2007-01 Vital Source Mag – January 2007
Why the caged bird sings
If you had asked me a couple of years ago, I would have thought that “Extraordinary Rendition” was something that Barbra Streisand did at her shows; but the reality is decidedly more grim than a chorus line performance of Yentl. Extraordinary Rendition is, in fact, the name for our governments’ extrajudicial practice of kidnapping, detaining and utilizing third-party nations to torture individuals with “suspected terrorist links,” a practice that is destroying our nation’s moral credibility and eroding the foundations of our Constitution.
Jan 1st, 2007 by Vital Archives
Clinic
For those with a taste for the peculiar in music, Clinic has always been a safe bet. But since their startling introduction with 2000’s Internal Wrangler, Clinic prefer to play as they please, enjoying their own melodica-infused weirdness and keeping things at their initial level with a menacing blend of garage, punk, hip-hop and world music. After the disappointing slide backwards of Winchester Cathedral (2002), Clinic fans may almost dread the arrival of the newest addition to the land of curious and curiouser. Although Visitations freefalls into the land of the weird, it is a good drop right into the environs of a mental hospital: vocalist Ade Blackburn singing within the confines of a straightjacket, his vocal chords strapped in for the ride, straining at the words with his stifled snarl. Drummer Carl Turney faces a dark corner with his kick-drum pounding out a steady beat, much like a forgotten and bored toddler pounds the bars of his crib. Visitations is thick with references to farming and harvesting – not in a joyful, abundant sense – but calling to mind images of the grim reaper swinging through town. “Harvest (Within You)” advises citizens to “batten down and button up.” In “Children of Kellogg,” the intensity of a one-two fever beat segues into a dreamy clarinet waltz, with the sound of a saw working away at lord knows what in the background. The album displays a strained ferocity, drifting in and out of its bi-polarity to slow down with “Visitations” and “Paradise,” only to snap its jaws with “Family” and “Tusk,” sweating out the meds and nightmares. Although undeniably unsettling in sound, Visitations instigates a need to hit the dance floor, recalling Clinic’s dance and hip-hop foundations and rolling fluidly from one song to the next, incorporating the brashness of punk and adding Eastern elements such as finger cymbals. It’s an album full of hidden moments, built into their strange supports that will satisfy the Clinic fan who likes them to be nothing short of comfortably bizarre. VS
Jan 1st, 2007 by Erin Wolf
Neil Young & Crazy Horse
By Blaine Schultz It’s all there in black and white – Neil Young’s black Gibson Les Paul and Danny Whitten’s white Gretsch ( well maybe he played the orange one that night). This album is about guitars. While bootlegs of both early and late Fillmore shows have circulated for years, it is great that Neil decided to give this recording a legitimate release. After Young hijacked three members of the Rockets and renamed them Crazy Horse they quickly went into a studio and cut the album Everybody Knows This is Nowhere. That record’s visceral aesthetic was not going to get it confused with any of the Woodstock hippy hangover music clogging radio’s arteries back in 1969. Live at the Fillmore East is the first volume of Young’s long-awaited archive series. While the Fillmore album does not include Nowhere’s “Cinnamon Girl” (the closest tune to a solo hit Young would have until “Heart of Gold” broke the bank in 72), it does add “Winterlong” and “Wondering.” The former would surface on the collection Decade and the latter would not see the light of day until Young’s rockabilly vacation with the Shocking Pinks in 1983 – regardless of how he introduces the tune here. Fillmore also adds Jack Nitzsche’s watery Wurlitzer electric piano to the lineup. At its core Crazy Horse was (and still is) a rhythm section, creating a huge warm hypnotizing pocket for Young’s guitar playing. Meanwhile, back at the Fillmore, the doomed guitarist Danny Whitten (equal parts Georgia hillbilly and California surfer) spurred Young’s playing to dogfight levels that rock & roll would not hear again until a group called Television inhabited the same Fillmore neighborhoods and sonic airspace a decade and a half later. In fact, if you listen close, Whitten’s singing and playing is nipping at Neil’s heels like a young pup – alternate bootleg mixes of officially released songs seem to bear this out. Seems if Whitten hadn’t checked out early because of an overdose he could have been a real contender. He would later be an inspiration for Young’s arguably greatest album Tonight’s The Night. Ironically on Fillmore Whitten sings the rave-up “C’mon Baby Let’s Go Downtown,” a tune about copping and paranoia. But for the real crackerjacks take a listen to the pair’s tremulous singing on the chorus of “Winterlong.” Now tell me, what could cause this terror that makes them sound like Robert Johnson turning the tables and finally chasing the hellhound on his trail? Peace and love with Nixon and Manson waiting down the hall. Which brings us to the twin towers of dread and shred, “Down By the River” and “Cowgirl in the Sand,” two rock & roll epics that sit real nice on the same shelf with Dylan getting rearranged by Hendrix. Could it have been something in the air – Miles Davis was also on the bill at the Fillmore – because Neil Young and Crazy Horse stretch rock & roll’s time/space equation into something that Davis and John […]
Jan 1st, 2007 by Vital Archives
Dollars, Worries & Lives
By Amy Elliott + Photos by Richard Galling The Smith and Wesson Model 10 double-action revolver has been in continuous production for more than 100 years, and has been the weapon of choice for police departments everywhere for almost as long. An elegant piece with black grips and a carbon-steel barrel, it evokes suits, cocktails and spies. List price is $632; used models start at $350. The Glock .22 is a little less sexy than the revolver, but is the weapon of choice for graduates of the FBI training academy, U.S. Marshals and agents of the DEA. This heavy semi-automatic pistol, made from dense polymer and steel, will put you back at least $480. Nothing communicates quite as clearly as a well-placed Kalashnikov. Otherwise known as the AK-47, it is the world’s most widely used assault rifle, comprises a large chunk of the illicit small arms trade and is relatively cheap to acquire, starting in the $300 range for older models. If you’re the DIY type, you could consider purchasing a conversion kit to turn your semi-automatic pistol into a submachine gun. It wouldn’t run you more than $250. Of course, knock-off brands of any of these models are substantially cheaper, starting well under $200. And a 50-count box of .38 specials could cost you less than a quarter per bullet. Less than a gumball. Almost every gun on the illegal market starts out in the legal market. Somehow, through dealer negligence, criminal cunning or outright theft, these guns enter an ambiguous realm. They may stay in gray space forever, changing hands, stashed under beds. Then again, they may resurface. And they may do some damage. Ecology Some people call Riverwest the West Bank of Milwaukee. At least one man calls it the Gaza Strip – a narrow buffer zone between the city’s racial and economic zones. Don Krause has lived in the neighborhood for 17 years. He owns Art Bar on East Burleigh, a sunny, spacious corner where local artists and tipplers come to relax in the glow of collective creative energy. Drinks are cheap and the art on the walls is priced to move. In the summer of 2005, Krause was shot in the stomach by a teenager who was trying to rob a customer. For months, Krause was the poster child of gun violence in the neighborhood, and his colorful watering hole became the rallying banner of concerned citizens and community activists. “You couldn’t go anywhere without hearing ‘Art Bar’ and ‘shooting’ in the same sentence,” he says. But not all publicity is good publicity. The perception that an area is dangerous may determine its viability. A 2000 study by the National Institute of Justice found that fear of crime had a direct effect on a neighborhood’s social ecology – most commonly in the form of “spatial avoidance.” It makes sense – why spend time in a bad part of town? But it also makes it harder for businesses, and the communities they serve, to thrive. Krause’s […]
Jan 1st, 2007 by Amy Elliott
Berzerk!
By Russ Bickerstaff The Bucks won a close one against the Timberwolves at the Bradley Center on the evening of December 16. Across the street that night the late 19th century decay of the Tuner Hall Ballroom looked like something out of Escape From New York. Lights that were cast into a vast darkness mixed with light coming in from downtown to bathe the mostly empty 7,000 square feet in a pleasantly eerie visual drama. The restoration of the Ballroom is far from complete, giving the overall impression of a once great performance space that is slowly waking up from a long hibernation. Alamo Basement and Insurgent Theatre were set to perform a series of alarmingly short bits – an evening they’d titled: Gorilla Theater: Berzerk! Before the show began, Alamo Basement’s Mike Q. Hanlon took audience-suggested sentences and playwrights were then given the task of incorporating them into theatrical bits they were given 10 minutes to write. The bits were set to be performed at the end of the show. Someone in the audience suggested something about low-fat lard that fell on deaf ears. Local stand-up comic Rich Greenfield suggested, “The dog went home,” which was perfect. Anyone who has ever attended an improv comedy show knows that the vague and ambiguous suggestions tend to illicit the best responses. In the less than two hours that followed, roughly 20 – 22 short plays quickly cascaded through the shadows. Prior to the evening, local writers were given lines from Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland and asked to form whole bits of staged comedy and drama from them in ten minutes or less. As evidenced by the show that night, the writers had met with mixed success. Voices and footsteps echoed around the darkness announcing the title and author of each piece. The lights raised and a piece was performed by actors dressed mostly in nondescript black garb. The lights fell and there was applause mingling with the sound of actors scurrying about in preparation for the next bit. With the audience flanking the actors on two sides with folding chairs in the big empty of Turner Hall Ballroom, voices echoed a bit much at times and it was a bit difficult to hear all the dialogue, but Alamo Basement and Insurgent Theatre put on an unsettlingly enjoyable evening with Gorilla Theater. The bits ranged in style quite a bit, but the overall feel was one of surrealist comedy. Stand outs included Hanlon’s eerie Anticipation and Wes Tank’s vividly surreal The Un-Rainbow Kind. John Manno’s Iphegenia’s Doggie was the story of a woman losing her pet dog as told in the fashion and passion of a Greek tragedy complete with chorus. Shannon Smith’s I Never Heard of Uglification featured perhaps the most visionary visualization for the space. A narrator from the second floor balcony vividly spoke words detailing actions performed in silence on the stage below. The Ballroom’s balcony was used in a number of pieces, most prominently in Alisa Rosenthal Haywire […]
Jan 1st, 2007 by Vital Archives
Jayk
By Evan Solochek + Photo by Dan Kocka With Robert Smith hair and a smooth yet commanding baritone that evokes a maturity and polish beyond his young age, Jayk is poised for big things. His debut album, everything ever, will be released any minute now, and yet Jayk has already landed a sponsorship deal with DC Shoes, toured the country from coast to coast and appeared on MTV2 and Fuel TV; not bad for a 22-year-old kid from West Bend. To hear more from Jayk, check out www.myspace.com/thatjaykwhosings. 1. What are your musical influences? I’ve always really appreciated the bands that I thought were great at writing lyrically as well as musically: Death Cab for Cutie, Rachael Yamagata, Tegan and Sara, City & Colour, Decibully… Most recently, Imogen Heap has really struck a chord with me. There is a side of me that still loves metal and hardcore too. 2. What was your earliest experience with music? Both my parents were involved with the church choir when I was very young; my father played the guitar and my mother sang. My dad was very much a jazz/blues guy, but he definitely had a lot of great classic rock albums. The first album I ever got into was a Yes album my dad kept in his collection. I remember being about 5 years old and I would sit in front of the record player and listen to “Roundabout” over and over. 3. What has been the most memorable moment of your career so far? The first real show I did was opening for Since By Man and Misery Signals. Apparently the original opener dropped off, and I was really worried that no one would like me. These were hardcore bands, for Christ’s sake, and I’m pretty much the furthest thing from it. I played like 5 songs and got the shakes really bad, but I got through it and with a very good response from the crowd. 4. How would you describe your music to someone who has never heard it? I’ve heard myself compared to many things I like (Jeff Buckley, City & Colour) and many things I dislike (Jason Mraz, Howie Day, even Ryan Cabrera). I like to let everyone make their own assumptions about what they think they hear. I play guitar and I sing. To me, I sound like me. 5. Where were you a year ago, and where do you see yourself this time next year? A year ago I was a struggling, inexperienced kid chasing what seemed like the impossible – no job and barely a roof over my head. Although I am now making giant steps in my career, it will always be a struggle to consistently create great music and keep everybody’s ears tuned in. By next year I hope to have settled with a record label that I am comfortable with, and be writing and recording more than I currently am; I’ve got a lot yet to say. VS
Jan 1st, 2007 by Vital Archives
…And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead
Listening to the new album from Austin’s …Trail of Dead reminds me of a 1992 quote from Faith No More’s keyboardist Roddy Bottum, regarding their tour mates Guns N’ Roses, who had morphed from a gritty LA sleaze-metal band into a bloated juggernaut: “I’m getting more and more confused about who’s in Guns N’ Roses, and it’s blowing my mind. Onstage now there’s a horn section, two chick backup singers, two keyboard players, an airplane pilot, a basketball coach, a coupla car mechanics…” One gets the same impression from So Divided. Back when TOD was unleashing chaos-rock on 2002’s brilliant Source Tags and Codes, they were lean and mean, but with their recent releases – 2005’s Worlds Apart and now So Divided – the band has chosen to expand their sound through bizarre stylistic shifts and ballooning instrumentation until you’re left wondering what these guys care about more – writing huge, epic songs, or just being huge and epic? “Stand in Silence,” the first proper song on the album, summarizes this frustration. The track opens with a classic TOD riff; the rhythm marches with a staggering, swaying funk backbeat while the vocals call the listener to action. But just as the song is about to take it to the bridge, it skids off the rails into a confusing symphonic second movement that sounds completely removed from the rock & roll book-ending it. The same thing happens to “Naked Sun,” which inexplicably transforms from a bluesy shuffle into more overwrought Tolkien-soundtrack shenanigans. When …Trail of Dead keep it simple, like on the title track, they’re still powerful, but overall So Divided is a mess with a badass rock record buried somewhere inside. VS
Jan 1st, 2007 by DJ Hostettler
We are the new year
By Matt Wild “You always seem to have the same problems, month in and month out. It’s like you never fucking learn.” This gem comes courtesy of an honest-to-a-fault friend during a blurred, never-ending round of drinks at Foundation. It’s nostril-freezing cold outside, and while it pains me to admit it, I know she’s right; nearly every one of my past 20 columns for this fine monthly have trod the same emotionally stunted, unemployment-fueled territory. So if you, dear reader, find yourself in agreement with this assessment, I implore you to brace yourself, because as far as repetitive and depressing columns go, this one’s a real doozy. Hate mail from jilted ex-lovers? Check. Half-hearted suicide attempts? Yup. Soppy, self-indulgent final paragraphs bemoaning a misspent, penniless Milwaukee youth? You better believe it. It’s a few weeks later when I find myself grudgingly attending a rock show at – dear God in heaven, help me – Live. It’s not the bands on the bill that give me pause (although all but the excellent Highlonesome will prove to be utterly useless), but instead the familiar list of aforementioned woes: a perpetual lack of money and a recent email from a former female acquaintance detailing my lack of “…conscience, courage, integrity and a spine.” Nevertheless, I’m placing my bets on the dim hope that some live music – along with the possibilities of the impending new year – can pull me through the evening. Tonight’s crowd is a schizophrenic mess, and can be divided up thusly: the kind of folks that currently frequent Live, and the kind of folks that haven’t stepped within a 20 foot radius of the place since it ceased being The Globe. (So long, bastion of all-ages Milwaukee rock; hello, 2-for-1 Jager bombs!) Style-wise, the assembly is equally polarized: button-ups crowding the bar, tattooed lunatics crowding the stage. Up first are The Sensible Pant Suits (Author’s Note: due to the extreme awfulness of the first two acts, I feel it’s only good manners to use aliases; if you care to know the true identities of these bands, contact me courtesy of this publication.) The group peddles in the kind of boring, outdated punk rock dreck that used to dominate the scene before every local band changed their music to boring, outdated “classic” rock. Their set is filled with the typical “Dude, we’re like, totally wasted!” between-song chatter, as well as the always popular “Come up front and dance!” demand that usually signifies barely-disguised desperation, a collective mental handicap or both. Next up is a solo set from Barry Getz, lead singer for local upstarts Let’s Hear It For Remedial English. Getz’s “sound” is hard to nail down, though imagining a 14-year-old boy giving birth while repeatedly picking up and dropping a series of electric-acoustic guitars seems to sum it up quite nicely. The straights seemed pretty miffed at all the racket, however, and a particularly oafish goon soon gets the boot after repeatedly screaming something about all the “dirty punk […]
Jan 1st, 2007 by Matt Wild
