21. Three Dollar Crunch at the Barley House, 7/15/11

21. Three Dollar Crunch, at the Barley House.

What is hip?  Those shorts.

And so to wrap up the evening as it began, we watched the rest of Three Dollar Crunch's set at the Barley House.  It was free and there were anywhere from 25 to 40 people there paying attention to the band over the course of the night.

This band is a funkified blues jam band from Fort Worth, consisting of either five or six players that night (one person seemed to have left the stage partway through.)  Tonight, it was keyboard, drums, guitar, bass, sax, and trumpet.

You got to funkifize.  In a line.

Decked out in shorts and frat-boy-approved footwear, Three Dollar Crunch provided the Barley with a good three hours of granola funk and blue-eyed swamp blues.  While the jam band experience is not our thing, N was appreciative of the energy they put into their show.  R liked it as well, but thought he might have appreciated it even more when he was back in high school, in the spring of life when young men's tastes run toward laid-back party jams that impress the babes.

All of the lads in Three Dollar Crunch play very well (and some of them play several instruments with equal skill).  We were astonished in turn by the lead guitarist, keyboardist, and drummer, though the entire band interacted seamlessly.  They presented themselves as an assured, well-oiled msuical machine.  In comparison with their playing, we weren't as impressed with the vocals, which strained to reach the world-weary, whiskey-drenched growl of the greats who make up the roots of funk and blues, and were largely imitative.  Of course most of that can be chalked up to the youth of the guys in the band.

The music veered from Tower Of Power-like funk to ZZ Top-style texas blues, even veering into keyboard-driven pop-jazz that was reminiscent of Traffic.  The crowd was appreciative; we saw some serious drunk white boy chicken dancing, that kind of loose-limbed arm-flapping shuffle that is the highest of praises an inebriated college lad can give his musical hero.

When they finished up, we started the crowd yelling, 'Play one more!"  They seemed reluctant, but then the keyboardist said they would, if we all yelled "Fuck."  So we all gave loud voice to the profanity, and true to their word, the band treated us to a grinding cover of "Jesus Just Left Chicago," lasting over 15 minutes.

In sum: This was the most entertaining band of the evening.  If we were going to hire one of the three bands from tonight to play at a party, Three Dollar Crunch would be the one.  The energy was high, the musicianship was exceptional, and the guys looked like they were having a great time.  Would we rush out to buy their CD, if they had one out?  No, but they are a terrific bar band with a funky punch.

20. Johnny Tone & Club Wood at The Arcade Bar, 7/15/11

20. Johnny Tone & Club Wood, at the Arcade Bar.

L to R: Club Wood, 9 Iron, Wedge, Putter.

So!  After Le Cure wowed us with a Plainsong, we saw the Last Dance, went down Fascination Street, and were Gone!  (A few sly Cure references for you dancing goth girls back at LBG.  You know who you are.  Call me.)

We meandered over to The Arcade Bar, where there was no cover and Dixie-jazzy-blues band Club Wood was playing.  Actually, according to the whiteboard near the door, they were billed as "Johnny Tone & Club Wood," naming the guitarist and singer (and, one assumes, driving force) of the band.  But the group itself is named after the drummer, Mike Wood.  And that just about exhausts that subject.

We haven't blogged about The Arcade Bar before, so here are some impressions.  First, we had to literally walk right through the band to enter the place.  (That's the entrance, behind the saxophonist, in the photo above.)  It's a small place and there's no other place to play, but it seemed a little bit disrespectful somehow.

Second, there was a mild but distinct odor of pee in the place.   Oddly, this odor was not to be found in the shiny-clean bathroom.

Third, there was free popcorn for all, and the bartender gave us some bar mix on request.  That's a plus, right?  Probably it was clean.

As for the music: there were less than thirty people in attendance.  Most of the people watching were in the back nine age-wise, but there were several young faces as well.

Club Wood is one of those unclassifiable acts in terms of genre.  They were playing smooth jazz with a definite Dixieland, New Orleans tinge while we were there; but they gave constant hints that they might be equally at home in several other genres.  There were hints of pop and blues in every song, and at one point they played an Amy Winehouse cover, transformed into a jazzy, slow torch number.  It wasn't even "neo-swing," which evokes more raucous acts like The Squirrel Nut Zippers, which Club wood sounded nothing like; mostly what they came off as, really, was a jazz band steeped in blues and AOR.

With their Mad Hatter hats and fun, hipster stage presence (at one point Tone playfully admonished the audience, "That song is over, so you should clap.  That's how it works.  We work, you applaud"), they seemed fit for bigger venues, where they might really unleash the genre-spanning energy that seemed to be wanting to get out as they sat and played New Orleans jazz repertoire.  They would do well among a younger crowd, especially if they grew ironic mustaches.

In sum: They are clearly very talented musicians.  We enjoyed their jazzy riffs and the knowing, winking connection Tone forged with his sparse audience.  We were not as entertained when they slowed things down and played more romantic material.  To us, the reason you see a throwback band like this is the same reason you see a cover band, or listen to the radio: to be energized, and surprised, by the familiar.  "Oh, they played that song!  I love that one!" or "That's a fresh spin on an old sound!"  Bands like this are musical parties, there primarily to galvanize rather than evoke mood.  The slow soft stuff tends to be appealing only to the die-hard fan of the act or genre in question.  Of course, your mileage may vary.

19. Le Cure, Lakewood Bar & Grill, 7/15/11

19. Le Cure, at Lakewood Bar & Grill.

It is Day Fifty.  Like Hank Hill's posterior, this project is a little behind.  But we remain sanguine that we will finish in triumph.

We'll just say this up front: this was an evening of watching bands that were talented but not exactly our cup of tea.  So read the corresponding, brief, reviews with the caveat: they're great if you like that sort of thing.

The first band was Le Cure, a Cure cover band, at Lakewood Bar & Grill.  The cover was seven dollars, and that included a free bar's worth of fog from the fog machine.  About seventy-five people were there, and LBG isn't huge; it was a fairly crowded scene.  The atmosphere was mostly laid-back and happy, the ages skewed to the middle and up, and only a few goth-type costumes in sight.

Jumping someone else's train.

The band dresses the part; at least singer Mark Hernandez does, makeup and scraggly black hair in his face and sounding very much like Robert Smith.  The band is skilled; they sounded pretty much like we expected the Cure to sound.  Maybe they're even better than the original at this point.  Since neither of us has seen the Cure in concert, we're only going by the studio recordings, but to us they seemed to nail it.

The crowd was appreciative, responding to the more energetic numbers well; when Le Cure launched into the hit "Pictures Of You," the area in front of the stage instantly filled up with exuberant, gleeful dancers.  (At this point we noticed that a certain type of woman will dance to a Cure cover band shamelessly, if not entirely appealingly.) 

In sum: Le Cure is a fun night out.  The vocals are spot on, the band quite talented.  They use lights and fog to create a certain atmosphere that is undoubtedly appropriate for their audience.  The trouble is that neither R nor N are a part of that natural audience.  When Le Cure played songs we knew, we enjoyed ourselves quite a bit; but they play a lot of material that is not familiar to anyone who is not a solid Cure fan.  We watched only the first half of their show; perhaps they loaded the second set with songs more recognizable to the casual listener.  In any case, Le Cure seems to know exactly how to play to their audience of fans, so more power to them.

18. Zach Balch at Club Dada, 7/7/11

18. Zach Balch, at Dada.

Smooth vocals, background-ready melodies.

The last act in our count on day Forty-Two was Americana alt-country singer from Denton Zach Balch, with his band (keyboards, bass, drum).  

The vocals were very pleasant, earnest, and clear; the players are solid and capable.  They had a decent Wilco-as-bar-band vibe going.

There was little to no energy or infectious stage presence.  Zach seemed to be proficient enough in the songwriting department but, his work not being familiar to us, it did not immediately catch our attention. Perhaps if we were to hear these songs repeatedly on the radio we would like them well enough.

Friend T, there to see Tiger Darrow, offered his opinion: "It's a bit Counting Crows."  We agreed; but a blander Counting Crows, or perhaps a tired Train.

About four songs into the set, Zach did a few new songs with only the keyboards to accompany his voice and guitar.  It did not make it more interesting, and the lyrics, more discernible at that point, were cliched.   Friend T made an analogy to literature: there needs to be conflict in order to keep the reader interested.  In Zach's songs, we heard no edge, no problem to be solved, no drama.

In sum: Zach Brach is not bad at what he does.  His band is competent and he has a great voice; did we mention that?  But we weren't interested in the songs, there was no energy, it was uninspiring, and we didn't want to keep listening.   Sorry, but in the competition for least impressive Zach of this project, we have a new front runner.

***

Later on we caught the last few songs on an O's set at the Common Table. we caught some of O's show. We've already reviewed them, so they don't count toward out Official Band Count, but perhaps we haven't yet fully expressed our admiration for the band, and that needs to be redressed.  R made the comment in our tweet feed, worth repeating, that "the O's play more instruments with their feet better than you with your hands, mouth, and any other parts you care to name combined."  N noted that the difference between the show we'd just seen and this one was instantly clear: two guys in a small room with acoustic instruments created more energy, joy, emotion in one song than that entire four piece band did in their whole set.  Their cover of Roger Miller's "Dang Me" was a treat, and they also paid homage to Sorta with a cover.

17. Tiger Darrow at Club Dada, 7/7/11

17. Tiger Darrow, at Club Dada.

Okay, so last post could be fairly boiled down to "Hey, you kids, get off of my lawn and stop listening to that techno hippity hop, it's just noise, this country's going to hell and why do kids wear their pants so low?"  This time around, we turn a much more appreciative, less crotchety eye toward the younger generation.  This show was the opposite of the Glitch Mob, thankfully.

Tiger Darrow, a neo-folky singer-songwriter, took the stage at Dada armed only with an acoustic guitar (and sometimes a cello), plus the bazooka in her talent arsenal: her beautiful, powerful-beyond-her-years voice.  She was joined by her uncle Allan Hayslip, of Bonedome, who provided sturdy, jazzy basslines that fit the material well.  And he looked like he was having fun.

There was a five dollar cover.  About fifteen people were in attendance. The sound was fantastic once again, thanks to sound wiz Chris Carmichael.

One of these people is not a grumpy old man.

Tiger, who graduated high school this year and is young enough to have recorded a song in which she looks back fondly on being ten years old, has a grown-up voice.  She sings like Regina Spektor, or a wordier, less morose Sarah Jaffe.  She hit the high notes with ethereal purity, but also showed plenty of lung power for the heartfelt, accusatory lines of her personal lyrics. The multisyllable-jam-packed lyrics of her tales of love lost, found, remembered, and resented came rapidly and easily off her tongue, sounding like Norah Jones on speed.  And then she'd slow it down, bringing that beautiful Spektor-esque croon into a sad ballad.

She showed a playful, fun stage presence, chatting to the audience about whatever pops into her head, introducing one song, for example, with:

"I have two albums for sale over there and this song is off of one of them and it has a video --- faaancy! --- except not really, ha ha, because I made it myself, it's stop motion animation, you can see it on YouTube, okay, here's the song."

Much like her lyrics, rapidly and all in one breath. Yes, it could have been off-putting and made her seem ditzy, but her honest, unassuming delivery just made her seem friendly and, well, young and earnest.

Cello, how are you?

Later in the set, Tiger broke out the skinny electric cello that was propped in the corner, and played a very admirable cover of "These Boots Are Made for Walking" (though she's just a bit too young to really pull off the sultry-corny aspect of it) and her own "Machines," which sounded like it could have come from Kate Bush's early material.

Tiger's stage presence kind of reminded R of a young Rhett Miller, back when we'd see him developing his craft down in Deep Ellum when we were in high school, 24 years ago. Damn we're old, but dammit, we're old hipsters.  Important distinction!

A final note in the "talented-beyond-her-years" trope: on Tiger's second CD, she plays cello, bass, guitar, keyboards, mandolin, violin, ukelele, and tambourine, and did the producing and mixing herself.  Not too shabby for one of the Kids These Days.

In sum: The talent and energy coming from the stage was so palpable that from the first song we knew Tiger Darrow was someone to watch.  We each bought a CD after the show, and we both got our CD signed.  There's no question that Tiger is amazingly talented: with her personal lyrics, knockout voice, and her friendly, welcoming stage presence, if she keeps this up, there's no reason she shouldn't be huge.

16. The Glitch Mob at Trees, 7/6/11

16. The Glitch Mob, at Trees.

So then we went to Trees, which is known for the metal shows and is Big with the Kids.  We knew we were going to see an electronic act, which was not our usual inclination.  Other that that, we knew nothing about the band.

Packed like sardines and loving it.

When we got to the door, we were informed that they were only letting in people who had tickets already, no buying at the door. "Oh well," we said, and prepared to walk on down the street. "All right, you can come in," the door guys said, clearly terrified at losing the crucial forty-and-over cynical demographic.

The cover was twenty dollars.  There were about 500 people in paid attendance, with more allowed to trickle in as the night wore on and some others left.

There was a strong smell of weed in the air, some young girls wearing very little, some Bros and Guidos dancing spasmodically, and the crowd cheered even between the songs on the loudspeaker, the music that was playing before the show started.  We were easily the oldest people there not making tips.

We caught a few minutes of the tail-end of the previous show, a DJ making blips and bloops with a Macbook, and he was very enthusiastically received as well.

R reported being unimpressed with the "renovation" aesthetically, though the sound system is terrific.  The bar is in a very awkward position at the back, and smoking was allowed only at a small porch on the opposite side of the main entrance (and how come people are smoking weed inside but if someone lights a cigarette they're pounced upon by Staff?).

The young, excited audience was quite avid for the show to start.  R remarked that he had never seen so many people film a closed curtain.

Not pictured: solid wave of noise, weed.

Then it began.  "We are Glitch Mob."  It hit hard immediately, heavy on the bass.  Stage-to-ceiling light tubes like Daft Punk meets Kanye.  Constant undertone of fuzznoise, plus the ubiquitous Byoo! Byoo! pulse that is the trademark of the genre.  Some samples of rapping voices.  But above it all, that bass that hits in the chest and brain, making the whole body vibrate as if standing on an enormous subwoofer.

R, who seemed to get all the best lines this night, said that for the same effect, he could have bought X and listened to a Daft Punk CD while flicking his lights on and off.

He was wrong, of course.  He would have had to turn his air conditioner off and invite a few dozen frat houses to join him to get the full effect.

But anyway.  The Glitch Mob were onstage.  As far as we could tell there were three of them, wearing skinny white ties and black shirts, parked in front of futuristic music-playing consoles and one real drum set.  It harkened back to a time when we were high school age, going to clubs like this one, trying to pretend to "get it" to impress a girl while the bass pounded out a beat in time to the horniness of the young, and the volume drove any other thoughts out of their heads so they didn't have to wonder what they were doing there.

R again: "Turn it up! I can still hear myself think that this is not that good!"

Look, it's clear that we are not the audience for this music.  To us it was like one one of those '70s dystopian future movies come alive, the kids moving in rhythm entranced by nothing, but meaning it, feeling it, soulless and hollow and appreciated all the more so because of it.  Just drink, grind, move, and yell, and it's all okay because look, there's some flickering neon!

Here's what we wondered: does the band actually do anything?  Musically, that is?  Is anything here happening, or is it all meticulously pre-programmed?  In a sense, of course, that matters not a bit.  This is a show, whether in the sense of a spectacle in which performers create art and feed off the reaction of the audience, or in the sense of a television show, art that is fed to you as a set piece.

We could see knobs being tweaked, but too hard to tell if they corresponded to any sounds that we heard.  For that matter, we would be hard pressed to say whether the drummer was actually creating the percussion noises that were being blasted into the audience.  Was it live?  Was it mime?  Did it matter?  It was loud and layered and rhythm peeked out of the chaos every once in a while.  It was highly energetic, but controlled.

They were very good at creating that atmosphere.  But is that a compliment?

In sum:  R, again hitting the nail on the head, compared them to Fox News: highly recommended for those who like that sort of thing.  This band is what you go see if you are fixated on loud bass-rich dance music and don't want to be dissuaded from that.  They will give you a bright shiny loud spectacle and you can go home having not once considered anything but the spectacle.  Music in other genres --- Slobberbone, Peter Bjorn and John, the O's --- will attempt to affect you.  You can be energized by the music, laugh at the funny songs, empathize with the poignant songs of failed romance, and be surprised at a new line or a new interpretation of an old song.  Glitch Mob doesn't want to surprise anyone.  There's a set program and they're giving it to you.

Loud.

***

Later we had to relax in the cool, quiet, friendly, wood-paneled, adult Anvil Pub.  Best part of the evening, frankly.

15. Mom And Dad at the Barley House, 7/6/11

15. Mom and Dad, at the Barley House.

Mom And Dad: shoes, end of songs optional.

Day Forty-One.  Yes, we're falling behind, but our spirits have not flagged.

So, we happened to be at the Barley House, and lo and behold our fifteenth show was delivered unto us --- a lounge duo called Mom And Dad.  No, seriously, that's what they're called.  No, that's not creepy at all.  Apparently they play the Inwood Lounge with some frequency.

There was no cover.  About sixteen to twenty people were present, though only about twelve or so seemed to be actually giving any attention to the music.

So M&D --- Marc Rebillet on the world's biggest keyboard, the shapely-legged Rachel Zebrosky on vox --- played covers during two sets.

We heard loungified versions of "Space Oddity" and a soulful, slow "Brick in the Wall" first.  Rachel has a great voice, and while their laid-back, languid readings of the classic weren't something we would normally seek out, they weren't an offense to our delicate ears, either.

"My Sweet Lord" was next, ultra-slow and cut off abruptly by Rachel, dismissing it (rightly, alas) as "boring."  Then M&D switched gears with an attempt at the newer song "Fuck You," but that too was stopped after just a few lines, as Rachel (who apparently looked up the lyrics on her smartphone as she sang it) said, "That's all I know."

The Bee Gees, requested by R, fared much better in the pair's hands, with some nice falsetto harmonies on "Staying Alive."  Despite reaching an almost interesting level of energy with that number, it too was stopped abruptly, as Rachel snapped, "Next song."

"Take the Money and Run" worked very well as a lounge song; it made us want to have cocktails and talk to Hip People in John Lennon Glasses.  "Billie Jean," "I Put a Spell On You," and "Spoonful," less interesting choices all, came next.  Then suddenly they left the stage, without a word.  Apparently the cluster of friends who had come to see them were leaving, so M&D walked off stage to follow them out.

In sum: The musical chops are there.  Keyboard is decent and Rachel's voice is good.  She can't hit the high notes but plays to her vocal strengths.  The problem is an almost total lack of showmanship; this is very clearly two friends taking the stage for temporary kicks, not practicing a craft.  The constant song stopping goes a long way to turning off the potential listener, who isn't there to hear the music but might otherwise be drawn in.  And the two are both hidden, almost, Marc by his enormous keyboard, his songbook propped up in front of his face, and Rachel almost always sitting behind a music stand.

The thing is, the two of them were so desultory and flighty the whole evening that R came away saying he enjoyed it, because he was convinced that the entire thing was an ironic put-on, from the giant keyboard to the aborted songs to the flight from the stage.  N, and our friend A, did not agree, and tried to argue that, in fact, what we saw was actually what was being offered: a couple of young dilettante Theater People having fun fooling around, basically entertaining themselves and their friends.  R said, "well, if that's true, it's not very good at all!"