Shut Up and Play

Numbers are a very descriptive way of telling a story. Sometimes the story doesn’t have a moral. Having said that, let’s tell a tale – whose moral is to be determined by the time I finish this blog.

My Tuesday and Wednesday nights from this past week had me bear witness to:

- 5 musical acts, comprised of…
-3 opening acts
- 2 headlining acts
- 1 band that should have a larger audience, even though they most likely aren’t everyone’s cup of tea
- 1 band that completely lived up to the burning, molten lava-esque hype in which we had all been drowning for several months
- 1 artist who’s semi-coherant ramblings were horribly overdone
- 1 band who is supposedly a new “Next Big Thing”
- 1 artist who demonstrated some innovation, which I personally haven’t seen in a while.
- 1250 blown-away fans to see one show
- 100 cult-esque hipster geeks to see the other
- 0 negative overheard post-show comments (between both nights)

What do these numbers tell you? That “1” is a popular number when seeing local indie rock shows? The author’s favorite player growing up was Montreal Canadiens goaltender Doug Soetaert? That the author is a self-centered egomaniac who cares for no one’s concerns but his own (for all you pop-psychologists out there)? Actually, none of the above. The author is making a feeble attempt to come off as some sort of “mock-umnist” (I just made that up – I swear)., and the whole “numbers” thing seemed like a great (yet overused and clichéd) way to kick off this blog.

This is going to be one of my famous 2-part blogs. I’ll try and have part II up not long after part one.

Let’s talk about Wednesday night’s show at the Horseshoe starring Clem Snide in the role as the headlining act (it’s not a guy, it’s a band), with Langhorne Slim (he’s a guy, not a band) as the supporting cast. Let’s start with Langhorne. He was quite the interesting opening act. I actually, and uknowingly, ran into him at the entrance of The Horseshoe. He was going out, I was coming in. We were unsure who had right-of-way at the door. He was courteous enough to let me go first. Polite enough guy.

Buddy gets on stage, and the 1st thing you would notice about this guy (which I did when I bumped into him earlier) is the derby on his head. All that’s on stage with him is his guitar. His sound was sort of like that of a cross between Taj Mahal, Bob Dylan, and a drunk hillbilly. He had a real “slice-of-Americana” thing goin’ on. But as Langhorne gradually way eased his way into his set, he revealed that he was more than a man with a guitar. He was a mess. Or was he? Incoherent, drawn-our ramblings in-between songs seemed the norm. Sometimes he would demonstrate humility with an “aw shucks”, Southern charm, and others he would rant about antidepressants, their negative effects on society, their effects on his teenage years, and how the ones prescribed to him were “sweet like oranges”. Yikes. All in all, he portrayed himself as an excessively confident singer/guitarist, and a neurotic disaster at all other times. I think his true persona lies somewhere in the middle. At some points, you felt he was trying too hard to make people laugh, to get them to buy into his shtick (oh yes, his inane rants of insecurity are most definitely part of his act). He even brought up his parents at some point. Cheque please! Quite often, he would try to involve the passive crowd in his songs. A reluctant crowd couldn’t dampen his enthusiasm, and the second time he tried this later in his set, people were more willing to indulge him in a call-and-response type of song . His songs weren’t bad, and the guy has an interesting range of vocal styles. I haven’t mentioned in any prior blogs how I’m more into a song structure, melody, and chord progression patterns, than I am into lyrics. Slim’s lyrics seemed unconventional, and while that can be a good thing for some, it made Slim seem like more cartoon character or an Adam Sandler-esque musician, rather than someone I would pay good money to hear play. Unfortunately, he wants to be more than a musician. He reminded me of myself: neurotic, rambling, seeking to entertain, but with one difference – I know when to quit (or do I?????). I also don’t get paid to not know when to quit (of course, how much money can one rake in by opening up for Clem Snide at the Horseshoe on a Wednesday night?). He was lucky that fans of Clem Snide are oddball enough that they can appreciate part of his act. My gut tells me that most people just would think he’s too far gone.

Clem Snide is a thinking person’s band. As I mentioned during the show to a friend, it’s music by dorks, for dorks – but the kind of dorks who KNOW they’re dorks….if that makes any sense. What originally hooked me on their CD Ghost of Fashion (highly recommended by the way), other than the catchy tunes, was the alt-country twang, lead singer/songwriter Eef Barzilay’s down-to-earth, unpretentious voice, some interesting production and effects, and some lyrics, which did happen to catch my ear. Again, an artist’s lyrics aren’t why I listen to their music, so when I do enjoy them, it’s like gravy on my mashed potatoes.

They’re an interesting band visually. All four members are decked out in all-white tuxedos, with a likeness of each of their individual “animal spirits” embroidered on their backs. Sonically, they’re also doing some different things. A couple of tricks they pull out include the amplified banjo played with the violin bow, and the French horn (correct me if I am wrong on this one, Snidesters).

They display a diverse blend of influences (pop, country, alternative, punk, shoegazer) while not straying from their bread and butter – clever, tight, well-written and arranged, twangy, indie-pop tunes. I like a band who knows when to get loud and jagged, yet who doesn’t think that playing quietly is for wussy boys. A perfect example would be a song they played (whose name I don’t know – it isn’t on any of the three Snide discs I own) that night. Eef loves to sing about experiences from his adolescence (not an original notion, but certainly a way to draw on some unique experiences for the purposes of songwriting). Check out the lyrics to the following number. In the song “Mike Kalinsky”, Eef sings about a character by that name who had asthma, was always absent from school, but still aced his tests. Poor Mike – his asthma prevented him from playing sports, and “And all the jocks said he was gay”. Poor bastard. The song is done in typical mellow, twangy, dreamy Clem Snide fashion. Eef then goes on to tell us how Mike spent all of high school locked up in his room listening to Misfits and Joy Division records, and that years later, he was in a local club to see a band his friend said he shouldn’t miss. Turns out Mike Kalinsky was the lead singer. Eef then gives us an audio and physical demonstration of the type of music that the band was playing – prototype, heavy, death-punk. He blasts into all-out punk rocker shtick. The moral of the story about this song, is that Eef himself is more of an introspective dork, but it’s pretty obvious he’s spent some time listening to a wide variety of music, and is able to write and sing the types of experiences his audience can relate to. I always see this as a good thing.

The moral of this blog: It’s too long, and I haven’t even discussed the Arcade Fire show. I, unlike Langhorne Slim, KNOW when to stop. Unless you think of course, I have no clue how to actually stop. I’ll shut up now….

Let’s get this edited, posted, and then I’ll begin part II….