30. White Denim at the Granada Theater, 7/23/11

30. White Denim, at the Granada.

False advertising: note total lack of white denim

The headliner of Gorilla vs Bear fest, White Denim, got about half an hour to perform thanks to Preteen Zenith's late start. A classic foursome, they played loud bluesy post-punk Rock And Roll.  No, really loud.

Seriously, it was loud.

Assured, clearly at home on stage and working well together, White Denim played frenetic New Rock, sounding a lot like an Americana-fueled Foo Fighters.  They had more chops than a Chinese restaurant (zing!).  Loud shouting urgent nasal vocals carried along and under thundering walls of brawny percussion.  Fast blues-based guitar riffs, repeated to build a sense of urgency and power.  Our ears were bleeding, but in a good way.

It's worth noting that despite this music being the loudest thing since Krakatoa, the sound was not muddled or distorted.  The intricate basslines and the pounding drums were clear and crisp.  Granada's sound guy really knows what he's doing.

Over the course of this Project, we've seen a lot of acts that played genres we wouldn't normally have been interested in.  One of the lessons of these shows is that the real power of music is the ability to just be so transcendent that it doesn't matter whether you "get it," but whether it affects you or not.  White Denim doesn't play R's genre of choice, but he was moved by their vigor and dynamic energy.  N, typically a fan of Snarling Punk Stuff, was more in his element and certainly enjoyed the music, but unfortunately the briefness of the set, the lateness of the hour, and the cochlear-melting volume made for a less than stellar showcase for White Denim.

In sum: White Denim is a tight-knit, talented band with a lot of ferocious energy.  A fine example of punk-based indie rock.  We didn't feel entirely at home with the loudness.  And as you know, if it's too loud...

Your blog authors: left to right, N and R.

(By the way, a Google image search for "two old guys" resulted in a depressing amount of pictures of guys our actual age.  Thanks a lot, young people.  You just wait.)

29. Preteen Zenith at the Granada Theater, 7/23/11

29. Preteen Zenith, at the Granada.

So remember how in our last post, we said we headed back to the Gorilla vs. Bear fest, which "should have been" going strong?  It turned out that Tim DeLaughter's new project, the pedophilic-sounding Preteen Zenith, had been setting up behind a curtain for about 25 or 30 minutes by the time we got there.  We scrambled to the balcony and, drinks in hand, waited an additional ten or maybe 15 more minutes before anything actually happened.

By this time the @GranadaTheater tweets, which were being displayed on the screens in real-time, were getting snarkier and more impatient: "There better be a fucking life size space ship on stage when that curtain goes up."  "By the time the curtain goes up they'll be Adult Zenith."  "Is Tim forming yet another band back there?" etc. 

But!  Then!  Suddenly!

A silent movie was projected on the screen!  Tim and some other dude, dressed as extras from "Deadwood" and wearing Old Timey Mustaches, ran around in some greenery.  It was largely incomprehensible, and by "incomprehensible" we mean "not interesting enough to invite the trouble it would take to figure it out."  This artsy short film was too much for our impatient friend T, who left.

Too bad for him, because right after the film ended, it was laser and music time!

White lights! Colored lasers! Red pants!

In a burst of confetti for the photoreceptors, Preteen Zenith stood bathed in white light and smoke and splattered with red and green lasers that careened all across the Granada's walls, ceiling, and audience.  Red and green: festive colors for Christmas, which it was by the time they came out.  Ha!  We kid, of course.

Where can I get one of those laser disco balls?

There was Tim, prancing about in a little green tunic and red pants, like a color-blind Peter Pan, with five other musicians, anonymous (in the sense of being totally obscured by lighting, not in the sense that their names are unknown) behind him. The music was layered, but not the layered high and melodic chorals of Polyphonic Spree.  This was bass-heavy, with droning synths, loud piano, and modulated guitars. The drums of Jason Garner were a standout, forceful and building a solid foundation for the sometimes precarious tower of noise.

It occurred to us that Tim would do very well writing a stage musical. Maybe a big concept musical a la "Tommy."  Perhaps if there were a book to this concert, it would seem less chaotic. 

Indeed, R thought of Preteen Zenith as a natural evolution from where the Spree left off, a sort of combination Tripping Daisy and musical theater. He thought it had more potential than N did, who found it all a bit reliant on the light and sound, missing the fury.  It might have been interesting to see them cut the lights and do something a capella or maybe with just the piano.  Just for a change-up, to showcase the melodies that were hiding in that grandiloquence.

Taking all into account, it was a spectacle... but not spectacular.  Grand musical theater like the Who, but the week-old Preteen Zenith did not show anything close to the songwriting chops that would justify such a visual excess.

After a late start, they began to run long.  Still they played on even as fans began to shout for the next act, White Denim.  Eventually the curtain was dropped in front of them before they could launch into yet another sparkly explosion of instrumentation.  The Granada had spoken: it was White Denim's turn now.

In sum: Fun, but not an amazing debut.  And marred by the fact that Tim DeLaughter over-reached.  The extended wait time, the meaningless film and the refusal to cede the stage was frankly rude to the fans, the venue, and White Denim.  Poor form.

27. Pure X at the Granada, 7/23/11

27. Pure X, at the Granada.

Next up: Pure Y.

Gorilla vs. Bear continued with Austin's Pure X, a quartet who spent their set bathed in red and blue light and some artificially-induced fog.  Drums, guitar, keys, and bass, plus liberal use of modulators all combined to create an ethereal, shoegazing atmosphere.  The crowd was slightly larger than it was during Sunset's set, and stood around in mostly subdued but quite appreciative attention. 

Their trancey, echo-laden set recalled My Bloody Valentine and the broodier proponents of the emo genre.  Slow, low singing with held notes that grew to shouts, mostly lost in the mix of slow bass and drum.  The occasional burst of grinding guitar.  The vocals were echo-laden, backed with high lilting "oooooooh"s.  Clearly the singer was expressing feelings of some sort, feelingly.

It was after-party make-out music for the hip young set, and we mean that in a good way.  Scenesters should appreciate the sly wink of their name and the party connotations.  A dark air conditioned room packed with friends seemed the perfect location to hear them. 

R said, "A girl I knew a while back would have bought their T-shirt."  He thought for a bit, then added, "Come to think of it, I might buy their T-shirt."

Pure X don't play N's genre of choice by any means, but they held his attention by being laid-back and musically interesting.  They didn't force an atmosphere on the venue, as some bands try to do; they just sat and played and let the music create it.  He appreciated what they were doing, even if it wasn't for him.

In sum: Mood-evoking lo-fi indie rock with sombre and earnest (if largely unintelligible) lyrics.  Instruments warped with modulators, vocals echoing.  Drenched in effects. But in a way that worked (Spookeasy could learn a lot from these guys).  People who dig the Cure-influenced ethereal stuff will appreciate Pure X.

26. Sunset at the Granada, 7/23/11

26. Sunset, at the Granada.

So, on Saturday (Day Fifty-Eight) we went to what was possibly Dallas' most hyped summer musical event: Gorilla Vs. Bear Festival.  Of course, it started at six p.m., so we thought it should more accurately be referred to as a "showcase" rather than a "festival" (which word conjures up visions of an all-day, multi-stage event), but what the hell, right?  Tickets were $30.  It was hosted by that local paragon of excellence, the Granada Theater.

We've talked about how much we enjoy this venue before, but it bears repeating.  The first thing that hit us as we walked into the 300-plus-strong crowd was how wonderfully cool it was.  They had installed a much more powerful A/C system, and management was rightly proud of it.  Some patrons were complaining that it was "chilly," but those people had apparently forgotten that it was seven hundred degrees outside and that crowded rooms get hot and stuffy quickly.  We were very appreciative of the temp. As usual the sound was loud, clear, and well-balanced; the staff, from the door guys to the bartenders, were uniformly friendly even as the lines started to form; and the food was good and cheap.  Lots of bar options, lots of bar staff.  People who like to host music fests: this is how to do it right.

So yeah, Sunset.  The band.  Originally from Austin, apparently, a trio of young fellows with two male vocals.  Loud power pop mixed with garage indie rock.  At least one of them seemed to be at home playing more than one instrument: they started with guitar, drum, and keyboard, but there were a few songs where the keys were ditched for bass, and someone also played the organ.

Next on the bill: Twilight.

A brief but energetic set included some very interesting noises: guitar shrieking, bass roaring, a drone suddenly punctuated by a rhythmic drumbeat.  The music was raucous, but like smooth jazz, there was a subtle and intriguing interplay between instruments that showed serious craft behind the rock.

All three of the guys were energetic and clearly were enjoying their time onstage.  R loved the drummer, commenting that he reminded him of Animal from The Muppets.
The band finished its last song and called out rather cryptically, "We used to be called Sunset!"

In sum: Crunchy and sloppy-sounding indie rock, but made by thoughtful, talented youths.  Music for the kids, driving around in mom's car on a hot night, drinking dad's beer, wishing they had a girl but not really minding because the music flows through their veins like a confidence drug.  We dug it.  As R tweeted, if they used to be called Sunset, we used to like a band called Sunset.

12. Slobberbone at the Granada, 6/18/11

12. Slobberbone, at the Granada.

These are men of note.

Day Twenty-Three. Back to the Granada for local heroes Slobberbone.  It was a decent-sized crowd, but the venue was not as full as it should have been.  Tickets were $15.

Slobberbone is a four-piece country-rock band: two guitars, drums, bass, and the occasional banjo.  It ought to be noted upfront that we know the Slobberbone guys, we love Slobberbone, and while we do try to be impartial, this is not the place you're going to read anything bad about Slobberbone.

They brought it hard and fast early on.  It was loud Texas rawk.  Actually, ear-splittingly loud rawk.  Our friend C characterized it as "uncomfortably loud."  In fact, it was so very loud that even though the Granada has a superb sound system, at times it was fuzzy and muddled.  Still, it was great to see them up on a big stage with the sound as powerful as they wanted.

Okay, we covered loud, but did we mention talented?  Jess Barr might be best guitarist in Texas.  But damn if singer and Robbie Fulks soundalike Brent Best isn't pretty good at the ole guitar too.  And superb bass picking/thumping from Brian Lane, he of the big white cowboy hat.

Three songs in, and it remained an unending sonic assault.  Great story songs in Neil Young fashion followed by what should be rock radio hits. We were both familiar with the band's material, as we noted, but they seemed to be even better this night than we remembered.  There's just no reason they shouldn't be huge.  Except, oh wait, that porn-star name.  Our friend C illustrated this possibility when, despite absolutely loving the show, he would not buy a T-shirt with the word "Slobberbone" on it.

Crowd favorite "Gimme Back My Dog" was introduced by Brent as "not really about a dog." Brian broke into the song with a deadpan, "Oh, give him back his dog," which got a laugh.  We were treated to an explosive "Dunk You in the River," and the funny, bouncy "Engine Joe," which the crowd sang along to with drunken gusto.  The terrific, maudlin/silly "Lazy Guy" was introduced with, "I wrote this song about myself."

The songs continued, and the pace did not let up.  After a blistering "Can't Stay Sober" --- during which there were intros, solos all around, some showing off (Brian played the bass behind his back and over his head), and a bit of stage banter --- the guys withdrew.  The crowd demanded an encore, and they returned to play Neil Young's "Cinnamon Girl," ending with a five-minute feedback solo, with guitar and bass on the floor, reverb echoing, foot pedals working, whale noises squawking along with the deep fuzzy rumble of the bass... Just like Neil would have loved it.

In sum: There was not a single moment when they were anything less than fucking solid.  They didn't do a lot of talking, preferring to let their instruments make their point; but when they did speak they were funny and personable. One disappointing note: there were no CDs at the merch table! Why not, fellows?

We saw the guys a couple of hours later at the Barley House.  They were still sweaty.  Now that's rawk.

5. Peter, Bjorn & John at the Granada, 6/2/11

5. Peter, Bjorn & John at the Granada.
 

Oh boy, Slobberbone's coming!

Tickets were $24 at the door.  It wasn't a sold-out crowd but both levels were pretty full.  The crowd was more or less evenly mixed gender-wise.  As usual, the Granada as a venue delivered the goods: great sound, flashy but not distracting lighting, plentiful bar service, etc.  It's almost unfair to compare a show at the Granada with a show at some other venues, because you're going to get bands at their best at the Granada.  And you won't be grumbling about the line at the bar, either.

Anyway.  Peter, Bjorn & John.  They started around 9:20.

Not pictured: infectious hooks, youthful energy.

Neither one of us was familiar with this band when we walked in.  But the Swedish power trio is apparently Big With the Kids --- they wowed a Dallas crowd at the Grenada last night, and it seems they were pleased in turn at the enthusiastic welcome they received.

Despite not knowing the band's music, we were immediately on board.  This was a show with lots of jumping about, infectious shouts of "whoaa-oh!" and the expected call-backs, the drummer twirling sticks over his head, frenetic step-dancing, leaps and stage slides and almost-splits, Pete Townshend-style windmilling. These guys are showmen.

And it's plain that they work hard to put a show together. All three are highly accomplished musicians who work well together, delivering an energetic show that never flagged.

What to call their sound?  Arena pop, maybe --- loud and crunchy.  They're somewhat evocative of the bands that blur the lines of genre and experiment with sound: Flaming Lips, Devo, Sufjan Stevens. But they also recall some of the peppier Brit-pop or even pop-punk: think Housemartins or Buzzcocks.

Want another viewpoint?  Granada owner Mike Schoder said they pleasantly surprised him by being more rock, Clash-like.  This isn't readily apparent, perhaps, but if you think about how the Clash branched out into other genres (most notably in Sandinista!), the comparison is intriguing. 

Sometimes the songs were stoney and sluggish, like a jam band.  Then there'd suddenly be a surf guitar.  Then a guitar would be making whale sounds.  Then we'd all be swaying to a ballad.  Oh, and there was some harmonica, too.

The crowd was loud and zealous, cheering when favorite songs were announced. We could see many people singing along to every word.  In the brief quiet moments between songs, the crowd clapped and stomped rhythmically, chanting "PB&J!" over and over --- not, as one might assume from the smell of doobie permeating the place, because they had the munchies and wanted a sandwich. No, they were chanting the initials of the band, of course.  Shame on you for even thinking that other thing.

No, it was a very nice, appreciative crowd.  Mostly young.  The pit was full of insanely attractive young people wearing very little.

A girl climbed to the stage and danced for a good thirty seconds before being led gently away by a crew member.  It was kind of a shame.  She wasn't a bad dancer.

We felt bad that we were, as our friend T noted, blogging instead of rocking.  This was the kind of show that hits the body more than the brain.

Apparently, they promised to play their hit naked if the Mavs won, but though the win came through, no naked playing came about.

Suddenly, R realized that he was, in fact, familiar with at least one of their songs: "Objects of My Affection."  It was still all new to N, who is more obdurately ignorant of the New Stuff These Days.

At the second encore, the group had a wardrobe change.  Not sure why.  They proclaimed, "We have only a box of CDs, no other merchandise, but we're happy to sign whatever you've got."  Nice people, these Swedes.

In sum:  PB&J are fun, loud, eminently danceable. They're full of energy and talented.  They work hard to put on a show for the kids, and come off as having fun themselves while they're doing it.  We'd see them again any time... but we didn't buy any albums.

Oh, and we figured a lot of dudes were going to be getting lucky afterwards.  So there's that.