American southerner for the soldier.

After the speech Pentheus becomes obsessed with seeing the bacchae and Dionysius convinces him to dress as a woman and observe them. This infatuation comes from almost nowhere. He is their enemy one moment, trying to capture and uproot them and their admirer the next, hatching elaborate plans to find and watch them. This concept--that the West comes from the East and thus becomes infatuated with its existence—is an engaging topic that Morrison fails to expand upon. Instead Pentheus changes in an instant and the bacchae repay his veneration with his murder. In turn, Dionysius banishes the bacchae responsible, Pentheus’ mother.

By the end the gods have punished everyone; therefore, Morrison fails in his revamping of this Euripides drama. The tragedy as a moral play rebuking the West for their invasion of Iraq does not work because both the West and East suffer. In the end the gods rule all and Fate is responsible for the fall of mankind, not man. True the ending exclaims violence will be punished by violence, but it also takes the blame from humanity and places it on the shoulders of higher powers. How can America be responsible for its invasion of Iraq when the gods so command?

Interview with Anneke from The Gathering

Here's a short interview I did with Anneke from The Gathering about their new album Home, due out April 18. It also includes information about their latest North American tour, which started at SXSW, traveled through NYC and ended in Toronto.

JP: How was SXSW?

Anneke: It was nice, but of course it’s like an ant’s nest of all these people and bands and VIPs and it’s overwhelming. We unpacked and played and went on again. We look quite double towards it. It’s good for your resume and it’s a quite important festival, but on the other hand we played on a very small, well, we didn’t have a stage. We had to lose some instruments because not everything fits on the stage. So it’s really a bunky runky show, which is all right. It went well. But for us, it’s not an epiphany of what you do when you’re in a band.

JP: How have you been enjoying the rest of your tour besides being tired?

Anneke: We started in South America, which for us is very, very good. That was fantastic and we enjoyed all these countries. We went to a few different ones in Mexico and that was just fantastic. And we went to North America, which is a bit more heavy for us because we have to travel so much. We had one ride for 35 hours, so that’s just silly, but that, I think is just a logistical bookers problem. For the rest when we actually got to play, it was really nice. People are so, so great here. In America there’s a huge under toe stream of people who really appreciate art and music and they come to see The Gathering and it’s just fantastic. Yesterday people were wild. I like that, it’s great. People in New York are crazy.

JP: A talked to a few people last night [at the Knitting Factory in New York City] that said they traveled from California for the show.

Anneke: We had a few people that traveled with us all three days, they traveled to the shows. Since North America is very widespread, big, huge country, we have to travel a lot, but people come see us. That’s amazing that people take the time and effort to come see us.

JP: Do you think you might be back after the record [Home, release date April 18] comes out?

Anneke: I hope so. I hope in a bit better conditions because this has been kind of unhealthy and dangerous to drive like that. For us, we want to make good shows. We want to do everything possible to make that happen. So we should make more of an effort logistically and we should come back. We really want to go to the West coast again as well because it’s very good playing there as well.

JP: I know you’ve worked with the same producer before, Atti Bauw. You worked with him on How to Measure a Planet. What was it that made you want to work with him again?

Anneke: We are very proud of How to Measure a Planet. For us it’s one of the best records and we feel very proud of it still after these years. Working with him was a great experience because he looked at music in a whole different way. He’s one of the first to work with Pro Tools on this recording and we learned so much and it was a great time. For some reason we just thought of him again now when we were thinking about producers. Hans, our drummer, he said, “How about Atti.” We stayed in contact so we knew kind of where he was living, and we called him and asked if he had time and he immediately came with all cool ideas he felt really up to it. So we discussed some things and we brought music, we let him hear what we had until that time and he really liked the songs. Immediately it was just great to be with him again because he’s just full of ideas. He’s a great guy and he’s relaxed. He takes his time for things to develop. He really fits with our music. Working with him again was really wonderful.

JP: What were some of the things that you carried over from How to Measure a Planet and what were some of the things you were trying to do differently?

Anneke: The thing that was most important with the album was we wanted to make the songs really pure and close to the heart. Souvenirs was very produced. It was very layered, a lot of details, very beautiful. But you cannot top that. You cannot go beyond that because we did that. You have to take on a new approach. We felt the new record should be more pure and close the heart. The songs that were already written when we went into the studio were very personal and very pure. Atti, he really made it happen in the studio. Things changed so much because then you really hear what you’re playing and you really get to bottom of the core of the song. So that was for us the big thing that Atti helped us with. He really cut through the core of the song. When we would have three guitar parts and three vocals parts and three this and that—because he has a lot of ideas, he put them on the demo—he just scraped off a lot of things. This is beautiful, but it’s not really making the song more beautiful so it has to go. You really get down to what the song’s all about and that’s the most important thing he does.

JP: The compositions you had going into the studio, did they change a lot?

Anneke: They did because I think we made songs and we demoed them, but when we were in the studio we just undressed them again. We rehearsed in the morning; we would rehearse the songs acoustically with no amplifications. We would make drums on the hands and knees and just a small guitar and that’s it. Then we would play the song and we would recognize if the beat was good or the vocal line was good if the chorus was long or short or whatever. We would rehearse it acoustically. Then we would rehearse it in the afternoon amplified on the studio ground. And then in the evening we would record. So in one day the song could change or just its rhythm could change, so it would have a totally different approach, a better one than we had before because we stripped it down again.

JP: You built your own recording studio for this record?

Anneke: No. We went to a little church in Holland. We rented a little church and we put all our gear in there and built a studio.

JP: Okay. Why did you guys decide to do it that way?

Anneke: Well, we wanted to do something different to give us inspiration. When you make a record every year or two years you just see kind of a lot of studios and in the end their all the same and you have to leave at one point because they close in the evening. So we wanted to go to one place where we could be. We were there a month and we lived and slept there and we just worked. The thing is that when we had a good idea we could just work on it or record it or whatever, so that was really nice. Also, so we had one floor on which we were recording and then eating and then there was a sitting area. And then upstairs was a sleeping area, but also in the sleeping area we made two small studios—studio two and three, we called them—with just two computers on the table, so when Rene or I or anybody had an idea for vocals or guitar we could record it on hard disc upstairs. So we could work simultaneously on songs or on guitars and drums at the same time or whatever. So there was always a process going on of getting ideas down on tape or on the computer. And then when they would be good enough, they fit the song, then we would import them to studio one again on the hard disc. So that was really nice, because when we felt like it would could record something or read a book or go to sleep or make music. That was really nice. And the surroundings were also very quiet because it was a very small village with three churches and four hairdressers and that was it and one store. When we would go outside there was nothing there just meadows and water and a few houses so you were not distracted. You would just go outside and get a fresh nose and come back and make music again. For us it was a good time.

JP: The next DVD that you are putting out, you are going to name it A Noise Severe, is that right? If I do say so, it’s a nice compliment to A Sound Relief. I was wondering where you came up with the concept of doing it that way.

Anneke: Because The Gathering has a few faces. We have a very mellow side, but we have a bit of more rocky, doomy side, so we just wanted to split those two up for once, you know, for fun, and to make a DVD which we made A Sound Relief with more mellow side of The Gathering, more soft songs. Also, we wanted to make one with more heavy songs, a more rocky side of us. We are touring right now with a more rocky show and at one point we want to record that and put it out on DVD so you have a collection of two sides of The Gathering.

JP: I know that you guys set up your own label a few years ago and you are getting distributed on The End. Having your own label gives you a lot of artistic control. I was wondering why it’s so important for you to have that amount of creative control.

Anneke: For us it’s important because for us all about the music. We want to make songs and not products that people will buy. That’s another side of it, which is important because we like to sell and play and earn a living actually off our music. But one main core thing should be making good, beautiful quality music. Sometimes it’s hard when people have a big interest making money off of it. So for us it’s just nice to have control over when we make an album, how we make it, how long it will be, how it should, which producer. All these creative decision should be made by us and then from there you try to sell it in the market and blah, blah, blah. I believe there will always be an audience who likes it because it’s honest music and it touches hearts because it comes from the heart. But the way to find an audience is, of course, difficult, so you need help. Of course we have a small label because the only band we have is The Gathering. So we don’t really don’t have the power to put ourselves in the market. We have some help with Sanctuary and The End Records that just help up with promotion and stuff. That’s a good way of working together.

St. Patrick's Day in Galway

Here are a few more pics of Galway on parade day.

Goldring Arts Journalism trip to Ireland

My class went to Dublin and Galway over spring break to study theater. I'll be drawing up some reviews and commentary about the trip as soon as I can. In the meantime, here are some pics to tide you over.