Report from Day One of the Seven Days of Rock: Ben Folds

As I may have told you, or perhaps not, last night was the kickoff of quite a momentous week. For each night of this week, there's a show deserving of my attendance. So deserving, in fact, that I've had a hard time determining which to attend and which to skip, so I think I'll attend them all. In fact, Friday's show-- so distant from this moment, being show #7-- is a three-way toss-up between Sigur Ros, David Byrne and Ocean Color Scene. It's the kind of quandary that makes a person like myself draw up lists of pros and cons for each option so as to mathematically determine which is the correct choice. Just to keep the suspense level palpable, I'll let you wait until I get there to know which one I choose.

I think I know why so many great shows are going on in Boston this week-- CMJ. All the hip young kids play the big NY music festival, and hey, while we're in the area, might as well hit the circuit. With the events of Tuesday, though, CMJ has been cancelled (their word for it is 'postponed') and all these hip young kids are ships with rudders, or perhaps motherless children or another inappropriate metaphor. What's the point of a big east coast tour, after all, if you can't play NY? Stick that one towards the bottom of the 'repercussions from 9/11' pile.

So last night was Ben Folds. Love the new album (silly, sentimental pop at its finest-- buy it if you haven't already.) The concert was great, as expected. First of all, he's hilarious. Highlights include a song called "Make Me, Mommy", probably the best dead-on early-80s parody I've heard; and a song about a karaoke-obsessed Japanese businessman having an affair with his secretary, who then runs off with Jesus' drum programmer. Second, he's incredibly energetic. He took the hard-rock pose to the nth degree, backwards cap and all. It was a nice mix of entertaining the audience and simultaneously mocking us and everything we stand for.

Anyway, Catherine and I enjoyed it much. Despite the girl behind us, whose ear-piercing shrieks and off-key warbles will not be soon forgotten.

Tonight is Pedro the Lion. Rock fever-- catch it!!!

Report from Day Two of the Seven Days of Rock: I'm lame

OK, so last night I was supposed to go see Pedro the Lion. But I didn't. Why? Oh, I don't know. Maybe I just don't know their music well enough to feel bad about it. Maybe it's the fact that with several more shows this week that I absolutely can't miss, this particular one just seemed… dispensable. Sorry, Pedro. One day, I will see you-- and that's a promise.

In the meanwhile, this raises the interesting question of whether I can continue to call it the Seven Days of Rock. Do I postpone the start until tonight and call it the Five Days of Rock? Do I call it the Six-Out-of-Seven Days of Rock? Do I think about this too much?

Tonight, the 7 days WILL continue with the Push Kings and friends.

Report from Day Three of the Seven Days of Rock: Push Kings

I'm back in the game, the game of rock. No more pauses, interruptions or delays in my mission to complete the week. I even brought a book to TT's with me, to ensure that I wouldn't get bored before/between sets. Of course, I realized about halfway through the evening just how lame it is to walk around a rock club with a 900-page book in hand, so I stashed it in the coat check. Wouldn't want the ladies to think I'm lame. (Sorry, Catherine!)

The Push Kings were excellent as usual last night-- despite a growing reliance on '70s crotch-rock stylings, I like their new CD a bunch. Three of the members of Papas Fritas were there (my high school buddy C. from the Push Kings introduced me to Tony from Papas Fritas, which struck me as very strange at the time.)

There were two interesting openers, both Kindercore bands (they're an Athens-based label with some crossover to the Elephant 6 lineup.) The Four Corners were instrumentally terrific, with a garage-y sound seriously marred by a singer of zero presence whatsoever. The Sunshine Fix, perhaps the highlight of the evening, is Bill Doss (ex-Olivia Tremor Control)'s new band, which almost lived up to OTC's deranged pop psychedelia.

And if you ever doubted that being an indie rocker is not as glamorous as it seems-- C.'s day job is tutoring middle schoolers, which allows him to just about cover his rent. This from a guy three years out of Harvard. Makes me feel a little bit better about selling my soul to the Man. But only a little bit.

Report from Day Four of the Seven Days of Rock: Apples in Stereo

I'm tired. But I'm starting to come to terms with rockin' out every night-- I see how some people, especially those who live near Central Square, could make a lifestyle of this. I've also noticed that the knowledge of a plethora of impending shows lessens the reliance on squeezing every last bit of pleasure out of any one show. To wit: I've left the last two night's shows early, satisfied in the knowledge that I came, I saw, I conquered, and I felt no need to hear it all. Granted, I probably missed some wild times and inappropriate covers (which are always more likely to come during encores), but I knew there would be more rock to come tomorrow, and for several more days hence, and so left satisfied. I intend to try my best to continue to rock.

So, the Apples. As the first song started, I remembered what you had told me, Greg, about how sloppy they were live, and instantly disagreed-- they were tight and sounded great. Then the vocals kicked in, and I instantly reassessed my opinion-- you were totally right about how sloppy they are. I guess they hadn't had the time to soundcheck, and the mix was way off-- could barely hear the vocals and the drums were super-loud. Of course, despite problems, they rocked. Interesting different arrangements of some songs, more guitar, less vocal reliance. Robert Schneider is one weird dude.

Speaking of Schneider-- he was filming the openers (The Clean) with a handheld video camera, and for a while he was right behind me. My head is definitely in Robert Schneider's home video.

And speaking of The Clean, they rocked my socks off. They're apparently a seminal mid-90's indie band from New Zealand. Very VU (in that early eighties Paisley Underground VU-revival kind of way), with some early REM-ish jangle thrown in. Excellent.

Tonight-- Built to Spill. Let the rock continue!

Report from Day Five of the Seven Days of Rock: Built to Spill

Do you think its a coincidence that for three nights in a row, I've seen bands led by men with big bushy beards? Yeah, so do I.

Damn, was Built to Spill great. They played few songs that I recognized, but it didn't really matter-- they were incredibly tight, despite the complexity of the songs, and had tremendous energy. Impressive. And I've said before that the Paradise is the best place in Boston to see a show, but I feel I must reiterate. After the Avalon, TT's and the Middle East, going to a club with real acoustics and a reasonable view of the stage was a pleasure. Fire code violations be damned.

Oh, and I think yesterday I mentioned the indie cliche of the inappropriate cover. Well, how about George Harrison's 'What is Life' (complete with a roadie playing trumpet?) Or Cheap Trick's 'Dream Police'? (I could only think of Apu's version.) Or, yes, 'Freebird'? Isn't THAT ironic, Alanis?

I was also shocked at the devotion (obession?) shown by Built to Spill fans. People around me at various points were discussing ephemera such as what songs Brett played keyboard on this night versus last night, or how long its been since they played that song live. Its the kind of compulsive behavior I fully expect of myself (and would partake in, were I more versed in BTS-ology), but I'm always surprised to see it in others. Especially if they look like reasonably well-adjusted people.

One more note. I go to a lot of shows by myself, but its strange to do it so consistently over the course of a few nights. Indie crowds are usually more respectful of the artist than mainstream crowds, so there isn't the pressure to make the show a social event. But at the slow moments-- guitar-tuning, say-- it sure would be nice to have someone to talk to, sniff sniff. Ah well... there's always the bar. Cue tiny violin.

Tonight-- night 6-- Canadian singer-songwriters as part of the unfortunately-named 'Blame Canada' tour. Should be a blast.

Report from Day Six of the Seven Days of Rock: Blame Canada

Have you received that email forward supposedly written by a Canadian newspaper editor? It expounds on how great America is (in the light of recent tragedy), and how the world should step up to help us because of all the compassion we've shown for others in the past. I've gotten it now from about half a dozen dutiful email chain followers, and it only serves to remind me of all the hilarious (and mostly true) gross generalizations we make about our somewhat slower sister to the north. Canadians like to mock our image of them, while simultaneously living up to it.

Luckily, they make some damn good music up there, sometimes. Their alt-folk community, especially, seems to spit out talented folks every once in a while, who then have the good sense to move to the US and descend into utter obscurity. Maybe its the accent.

Last night at the Kendall Cafe provided a perfect example of all the above. The 'Blame Canada' tour (apparently re-christened as the more politically-sensitive 'Made in Canada' tour) was far and away the most intimate of all the week's concerts. Audience = 18. And they joked that it was the only audience they had received (this being the last night of the tour.) Its a shame, because these are some talented folks, emphasis on the 'folk'. All four (you probably haven't heard of them, with the possible exception of Dan Bryk) were on stage the whole time, trading off solo-acoustic songs on various depressing topics such as child molestation and why men are Evil. After listening to Bush's speech, Catherine and I had hoped for something a bit more upbeat, but this was not to be. At least the banter was funny, and one can't help but smile whenever they say a word with an -ou sound in it.

One image that this evening shattered for me is that of the happy-go-lucky Canuck, tramping through the snow, few cares in the world. These Canucks had ISSUES, and I'll leave it at that.

One question this evening made me ponder is, where do these bands stay when they come to Boston? I mean, I'm sure Ben Folds had a hotel. But what about the Push Kings-- do they stay with Harvard friends? Together, or separate? I should have asked. And these Canadians, with approximately 4 audience members apiece-- is there a hostel waiting for them? Did they head north after the show, taking turns driving while the others slept? Or if they're staying with friends, why didn't these friends come to the show?

And if their friends DID come to the show, were Catherine and I the only people there who didn't know the Canadians personally? A lot of questions, I know, but Rock makes me curious.

Tonight is the final night-- up-and-coming Icelandic indie-mopers Sigur Ros (with an accent that I can't replicate on email.)

Report from Day Seven of the Seven Days of Rock: Sigur Ros

It was during the fourth song, I think, that Sigur Ros executed a particularly vivid and unexpected dynamic shift that caused most of the audience to gasp (despite ourselves) and made me instantly think, "this might just be the best show I've ever seen." In hindsight, it wasn't (I couldn't possibly name just one, but Elvis Costello at the Orpheum springs to mind-- Greg, agree or disagree?) though it was definitely up there in the top 5.

Sigur Ros is an Icelandic band, but they have more in common with Radiohead than Iceland's most famous singing resident. They're very, very quiet-- this is the type of show that would have put me to sleep if they weren't so goddamn astounding. Its a testament to their skillz that the crowd-- the same crowd whose back-of-the-club conversations have overwhelmed Middle East performers like Cat Power and Robyn Hitchcock-- was pindrop-quiet and edge-of-the-seat intense during the entire 2-hour show.

Indie shows are always prime for bizarre people-watching. Waiting outside the Berklee Performance Center for my friend Aldis, I watched as a guy went red-in-the-face ballistic at some girl who said she thought the band Fantomas sucked. He respected the fact that she didn't want to listen to them, but apparently the word 'suck' made some sort of value statement about their talent relative to other bands, and he just wasn't having it. At the other edge of the crowd, a passing drunk tried to convince an indie ticket-seller that he was a plain-clothes cop, and that he was going to arrest the guy for scalping. Maybe it was the way the 'cop' couldn't stand up straight, or the fact that his friend was standing 10 feet away snickering, but nobody was convinced.

I ran into an old friend outside the concert afterwards. Stephanie happens to be someone I met at a summer program ('The World Scholar-Athlete Games') where I spent 10 days in 1993. We stayed in touch by mail for maybe six months, then I forgot about her existence entirely for 8 years. And then she spotted me out of a crowd of 20,000 people at Radiohead, and there she was again at Sigur Ros. The weirdest part is that I told her about my seven days of rock, and she successfully guessed all of them except the Canadians. More proof-- not that it was needed-- that the indie world is a small world after all.

I'm going to refrain from using my seven days of rock to draw too many more broad conclusions about the Boston scene, or the state of rock in general. But a good time was had by all (or, at least, by me) and I relish the chance to do it again sometime. Once I've slept for about a week straight, that is.

Shit-- I've got Weezer on Tuesday. I suppose sleep can wait.