Review Round-Up: April 2013

After a somewhat monochrome March, April has been practically bursting with color, musically speaking: most dramatically, the Knife's noxious, fluorescent habit-shaking pink and green; but also the brightly shining blue and yellow of Kurt Vile's always-sunny-in-Philadelphia daze (the building is much yellower in my imagination) and the bold, somehow garish gray and, i suppose, peach of Phoenix's very entertaining, still-percolating Bankrupt! (which I'll get to soon enough.)  Plus there were the pastels'n'posteriors of Chrissy Murderbot's latest goofiness (see below); Neon Neon (in name if not cover art); and even the (sexual) chocolate and silver of Breakbot's really fantastic By Your Side, which just came out domestically and has been on repeat quite a bit around here, though it seems to have gotten more or less overlooked by the tastemakers both times around... particularly poor form, i'd say, in light of all the hoopla around Daft Punk's return (power-color: burnt orange, a good choice.)

Which...jury's out on that one. "Get Lucky" is perfectly catchy and double-plus groovin', but it's also kinda overpowered by the "guest contributors" (as others have suggested, I could do with more of the parts that don't have Pharrell, though his singing is perfectly fine.  also, what's with the "verse" being about a quarter as long as both the intro and the pre-chorus?)  will be interested to hear the album version.  and the whole album, of course.  in the mean time it already feels like there's a French Touch revival going on, between the super-stylin' Breakbot record, Phoenix, and fake-French OG Jacques Lu Cont bacque in acquetion as well (still gotta get my hands on that.)  more broadly, just around the corner in May, some sweet synth-poppin'-off from Classixx, Little Boots and the highly excellent Dungeonesse among others...basically what i'm saying is we are being well primed for another Summer of Dance-Pop - i can feel it in the musical climate almost more than in the actual weather (which is sunny and super-springy but still surprisingly chilly from time to time.)

As it turned out, my review quota for April was cut quite short – in fact, I didn't have a single review published in CP during April; I'm cheating a little bit with my inclusions below – so I didn't manage to actually write about most of the above (nor the also very worthwhile Iron & Wine, Shuggie Otis, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Kalabrese albums.)  I did write some stuff, but mostly it was on weird, lame old-people music, like jazz and punk and folk and rock and roll.  ew, who listens to rock and roll??

Marc Ribot's Cermamic Dog
Your Turn

The title of album number two from guitarist Marc Ribot's gonzo jazz-punk power trio Ceramic Dog is mostly a visual gag: the cover shows a hastily scribbled tic-tac-toe board, eight of its nine spaces scrawled with Xs.  Your Turn.  The music contained within isn't quite that perversely sadistic – most of the time – but it's at least as blackly humorous.  Vocal cuts (about half the record) find them railing with grim sarcasm against inequities political (a furious, Occupy-inspired take on labor anthem "Bread and Roses"), bodily (the pained, Morphine-esque blues "Lies My Body Told Me") and cyber-economic (sardonically self-abasing pro-download screed "Masters of the Internet.")  There's just as much caustic comedy to be found in the instrumentals, replete with Ribot's ribald, axe-throttling skronk and the equally redoubtable, amped-up frenetics of bassist Shahzad Ismaily and drummer Ches Smith: oblique, Naked City-style freakouts; an unhinged "Take 5" takedown; a squalling noise dirge pointedly entitled "Prayer."  While making space for everything from Beasties-indebted rap ("We Are The Professionals"), earnest, reggae-flecked protest folk ("Ain't Gonna Let Them Turn Us Round") and a swinging, deliciously twisted faux-standard ("The Kid Is Back"), Your Turn feels less self-consciously eclectic than 2008's Party Intellectuals; it's bolder, more focused (nothing pushes past six minutes), and just all-around more rocking.  Decidedly unlike that pathetically futile game of tic-tac-toe, it's great, great fun.

Dump
Superpowerless and I Can Hear Music

In his review of their gently majestic, habitually exalted thirteenth album this January (in MAGNET #95) Brian Howard described Yo La Tengo's perhaps-improbable perseverance as a form of quietly determined resistance.  But it's instructive to remember that their approach to music-making – pointedly personal; passionate yet decidedly low-key – was once simply a way of life, for them and many in the nascent days of "indie rock."   For James McNew, who became the band's bassist in 1991, at age 21, playing in other people's groups wasn't enough, so he initiated his own project: recording to a 4-track cassette deck under the suitably smirky, self-effacing moniker Dump.

His first two LPs, recorded in piecemeal fashion throughout the early '90s alongside myriad singles and EPs (of which, for some reason, only one – a self-titled 1992 five-song 7" – is included among the bonus tracks on these Morr Music reissues) were issued in 1993 and 1995, respectively – exactly concurrent with YLT's seminal, ascendant early Matador run (Painful, Electr-O-Pura) – and they offer a fascinating, emphatically casual alternate perspective on that era.  They're full of the spirited eclecticism that soon defined his main band – bucketloads of jangly pop butting up against droning feedback, sweetly folksy ditties, grungy rockers, sputtering "jazzy" instrumentals, churning two-chord slow-burns, and covers covers covers (which tended to receive somewhat more care than his plenty-winsome originals) – but with an almost aggressively laissez-faire attitude toward musicianship (vocal intonation included), let alone "recording quality."  The point being, as any true indie knows, that none of that stuff ultimately matters: if you can get across a song, communicate a feeling, the more efficiently the better, well, you've got something worthwhile.  Here are three hours, almost sixty tunes, and if it takes a little trash-picking to get there, there's something to treasure in nearly every one.

originally published in Magnet Magazine

Chrissy Murderbot
Greatest Hits ★★★★★
[Electronic/Juke/Future Bass]

There's not necessarily much logic to how Chrissy Murderbot operates.  The Chicago DJ/producer/dance music savant's latest release consists of seven entirely new cuts and seven wide-ranging remixes, and – for no particular reason – it's entitled Greatest Hits ★★★★★ (Murder Channel).  That gleeful, extravagant absurdity carries over into the music, which piles on the goofball catchphrases ("after the party it's the Waffle House..."), sci-fi lazer FX ("Pew Pew") and incongruously emotive soul vocals atop skittering, hyper-BPM juke and jackhammering jungle breaks.  When it comes to moving bodies, dude's as no-nonsense as they come.

Neon Neon
Praxis Makes Perfect
[Pop]

Praxis Makes Perfect (Lex), the second straight synth-pop bio-opera from Neon Neon – Super Furry Animal Gruff Rhys plus avant-hip-hop producer Boom Bip – takes on the life of Italian publisher and communist activist Giangiacomo Feltrinelli.  It's not quite as natural a fit as their eighties-steeped homage to John DeLorean – most of the sounds here post-date the subject's 1972 death – but it works, both as an offbeat lefty history lesson (check the eyebrow-raising "Hoops With Fidel") and as a sweet batch of yacht-friendly soft-pop and endearingly stiff, cheeky eurodisco.

Kacey Musgraves
Same Trailer Different Park
[Country/Pop]

Nashville newbie Kacey Musgraves' breakthrough single "Merry Go Round," while not half as clever as she probably thought, was still striking for its frank, pointedly skeptical slice-of-life storytelling.  Same Trailer Different Park (Mercury Nashville) – actually her fourth LP – confirms that she can throw together cliches with the best of 'em, often in an endearingly (even – for Nashville – radically) empowering manner, and have it come out improbably fresh; even building a hook around the word "stupid" that manages not to sound it.  Musically, Musgraves' sweet, simple country-pop – never veering too far either way – recalls Taylor Swift's first album; lyrical-maturity-wise, Swift'll hopefully get there on her next one.

Ólafur Arnalds
For Now I Am Winter
[Classical/Ambient]

Ólafur Arnalds is an Icelandic neo-classical/ambient/new age composer (the lines get pretty blurry, and who needs 'em?) and yes, his music lives up to whatever stock images and stereotypes (glaciers, ethereality, Northern lights...) that may conjure up.  But if it's predictably gorgeous, unabashedly palatable stuff – plangent pianos; alternately sprightly and keening strings; gently burbly electronic undercurrents – it's far from rote and practically never maudlin.  Titular pomposity and spectacularly faulty seasonal timing aside, And Now I Am Winter (Mercury) is an especially delicate effort; even the potentially risky incorporation of indie-pop-flavored vocals turns out typically tasteful, thanks to Arnór Dan's sweetly stoic falsetto and some downright catchy tunes.

Billy Bragg
[Folk]
concert preview

Billy Bragg opens his ninth album by declaring "I'm so tightly wound in tension."  He hardly sounds it, though: this is easily the sometime firebrand's mellowest LP to date, a warm, burnished Americana set bearing all the tasteful hallmarks of producer Joe Henry (including Greg Leisz's always-lovely pedal steel inflections.)  Continuing the newfound lyrical directness of 2008's similarly understated Mr. Love & Justice (which feels practically aggressive by comparison), Tooth and Nail (Cooking Vinyl) makes good on Bragg's longstanding Woody Guthrie fixation with earnestly populist homilies like "Do Unto Others," plus one wistfully reverent cover reading.  But despite "There Will Be A Reckoning" – the album's sole, stirred-up rocker – and a few other choice words for the "misbegotten, misanthropic merchants of gloom," the most impassioned pleas here are generally of the romantic variety.  For lefty rabble-rousing, you're better off with 2011's website-only compilation Fight Songs – or the witty, heartfelt between-song tirades that are a staple of his live sets.

John Medeski
[Jazz/Improvisation]
concert preview

In his twenty-plus years of blazing incendiary new trails for the contemporary jazz piano/organ trio alongside compadres Billy Martin and Chris Wood, John Medeski has supplied keys for everyone from John Zorn to Iggy Pop, Robert Randolph, Trey Anastasio and, most recently (wow), Coheed and Cambria.  But he's only now gotten around to cutting a record of his solo playing, displaying a radically different approach from the eclectic grooves beloved of jam-happy MMW heads.  A Different Time – the first new release on long-defunct, newly-revived classic jazz imprint/Sony sublabel OKeh – is a beautifully spacious, ruminative, largely improvised nocturnal affair in the tradition of Bill Evans and, particularly, Keith Jarrett.  While there's considerable virtuosity and classically-informed technique on display here – especially as it was recorded on a difficult-to-control 1924 French-made piano, the Gaveau – it's above all a masterclass in delicacy, expressiveness and restraint.

William Tyler
[Instrumental/Folk/Americana]
concert preview

Solo guitar records can be engrossing, meditative, gorgeously textural – and, to be sure, Impossible Truth (Merge) is all of the above – but it's rare to find one as exuberantly vivid and lush as the second full-length opus from Nashville-based virtuoso William Tyler, whose playing has previously supported Lambchop, Bonnie Billy and the Silver Jews.  Strictly speaking, it's not an entirely solo affair: pedal steel, trombone, vibraphone, bowed bass and even drums crop up in a few of these warmly expansive compositions, though they generally feel like subtle, nearly inconspicuous shadings against the foreground of Tyler's rippling, luminescent picking.  The album was inspired by a stack of weighty non-fiction texts on American symbolic geography, and you can hear reverberations of the vast, mythic West in pieces like "Cadillac Desert" and "Country of Illusion," while the raga-like drones and pedals elsewhere gesture, equally evocatively, toward the imagined East.

Goat
[Psych/Worldbeat]
concert preview

The deliberately shadowy Goat maintain an epic, absurd and presumably largely fabricated (or at least heavily mythologized) backstory involving a generations-old tradition of voodoo worship, communal living and collective music-making in the tiny, extreme-North Swedish village of Korpilombolo.  The group's three "core members" (the specific number and identities of the musicians involved are kept characteristically vague) do indeed hail from there. . . probably.  Either way the narrative feels less like attention-seeking puffery than a legitimate (if grandiose) means to sever their music from conventional contexts and expectations which would hardly suit it anyway.  Thankfully, their album, World Music (Rocket Recordings) – the title is simultaneously impish and self-evidently apt – doesn't feel the least bit pretentious or put-on.  Instead it's a total blast, a swirl of Afro-beat, droney psych-rock squalls, instrumental acoustic folk and polyrhythmic Middle Eastern grooves that does for worldbeat what fellow Swedish fantasists Dungen did for classic rock, unleashing a celebration of wailing storm surges ("Goathead"), ritual incantations ("Goatlord") and party jams ("Disco Fever," which interleaves kraut-funk and Ethiopian jazz) replete with hand-drums, hammond-organ fever-dreams, tribalistic chanting and, of course, that most universal of instruments, the electric guitar.

Jamie Lidell
[R&B/Pop]
concert preview

Jamie Lidell's 2005 breakout LP, Multiply, was something of a eureka moment, unleashing his freaky, fearless falsetto against a backdrop of IDM-reared production chops and uncovering newfound possibilities for smooshing up old-school soul with mod-podge electronica.  These days he's hardly the only electro-soul game in town (Autre Ne Veut, Quadron and Little Dragon all owe him some debt), although he remains in high demand as a vocalist (this month alone he's turned up on tracks by Atom™ and Brandt Brauer Frick.)  Under his own auspices, Lidell's self-titled fifth full-length (Warp) tightens up the technicolor sprawl of 2010's Compass into something equally elastic but more narrowly focused, even reverent: a laser-lit homage to the original electronic/R&B interminglings of 1980s synth-funk, recasting the plushly poppy, machine-abetted boogie of Cameo, Bootsy Collins, P-Funk et. al., with the electronica wayback dials set to Lovesexy-style zap'n'twitch.

Bonobo
[Electronic]
concert preview

Electronic music has changed a lot since his first forays into playful lounge-jazz chill-out back around the turn of the millennium, but British producer Simon Green – alias Bonobo – has somehow kept his music fresh and relevant without ever dramatically changing his approach.  The North Borders (Ninja Tune) continues down the moodier, more sophisticated path signaled by 2010's excellent Black Sands, displaying an increasingly masterful ear for composition and intriguing, lushly organic sounds, but also well-attuned to the recent rhythmic tendencies emanating from London, Los Angeles and beyond.  While it'd still rest mostly comfortably within the well-worn, all-but-outmoded umbrella of triphop/downtempo, this is also Green's most diverse, body-friendly work yet.  "Know You" is a gorgeously sculpted dancefloor detonator, all stuttering, slowly cresting two-step syncopations; the kalimba-studded "Cirrus" is an idealized intersection of Pantha du Prince and Rounds-era Four Tet, while "Heaven For The Sinner" invites Erykah Badu along for a deep nodding groover recalling her pal Flying Lotus – and yet, it's all patently, undeniably Bonobo.

Lianne Le Havas
[Folk/Soul]
concert preview

Is Your Love Big Enough? (Warner/Nonesuch) introduced Lianne La Havas as, by and large, a rank and file member of the UK folk'n'soul brigade; crooning like an understated Adele, fingerpicking like a calmer, bluesier Laura Marling, and generally following alongside Michael Kiwanuka and Corrine Bailey Rae in the largely forgotten footsteps of forebears like Joan Armatrading.  It's all tasteful stuff; smooth, smoky and readily gratifying if not massively memorable.  But among the dapperly dusky torch ballads (one of which has already turned up as an under-the-radar Simian Mobile Disco sample), there are glimmers of something bolder and more distinctive, particularly in the scrappy, funk-looping grit of "Forget" (produced by Dave Sitek), the Supremes-y sophistication of "Au Cinema" and the ice cream-loving title track's exuberant, 6/4-time throwback swagger.  That song, Wikipedia notes incidentally, "is considered to have sexual connotations, relating to male genitalia."  Hmm, sounds suggestive.

The Mavericks
[Rock/Latin/Americana]
concert preview

Miami's Mavericks formed back in the late '80s, and if their name has taken on an additional connotation or two since then, it still suits them perfectly as they continue operating proudly outside of Music Row conventions, or indeed any other expectations you might have of a Nashville-ensconced outfit who've scored fourteen singles on the Billboard country charts.  In Time (Valory) the re-reunited group's first studio album in ten years, dispenses with country music, per se, almost entirely.  (For one thing, Raul Malo, whose melodramatic tenor warblings are as lusty and magnificent as ever – Roy Orbison remains the singular, almost inevitable point of comparison – is singing with much less of a twang these days.)  Turning a typically blind eye to established musical boundaries, the album amounts to a vigorous, accordion-kissed aural argument for immigration reform, swirling together elements of cumbia, norteño, surf-rock, tango, rumba and ska with juke-joint swing and '50s-style rock'n'roll balladry to create a delirious, Tejano-rockabilly melting pot.

Redd Kross
[Rock]
concert preview

Between The Clean, Imperial Teen and Teenage Fanclub, Merge Records has made itself quite the respectable home for aging power-poppers over the years, and they managed an unexpected and especially sweet feat last year when Redd Kross, the long-dormant SoCal brotherhood of amped-up Beatlitude, turned up on their roster for their first album since 1997.  Researching The Blues, despite what its studious-sounding title may suggest, is no mild-mannered, reticent reemergence: it finds the grunge progenitors (and one-time suburban teenage snot-punks) still retaining plenty of the power part of the equation – check the title track's snarling punk-blues stomp, for instance – while balancing it with a bevy of bouncy, Byrdsy janglers which manage to stuff an impressive amount of melodic invention into three minutes or less.

Iceage/Metz/White Lung
[Punk]
concert preview

Hotly tipped hell-raisers hailing from points across the industrialized, socially democratic global North – Copenhagen, Toronto and Vancouver, respectively – this trifecta of neo-hardcore bruisers all share the time-honored punk value of brevity.  You could fit each band's most recent full-length – Metz's seething, brutally efficient s/t Sub Pop debut; Iceage's style-refining, nuance-courting (but still plenty reckless and ramshackle) growth-spurt You're Nothing (Matador) and White Lung's sneering, electrifying, Riot Grrl-checking blitzkrieg Sorry (Deranged) – onto a single CD-R, with room to spare.  Proceeding to actually listen to said pile-up, however, would be a bracing, pummeling, existentially exhausting undertaking – nasty, brutish and short, indeed – and it's hard to even fathom the impact of seeing them all live in quick succession, though at least you'll get the set breaks to catch your breath and wipe off some sweat.

originally published in Philadelphia City Paper

FIDLAR
[Punk]
concert preview

This L.A. punk band's name is an acronym, a sort of bro YOLO, which stands, in part, for "...it dog, life's a risk."  It's a mantra they seemingly take as an injunction to partake of as much risky behavior as possible including – just to run down the tracklist of their ass-kicking self-titled debut (Mom + Pop), cheap beer (the raison d'être espoused in their signature, sing-along rallying cry), cocaine, cheap cocaine, and smoking (presumably also cheap) weed.  Plus, waking, baking, skating, and not being able to surf – which in particular should endear them to tourmate/labelmate/SoCal compatriot and beach-scum Wavves (whose own new Mom + Pop bow, Afraid of Heights, is his most earnest slab of grunge revivalism to date.)  Along the way, the FIDLARs make their way through a couple hard'n'fast quasi-thrash bursts, but also some of the sweetest heroin bubblegum since the Ramones, and a surprising amount of Nashville twang to boot.

SXSW 2013: Day Three [Thursday]

 Another glorious blur of a day here in Austin.  I love whizzing through town, hearing the non-stop aural patchwork of every musical style imaginable, pouring out of practically every club in town (which is seemingly at least half of the buildings.)  This is who I heard (and saw) today, in the spaces between those audio-montage bike rides, together forming their own musical crazy-quilt.

Mount Moriah at The Stage on Sixth Patio, 12:30pm

Solid, tuneful country-rock band signed to Merge, which makes more sense when you see what they look like – they’re definitely the indie-hipster sort of country-rockers, though I guess to their credit you wouldn’t know it just to hear them.  (Well, and also because they’re from Durham.)  They’ve definitely got some Allman Brothers flava in the guitar leads too.  They were good! But honestly 12:30 feels like a very long time ago.

Blank Tapes at Rusty’s, 1pm

L.A. band playing retro, garage-y rock.  I liked the minimalist front-of-stage two-drum kit.  Also, one of the four members seemed to only be playing auxiliary percussion (maracas, tambourine), though maybe he does other stuff sometime.  Seeing shows at SXSW makes you (well, okay, me) think about the utility economics of band composition – like, what does it really add to have that additional fourth, or fifth, or sixth member?  In this case, three out of the four sang in harmony – that’s some good value!

Chvrches at The Fader Fort, 1:30pm

These guys get compared to The Knife a lot, I think, but it seemed like pretty straightforward, by-the-book upbeat electro-pop. (Though to be fair who else actually sounds like The Knife anyway?)  Well executed and definitely enjoyable, but nothing too remarkable.  I did appreciate the outfit synergy: one member in Pipettes-esque black-and-white polka dot dress, one in blank and white striped shirt, one in a Michael Jackson “King of Pop” T-shirt, all of which went nicely with the Fort’s grainy B&W Fader/Converse ad wallpaper backdrop.  Also, adorable banter from the sweet petite big-eyed lead singer (and you’ve gotta love the Glaswegian accent), even though she’s generally not a very commanding presence for the frontwoman of a big shiny dance-pop act.  “If you leave here feeling a strong urge to buy some Converse sneakers, give it an hour, just to make sure it’s really a genuine desire.  If you still want ‘em, then go for it!”

Phox at The Stage on Sixth, 2pm

Not the next Phish, but a seven-piece folky-chamber-pop group from Madison WI – they met in high school, they said, and from the looks of things that probably wasn’t too long ago.  Chipper and wide-eyed and wholesome and gracious almost to a fault (the doe-eyed, doll-like lead singer, who reminded me of V.V. Brown, offered copious thank-yous to everyone from the bloggers who helped them get noticed to the bartender who recommended her whiskey.)  (On the other hand, she did also introduce one song as about a lady who replaces the sugar in her baked goods with apple sauce to keep them healthy: “that is fucking not cool!”)  The music was great though – gentle, soulful, upbeat, just enough intricacy to keep it interesting.  The bassist doubled on flute, and they also had a full-time banjo player (though he also picked up a trumpet for a few licks on the last song, Belle & Sebastian-style.) 

Bleeding Rainbow at Club Deville, 2:30pm

Go Philly!  Noisy punky fuzzed-out pop that just makes me grin.  Plus I walked in just in time to catch them playing “Waking Dream,” the most awesomely bliss-inducing jam from their new record.  Sweet.

Paws at The Main, 3pm

At least I think that’s who this was.  More hard noisy poppy punk.  Right on!  But, I got the picture pretty quick.  They’re from Glasgow too, incidentally.  Also, the bassist broke a string (!) on the second song.

Pickwick at The Stage on Sixth, 3pm

Spirited rave-up rock’n’soul from Seattle.  My initial thought was that they’re somewhere between Mayer Hawthorne and the Black Keys.  Revised that to more like Black Keys, except times three.  Well, there’s six of them rather than two.  But I’d also say they had at least three times the energy. (Although I haven’t seen the Keys live.)  Pickwick have an absolutely fiery lead singer who was in non-stop motion throughout, yelping and wailing and testifying and shaking his tambourine all over the damn place, on numbers like “Do the Ostrich.”  I also liked that their sound was (electric) piano-heavy rather than guitar-heavy.  (Also, incidentally, my buddy’s friend is one of the keyboard players.)

Pearl and the Beard at Papa Tino’s, 3:30pm

Much beloved by several folks I know, and also by many in attendance, though something about them feels decidedly un-SXSW.  They certainly strike a memorable, quirky image: stand-up cellist, cat-eye specs, thrift-shop glam chic, not to mention that beard.  They come off as folky and funny, and they are, sort of, but their music is much moodier and artier than you might expect from look at them.  Let’s just say the Amnesiac sticker on the cello case is a strong clue.  Really nice harmonies too.

Charli XCX at Mohawk Outdoor, 4pm

Whoa.  Now, talk about a pop singer who can totally own it on stage.  Charli XCX is an incredible performer.  Kinetic, theatrical, darkly sexy in a larger-than-life kind of way, but also not afraid to flash a smile, and clearly having a total blast herself.  And she rocks a completely distinctive (albeit perhaps questionable, but isn’t that practically corollary?) look: this afternoon, it was a neon-green Nike sports bra, dog collar, and goofy pleated plaid pants.  And long wild black hair which she flails with abandon.  (Bringing back that ‘90s Alanis style, maybe?)  I already liked her couple of released songs okay, but this took it to a whole new level (arriving home after an utterly music-saturated day, the tune that was stuck in my head was her “Nuclear Seasons”), and some of the new songs were just as good or better: lavish, quirky, charismatic synth-pop that fully incorporates the lessons of forward-thinking UK bass music (including one literally incorporates the magical shimmering beat of Gold Panda’s “You.”)  Tied with Kitten for best SXSW performer so far.  Great crowd too!

Disclosure at Mohawk Outdoor, 5pm

More amazing dance party energy, particulary once I connected up with Cathy and her crew, who travel equipped with confetti-filled plastic eggs.  (Serious dancers can be distressingly few and far between at South-by, so we’ve got to stick together.)  Props too to the woman packing a water-pistol – brilliant, and much needed!  Oh yeah, Disclosure: good stuff.  I hadn’t been totally convinced before, but I get it now: their twist on poppy, treble-heavy house (one forthcoming comp has it pegged as neo-garage…okay) is both distinctive and hugely danceable.  I liked the new, punchier songs they played a lot more than the older stuff, with their recent AlunaGeorge collab “White Noise” and Jessie Ware remix somewhere in between.  (Speaking of which, why isn’t Jessie Ware here?)  Adding in a little bit of live instrumentation (cowbell, roto-toms, bass) had a transformative effect on their performance, though somehow it seemed more pure that the vocals weren’t live.

Free Energy at Peckerheads, 5:30pm

Go Philly again!  I broke my rulez here because I have seen this band before, although not since they put out what I’m gonna say is probably still my favorite album of 2013 so far, Love Sign.  Totally mystified about why they aren’t way huger; it seems like two  years ago Pitchfork would’ve given them a prime showcase slot, and now suddenly nobody cares.  Well, folks who complained about the sheenier production and increased synth quotient on the new record (seemingly the consensus complaints) would have had nothing to worry about at this set – no synths in sight, just ragged fist-pumping classic rock and roll.  And believe me, fists were pumped.

Colin Blunstone and Rod Argent (of The Zombies) at Kenny Dorham’s Backyard, 6pm

And speaking of classic rock…  This was a total treat.  The fourth in a row, I guess.  (It was a good afternoon.)  Colin and Rod may look a little haggard these days, but they sound like they’ve barely even aged.  Blunstone’s voice, in particular, is some kind of miracle – if anything, it’s richer and fuller than it is on their sixties records, but every bit as sweet and winsome, and he just sings his heart out.  This duo setup – Argent on electric keys (his keyboard tone sounds just the same too) and harmonies – really brought out the soul in the songs, which included a few new ones (not half bad!) but also everything you would’ve hoped for: “This Will Be Our Year,” “Time of the Season,” “She’s Not There.”  Just delightful.

Chic Gamine at Empire Automotive, 8:15pm

Nice surprise here.  This is a four-woman mod-soul/R&B girl group from Winnipeg and Montreal, almost like a Canadian Destiny’s Child or something.  (Well, they also had a male drummer, but he sort of seemed like their back-up band.)  The four gamines all sing big brassy harmonies and switch off on lead vocals (and keyboard and moog bass) and I’m imagining maybe the songwriting too – sassy, funny, good stuff.

Lianne Le Havas at Empire Automotive, 9:15pm

Kinda-like-a-big-deal Brit-soul singer who I’m thinking has more going on than her generally understated presentation initially suggested.  (Her amazing, preposterous print shirt-dress – I think it was actually just a repurposed man’s shirt – was one pretty clear sign of personality.)  But in the moment, coming after the spunk of Chic Gamine (and a lengthy set change, which SXSW has trained me not to tolerate), it all felt a little tasteful for my taste.  

Mikal Cronin at The Parish, 10pm

So instead I left to go see old-school UK dubstep/digi-reggae wizard The Bug, but it turned out to be a wild goose chase.  I did catch this SF garage-rocker at the Merge showcase, which was fun.  He’s got a surprisingly strong, sweet voice, though unfortunately you can’t hear it over the guitar racket in most of his songs.  I bet the record will be a good one though.

Spooner Oldham

Donna Jean Godchaux, David Hood, etc.

The Legendary Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section/The Swampers with Spooner Oldham, Donna Jean Godchaux, etc. at The Stage on Sixth Patio, 10:15pm

Unclear exactly how many of these geezers were actually in the original Muscle Shoals band – at least David Hood and Jimmy Johnson were there, for sure.  Anyhow, pretty amazing to get to see this, and also weird how this kind of thing goes on surprisingly often at SXSW and people rarely seem to really take notice.  They did “Brown Sugar” (“Jimmy here engineered this song”), “When A Man Loves A Woman” (“I’m going to sing this a fourth down from where Percy sang it”), and called up Spooner to sing “Sweet Inspiration” (“you probably won’t know this one, you’re too young”) and “I’m Your Puppet” (fitting, as he looks a little muppet-ish); just two of the zillions of classics he co-wrote in the sixties.  Unreal.

Air Traffic Controller at Bayou, 10:40pm

Apparently these guys are from Boston, but they gave the distinct impression of being British.  In particular they reminded me of my favorite, not quite Mumford-ish Brit-folk/pop band, Stornoway.  Though maybe that’s mostly because of the main guy’s dapper little hat.  Anyway, good stuff; nicely-crafted, winsome, bouncy pop tunes, though the NPR-approved “You Know Me” definitely takes the cake.

D E N A at The Tap Room at Six, 11pm

German (I guess?) pop/club/rap weirdo who put out the amazing single “Cash, Diamond Rings, Swimming Pools” a month or two ago.  (Watch the video, it’s awesome.)  She’s a little bit slacker M.I.A., a little bit old-school good-times hip-hop (like Young MC or Biz Markie), except it’s definitely closer to dance music than rap, with sparse and funky electronic beats, to which she occasionally added some simple but effective synth chords.  Her other songs were great too, including one about status updates and one whose hook was back-and-forth exchange with her DJ/backup girl: “Are you on the guestlist?/welcome to the club”/“I think not”/“get the fuck out!”  Real talk.

Zebra Katz at 1100 Warehouse, 11:25pm

More awesome left-field hip-hop, this time from Brooklyn and seriously bad ass.  “Imma Read” is the anthem, a simultaneously hilarious and majorly hardcore bitchy/queeny dis track, with a hypnotically spare, menacing beat – performed, like the rest of his set, tag-team style with rapper Reddd Foxxx (not sure why she doesn’t get equal billing.)  I feel like I can’t really do this performance justice, but it was tremendous; you should get familiar.

Bernie Worrell Orchestra at Flamingo Cantina, 12am

Alright, just had to stop in and see what Bernie is up to.  Well you know, he’s doing his thang.  Wearing a crazy gold top hat with a five-foot-long feather.  Getting down on the funky clav.  Reminding us that if we want to feel alright, not to be uptight.  Or something like that.

Action Bronson at North Door, “12:20am”

Outrageous.  Action (or “Bam Bam” as he likes to call himself) tends to come off like a bit of a novelty at first, what with all the bullet points – former chef; raps about food; sounds like Ghostface; built like a blimp.  But he is definitively not a novelty rapper.  Indeed, he’s practically a classicist.  He seems to be rapping about food less, which is really a shame (though probably good for his cred.)  He came on at least twenty minutes late (mostly because the whole showcase was running behind), announced that he had “literally just woken up,” and after maybe twenty minutes, maybe not, abruptly dropped the mic on the floor and walked off stage.   

Rustie at 1100 Warehouse, 1:15am

I didn’t know if this would be a DJ set or not, and I couldn’t tell for nearly the first half – it was, albeit presumably with a bunch of his own stuff, and lots of crazy tweaking plus actual vinyl scratching (!), but with a strong enough, undeniably distinctive cohesive character to it that it partially invalided my quibbles last night about DJ sets at South-by.  Basically it was trap music – in a nutshell, “EDM” with similar extremes of intensity to Americanized dubstep, but atop a hip-hop/dirty South rhythmic chassis instead of a dub/reggae one.  Which, for my money at least, means it’s a lot better for dancing, and also better for mixing with hip-hop (which Rustie did, dropping Danny Brown and Wacka Flocka Flame among others.)  He also flipped TNGHT’s “Goooo,” which is an incredible track in the proper context.  Things got pretty wild, pretty much constantly, with often outrageous amounts of absurd, laser-zapping sci-fi tension building up before a beat would finally, triumphantly drop.  I guess that’s how they roll in Glasgow.