Paul McCartney: McCartney/McCartney II

Originally published by PopMatters on June 17, 2011

There are few chapters in the life of Paul McCartney that have ever been underreported, and that certainly applies to his acrimonious departure from the Beatles in 1970. But while the stature of his bandmates—especially John Lennon and George Harrison—escalated in the decades which followed, McCartney has often been given comparably short shrift by chin-stroking music nerds. In fairness, McCartney himself must shoulder some of the blame for his spotty reputation: His recorded output has sometimes wavered somewhere on the shaky precipice between mawkish and schmaltzy; he had no concept of irony; there wasn’t a picture taken for 15 years straight where he wasn’t winking and hoisting his thumbs aloft.

McCartney has been making a concerted effort for a while to try and turn the artistic tides in his favor, perhaps beginning with his 1989 collaborations with Elvis Costello, working with the likes of Welsh indie-heroes Super Furry Animals, hanging out with Dave Grohl and playing festivals like Coachella. McCartney has also attempted to cast a different light on his previously released material, and as such has finally gotten around to his first two solo albums proper, collections on which he played every instrument.

McCartney and McCartney II are separated by a decade, the former recorded as a low-key, pressure-free tonic after the Beatles split, and the latter a polished collection of private recordings worked up before the final Wings tour and released a year later when the band was no more. The end of the Beatles allowed the Fab Four to each break off and find their own way: George Harrison had a lot to say, John Lennon a lot to get off his chest and Ringo Starr a desire to step out from behind the drumkit and become a frontman in his own right. McCartney, though, just wanted to chill the fuck out.

McCartney bears all the telltale signs of the circumstances that led to its creation; the album is at once intimate and inspired, finding a relaxed Macca on top form. Songs like “The Lovely Linda” and “Junk” are the work of an artist from whom a broader view of Love (with a capital “L”) was most effectively told through a deeply personal lens, while “Hot as Sun/Glasses” and “Momma Miss America” are so perfect in their rough state, it’s as though the artist stepped away from the canvas to add more paint to his palette, caught a glimpse of the pieces in mid-design and instinctively said, “Fuck it, they’re done.” If the album proper has one defining track, it’s probably “Maybe I’m Amazed”, an absolutely scorching love song that might have been a massive single in 1970 had it actually been released in that format (a live version recorded with Wings hit #10 on the charts in the US in 1976), but is instead one of the finest songs ever written and recorded by McCartney, including his work with the Beatles.

The bonus audio material on McCartney is also more than just filler, including three songs performed with Wings at a 1979 concert in Glasgow; a live in-studio run through “Maybe I’m Amazed” from the 1974 documentary One Hand Clapping; and three unreleased tracks, including “Don’t Cry Baby” (a jam on what eventually became “Oo You”), a piano-and-vocals demo of an amusing work in progress number called “Women Kind” in which McCartney sings about bra burning, and a compelling demo of a song called “Suicide”.

McCartney II, released in 1980, is perhaps even more overlooked in McCartney’s canon, in spite of it including the chart smash “Coming Up” (the live version recorded with Wings during a Glasgow concert in 1979 that was a #1 hit in the US and Canada is included on a second disc of bonus material). For many, the album was an odd curio upon release, and in many ways it sounds even weirder now. While much of his most popular solo/Wings material up to that point was recorded on traditional rock & roll instruments, McCartney II doesn’t just feature synthesizers and other electronic instruments, it showcases them.

Just two songs in, “Temporary Secretary” is a manic, futuristic laser blast with an actual melody simmering underneath. It would be pointless to compare it to anything McCartney had ever done before, and would be equally so to compare it to anyone else as it couldn’t possibly be anyone else. More than any other song on either eponymous album, “Temporary Secretary” illustrates the complex nature of Paul McCartney’s musical output, and why painting him into a corner as an artless and cynical hack has always been utter bullshit. “On the Way”, a sparse, mid-tempo tune that sounds like it was recorded at the bottom of a deep chasm, is another gem, as are “Waterfalls” and “One of These Days”, two songs which are rescued from succumbing to sugar shock by virtue of their genuine beauty.

McCartney II also features a handful of terrific bonus tracks, including a few futuristic b-sides (the Gorillaz-forecasting “Check My Machine” and the full-length version of “Secret Friend”), an even stranger relative of an already strange album track (“Bogey Wobble” is the b-side, “Bogey Music” the album cut), a cheesy yuletide single (“Wonderful Christmastime”) and a couple of unreleased songs: “Mr. H Atom/You Know I’ll Get You Baby” (a Devo-esque shimmy which opens with the line, “The Shangri-La’s vs. the Village People”); “All You Horse Riders/Blue Sway” and “Blue Sway”, the latter featuring the addition of orchestration by Richard Niles. (A second disc of bonus material, most of which features extended versions of album tracks, was not available for review.)

The bonus DVD material is also fascinating, especially on McCartney where the album’s songs are revisited many years later by Macca himself. Following a splendidly animated film accompanying McCartney’s present-day recollections of recording the album and a few archival clips, “Every Night” and “Hot as Sun” are given a live airing by Wings at one of the benefit Concerts for Kampuchea on December 29, 1979. McCartney’s MTV Unplugged performance recorded on January 25, 1991 also featured a pair of numbers from his solo debut; “Junk” and “That Would Be Something” are included on the DVD.

McCartney II includes a much longer DVD, in part because of a 25-minute English television chat show called Meet Paul McCartney. The program is definitely of its age, a somewhat dry, overly intellectual conversation between Macca and presenter Tim Rice. McCartney II also includes videos that predate the launch of MTV by one year, including a fairly literal promo for “Waterfalls”, a clip of “Wonderful Christmastime” that looks as though it’s spent the past 30 years in direct sunlight and the legendary tongue-in-cheek video for “Coming Up”, which takes the DIY means by which the music was recorded and features a band entirely comprised of McCartney in various costumes, with a pair of backup singers played by Linda.  “Coming Up” gets the most video coverage by a long stretch, with clips of a 1979 rehearsal, a Concert for Kampuchea performance with Wings from that same year, and a “Making of” version of the promo video with commentary provided by McCartney. Both reissues are available in a few different formats, including digital, vinyl and both two-disc and super-deluxe CD versions.

McCartney and McCartney II are both essential releases for different reasons, though they both find the former Beatle in his comfort zone. He recorded these tracks as though no one was ever going to listen, and in doing so released himself from the pretense of pressure. This is Paul McCartney in 1970 and 1980; stripped down and terrific.

Rating: 9 out of 10 (both albums)

Friendly Fires/The Naked and Famous/Cults - Live at SummerStage in Central Park

Originally published by PopMatters on August 10, 2011

With the punishing humidity and fetid stench of rotting garbage and human waste, summer in New York City is no picnic. Just try telling that to the sea of pink-faced revelers who streamed into Rumsey Playfield on Sunday afternoon (some of whom were actually picnicking with baskets of food and blankets) for a free Central Park SummerStage show headlined by English post-funk outfit Friendly Fires with support from New Zealand-based indie popsters the Naked and Famous and Cults, a New York band who admitted to being more nervous about playing in their own city than they’d been two days earlier at Lollapalooza.

On record, Friendly Fires are a kinetic blend of dance rhythms, massive washes of synthesizers and guitars and the blue-eyed soul yelps of frontman Ed Macfarlane. Live, however, they’re even better, a frenzy of motion from which the noise escapes. In Central Park, there was the standard instrument-hopping and continuous pulse as experienced by this reporter at Coachella two years ago. There was also a two-man horn section helping certain numbers lean a decade further back than the oft-noted ‘80s influence the band seems to revel in. And there was also Macfarlane, one of the most energetic singers trodding the boards today.
 
Much has been said of Macfarlane’s fondness for exaggerated Jaggerisms (ex-Jaggerated?) on stage, and it must be said that there’s really something to that. Few young bucks even bother attempting to mince and flounce around the way Macfarlane does. There’s an air of the wan socialite in the way the microphone is scornfully held with a limp wrist, dangling there as Macfarlane gyrates and shimmies. And anyone who’s seen Friendly Fires before knows Macfarlane spends so much time in the crowd during his band’s set that he really should have to buy a ticket. You know, unless the show is free.

Because many of the SummerStage shows are free (with donation boxes prevalent at the exits), the crowd is often something of a mixed bag. Without casting aspersions on anyone in particular, it’s not unreasonable to deduce that many of the people who feasted on the bounty of some of Brooklyn Flea’s most popular food vendors and quaffed $8 beers might not have turned up for a regular Friendly Fires show with an actual ticket price. It mattered not, as all three bands on the bill brought the goods in their own way.

Cults were on stage for around 30 minutes, at least half of which sounded pretty much the same: The same beats, same blend of weedy pop and faux-darkness. Cults, a duo, are fleshed out on stage by three musicians, presumably chosen as much for their skill as their huge piles of hair. Madeline Follin is a perfectly fine singer, though her voice occasionally cut through the mix in an unappealingly sharp way. Still, it was hardly an unsuccessful set, and the audience was appreciative.

The Naked and Famous, if I’m being completely candid, probably drew the biggest crowd. Their radio-friendly songs have been featured in popular television shows like The Vampire Diaries and Gossip Girl, and there was definitely sporadic widespread singing along from the audience. With their approachable songs carried on a throbbing electronic pulse and occasional loud guitars, it’s likely popular for the same reason MGMT caught on a couple of years ago. In fact, one of the few low points in their set was probably my own fault, as the outro to one song reminded me a little too much of an ad for consumer electronics company Haier.

For Friendly Fires, the show was an opportunity to showcase songs off their latest album (Pala, which sounded fantastic alongside tracks from their eponymous debut), to possibly develop a wicked sunburn before heading off to Japan for Summer Sonic and to bring some of the energy that led to a stage invasion at Music Hall of Williamsburg in Brooklyn two years ago. They did all that and more. With a fall tour of the US lined up, it’s worth whatever you have to spend to hit one of their shows.

Beastie Boys: Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 2

Originally published by PopMatters on May 2, 2011

Even when all is right in the world, when the scourge of cancer isn’t darkening their self-contained doorstep, Beastie Boys have never been terribly prolific. The shortest stretch between studio albums over the past two-and-a-half decades was the two years and one month between the releases of Check Your Head and Ill Communication.

Beastie Boys albums arrive so infrequently, they’re treated like gala events. That’s a sword that cuts two ways of course, because when the album is terrific – like 1998’s Hello Nasty – all the praise it receives only enhances the party. But their weaker efforts – like 2004’s To the 5 Boroughs – are also universally lauded upon arrival, and once the thrill of having new Beastie Boys music begins to ebb, it can make you wonder if maybe you’re just missing something.

Is Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 2 gonna stick to your ribs after the issue of Rolling Stone with the inevitable four-star review has soaked up too much splashback in your bathroom and is resigned to the recycling bin? Well, yes. In a big way.

Exploring the convoluted path that led to the creation and release of Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 2 is ultimately pointless, as is speculation about whether its predecessor, Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 1 will ever see the light of day. You might as well wonder if Bill Cosby will ever switch gears and release Leonard, Pts. 1-5. I’ll admit to missing the proposed Pt.1 cover, which reminded me of the sleeve of the Jungle Brothers’ debut, and while Pt.2 is worryingly Technicolor, at least it steers well clear of the recent overwhelming indie fondness for blurry Lomographic snaps.

No, the only history it’s important to touch upon is what’s happened over the past week or so, when the blogosphere lit up with leaky Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 2 links which turned out to be the dreaded “clean” version of the album. In response, the Beastie Boys put up the real deal sweary album on their website as a stream, and with under a week to go before the release actually drops, that’s the only legit shit out there.

Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 2 represents a return to form in more ways than one. Yes, Ad-Rock, Mike D and MCA sound rejuvenated, both by their perspective on hip-hop and their undeniable interplay. But the album also shares a great many links to its predecessors, with a debt to the sample-laden Paul’s Boutique and the fuzzed-out vocals and live instrumentation of Check Your Head and Ill Communication. Make no mistake, this is a contemporary album by a contemporary Beastie Boys. Sure, they’re still hilarious and juvenile, which is great because I’m only a few years younger than them myself, and I’m a complete doofus. But even when they’re in classic call/response hip-hop territory, it’s still bakery fresh. Well, for the most part, anyway.

“Lee Majors Come Again” was initially released on vinyl for Record Store Day in 2010, a sample-heavy version with nods to Daft Punk’s “Da Funk”. On the album, the super disco breaks have been replaced with aggro hardcore riffage, which while an undeniable part of the Beastie DNA, isn’t necessarily the right sound for the song. 

But really, that’s minor grousing. Because above all else, the Beastie Boys are music nerds, just like the rest of us. And if they want to throw a mess of different music into the mix, well take a look at your iPod and tell me you’re not doing the same damn thing.

Even when treading ground that might exploit mere mortals as charlatans, the Beasties are so natural and nonchalant that it comes off perfectly. Sometimes an artist will whip out special guest stars when there’s nothing left in the tank, when a gimmick beats coming up with an original idea or when their own name is no longer an ironclad guarantee that precious units will be moved. “Too Many Rappers”, with Nas, still sounds as good in its “new reactionaries version” as it did a year-and-a-half ago. And the contribution of Santigold, on the dub-inflected “Don’t Play No Game That I Can’t Win” is also vital without seeming forced or intrusive. In fact, it’s one of the album’s best cuts, no mean feat on a collection where just about everything feels as though it belongs.

For those who’ve grown weary of good intentions and political grandstanding and their inherent clumsy rhymes (To the 5 Boroughs’ “It Takes Time to Build”, even if you agree with the sentiment, had virtually no flow) entering the equation, the revelation that “Multilateral Nuclear Disarmament” is an instrumental should come as some relief.

Of course, a Beastie Boys album will ultimately hit or miss because of the Beasties themselves. This time around, the rhymes are tight, the beats are meaty and the vibes are good and plenty. It begins with recent single “Make Some Noise”, a three-and-a-half minute reminder of everything that made you love the Beastie Boys all those years ago, up to and including the pre-bridge cowbell, played by Will Ferrell in the celebrity-studded long form video, “Fight for Your Right (Revisited)”.

“Nonstop Disco Powerpack” recalls De La Soul’s “The Bizness” and its own album, Stakes is High, in delivery and design, while “Tadlock’s Glasses” is the sound of a thousand Casio keyboards mounting a revolution from beyond the grave.

I’ll leave the discussion about whether Messrs. Diamond, Horovitz and Yauch are too old or too out of touch to be taken seriously to someone else. I’d rather just shut up and enjoy this blast from the present and past without worrying about all that brow-furrowing bullshit. Good stuff, Beastie Boys. Shall we check back in three to five years, then?

9 out of 10

Coachella 2011, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Heatstroke

Originally published by PopMatters on April 19, 2011

This was my first Coachella without press credentials, my first as a music fan and not a professional, which is kind of not that different really; because I was a music fan the last couple of times around, too. That was in 2008 and 2009, and though the press was given VIP access, all that really meant at the time was some breathing room off to the side of the Coachella Stage, where the festival’s headline acts play.

VIP was a little different this time around, allowing those who paid a premium a closer look at some stages, a comfortable spot with a view in the soundboard area at others. But my ticket, or rather my wristband, only allowed me to peer into those spots, though rarely with anything approaching jealousy as the festival was among the very best organized I’ve seen.

I may be remembering this incorrectly, but I think it was a friend of mine who dubbed the 2010 iteration of the festival Clusterfuckchella because of the ridiculous crowds, as many as 30,000 of them reportedly gatecrashers. Goldenvoice, the festival’s organizers, apparently took all the criticism to heart, as they expanded the grounds, increased the size of the tents and introduced a series of security measures designed to keep the fence-hoppers out.

At the heart of the new security was the wristband, which when applied properly could not be removed without damaging the whole thing. Attached to each wristband was a small panel with an embedded chip. These were scanned repeatedly, first upon approach to the grounds, and again at the festival gates. I’ve no idea how effective the system was in terms of actual numbers, but the combination of all those changes really did give the impression that in spite of the festival selling out in just six days, it wasn’t a clusterfuck at all.

With congestion light and plenty of opportunities for shady respite, the music was able to be the primary focus of the weekend. And in spite of the inevitable conflicts, the technical difficulties which delayed wildly-hyped hip-hop collective Odd Future from taking the stage in the Sahara, and the increasingly horrendous stench rising from the porta-potties, it really was all about the music. Well, the music and the sometimes sexy, sometimes bizarre, often both fashion choices. So many feathers, so many dark jeans and furry boots. But really, it was about the music.

In the past, I’ve felt somewhat beholden to sampling as much as I possibly could in an effort to cover the vast breadth of the Coachella experience. Sometimes that meant making tough choices and leaving one stage for another when I was really enjoying what was happening right before my eyes. But with no press credentials and no official reason for me to even be there, I was free to be a music fan first and stay for as long as I liked at some of the performances I was most looking forward to. I could follow my whims wherever they and the rare delightful breeze might take me, spend time with friends even when something I might have otherwise been able to do and didn’t worry at all that I might miss something “epic” that might not mean a goddamn thing to me personally. And in that way, I was able to experience Coachella more fully than ever before.

In putting this together, I tried to think of my favorite performance each day, and when that proved fruitless I tried to make an all-inclusive Top Five. That didn’t work out either, so here’s some stuff I liked in no particular sequence.

Suede—They scared the shit out of me in the week before the festival when it was announced that bass guitarist Mat Osman had his travel visa denied. Despite loving them from the moment I heard that first glorious run of singles, I’d never actually seen them live. And here I thought I was going to miss my chance again, and when the fuck are they ever coming back? But I was assured by someone in the know that the announcement that they were rehearsing as a four piece was the gospel truth.

Despite my best efforts to remain aloof and free from letting the fey bedsit recesses of my heart be torn asunder, I hit the Mojave on Saturday night with hips that swiveled far more freely than ordinarily. And then Suede hit the stage and fucking killed it. It wasn’t just one of the best sets of the entire weekend, but of all the shows I’ve seen in at least a decade. Brett Anderson, even in his early 40s, is an androgynous god, swinging his microphone like Roger Daltrey one minute, dramatically falling to his knees the next. Suede—or the London Suede as they’re known in the United States—had no other American shows planned. They’ve just released a phenomenal two-disc compilation, and hopefully enough of you will pick it up so they’ll feel compelled to come back and do a proper tour. Breathtaking stuff, especially when I realized tunes like “Animal Nitrate”, “Trash” and “Killing of a Flash Boy” were meant to be sung en masse.

Duran Duran—From the moment the official lineup dropped, some Coachella purists pegged Duran Duran as one of the acts that somehow didn’t belong in the middle of their party. Never mind the endless stream of artists who’ve performed previously who admit their own debt to the music of the early MTV icons. Besides, when your festival has featured a performance by James Blunt (2006), you’re really in no position to throw stones.

The New Romantic legends proved their mettle at sunset on Sunday by building their debut single “Planet Earth” glittery brick by brick, then rolling through a hit-laden set that mixed well with songs from their new album, All You Need is Now. Ana Matronic of Scissor Sisters stuck around after her band’s Saturday night set to perform “Safe (In the Heat of the Moment)”, and “Ordinary World” made it back into my good graces after years of foolish abandonment.

Elbow—Guy Garvey looked miserable in the heat of the Mojave tent, which instantly made me both love and identify with him. It didn’t hurt that Garvey and his band put on a stunning show, one heavy on material from their latest long player, Build a Rocket Boys! The set was grandiose and celebratory without pretense. Or at least without the lame kind of pretense. This wasn’t Muse, is what I mean.

Big Audio Dynamite—Three years ago, former Clash founder Mick Jones brought his Carbon/Silicon project to Coachella. It was a workmanlike set of workmanlike tunes, and even though there wasn’t anything particularly special about the music, Jones’ smile made it come off like a classic. If a guy can enjoy being on stage and making music that much, surely I can get on board.

Saturday’s stop on the Big Audio Dynamite reunion tour was something altogether different, as I already loved the songs from way back in high school and college. Jones smiled, Don Letts toasted and the scourge of the scourge of the latter rap-rock genre was finally hurled into the stinking abyss by the real deal.

Random Friday highlights include: The Michael Cera-esque dance moves of !!!’s Nic Offer; the angsty anthemic rock of Titus Andronicus; the swirling and gregarious Warpaint, a band which had one of the festival’s best drummers, Stella Mozgawa; the much better than we were all led to believe Lauryn Hill; the arrival of an inflatable kangaroo during a triumphant set by Australian neo-psych band Tame Impala, the sheer force of Sleigh Bells; the defiance of Jonathan Pierce of the Drums continuing to rock the bowl cut that makes him look and behave like a blonde penis.

Saturday’s best moments included: Foals showing plenty of figurative and some actual muscle; Animal Collective confounding people, captivating people and hitting all points in between; Erykah Badu. Really, everything about Erykah Badu; Arcade Fire’s radioactive ball drop and pretty much their entire set; the lazy afternoon buzz of Radio Dept.

And on Sunday: An Outdoor Theatre set by PJ Harvey many considered to be the true festival closer; OFF!’s brief aggro reminder that Keith Morris is a gentleman and a scholar and should be allowed to, as he suggested, headline Coachella in 2012; the creepy hovering koala-human baby hybrid that got as much of a full-throttle charge out of the razor-sharp tumult of Death From Above 1979 as I did; the Strokes’ Julian Casablancas keeping it clean during “New York City Cops,” but swearing like a sailor elsewhere; Kanye West’s punctuality.

These were only my highlights, of course. One of the best things about Coachella is that there are tens of thousands of people who attend each year, and because of the incredible amount of completely rad shit to see and hear, every single one of them will have a completely different set of favorite experiences.

Well, there’s that and the frozen lemonade.

But, you know, these things aren’t perfect. There’s always the festival despair of not hearing the songs you wanted because your favorite band had to make crucial time-sensitive setlist decisions. There are the scheduling conflicts that left you—or in this case, me—missing out on artists like Wire and Here We Go Magic. And there’s the abject terror when you—me, again—learn from a few different friends that you showed up on the screen during Big Audio Dynamite’s set probably during one of those moments when lyrics you’ve always known by heart and were really trying to sing along to were difficult to recall simply because you’re like 15 feet away from fucking Mick Jones!!!

In spite of my needing a Silkwood shower before bed each night just to get the sticky sheen of sweat, dust and cigarette smoke off me, I wouldn’t change a thing about Coachella. Even the stuff that irritated me, the technical blips and the sound bleed, the wind blowing the funk from the toilets right into my face every time I refilled my water bottle from the adjacent fountains and the unlikely abundance of so many Boston Celtics jerseys on the weekend they opened up a one game lead over my beloved New York Knickerbockers in the opening round of the NBA playoffs. It’s Coachella, and whether I’m there in an official press capacity or as a fan of music who by coincidence can’t go anywhere without a notebook and a few pens, I’m probably going back next year.

LCD Soundsystem: 2 April 2011 - The Long Goodbye, NYC

Originally published by PopMatters on April 7, 2011

New York City was crawling with acolytes long before the show, dressed as instructed in black, white or some combination of the two. LCD Soundsystem did more than sell out a run of shows at Terminal 5 and an arena sendoff at Madison Square Garden this week. If you were in the right place, and the East Village fit that description on Saturday evening, it was as though James Murphy & Co. had taken over the city itself.

Forget the fury over ticket scalping, the oft-reported likelihood of a regular guy and all-around good dude being so iconic or the fact that bigger isn’t necessarily better. None of that mattered on Saturday night.

Fans arrived from across the country and around the world, doing everything within their power to be there for the finale of one of modern music’s most enthralling live acts. It’s possible some of them even plotted their route to the Garden by way of the L, C and D trains - logistically possible, though sort of convoluted and redundant, and with a short walk at the end. It would have made perfect sense, of course.

This was a night, not for excess exactly, but for an appropriate amount of jubilation. And, as it happens, no amount of jubilation would have been too much. People latched on to one another like family, not just during “All My Friends”, but beforehand on street corners and subway platforms. They were rewarded by a party where it’s like you’ve been hugged by 15,000 pairs of arms, and by some miracle no one smells bad, and even if they do you don’t really mind.

So few bands say goodbye on their own terms, or on terms acceptable to its legions of fans. The rock & roll story is littered with acrimony and greed and no end of shit that leaves a taste in the mouth even worse than anything the concession stands at Madison Square Garden could conjure up. Because of the way they operate, LCD Soundsystem threw a party. It turned into an exceedingly long party, with the four smaller shows serving as a lead in to the massive one.

Liquid Liquid, rhythm-based post-punk band and early influence on Murphy, was the night’s opening act, a traditionally unenviable role in the cavernous hall. But that night it worked, in part because 1/3 of the floor was general admission and people were showing up earlier than they might ordinarily. Back in October, N*E*R*D had a much tougher time of it opening for Gorillaz in the same venue. Liquid Liquid proved their mettle and with “Cavern”, a song covered by the Sugar Hill house band on the classic Grandmaster Melle Mel track “White Lines (Don’t Do It)”, had ushers shaking their asses.

But the night truly belonged to LCD Soundsystem, a band for whom live shows have always been something of a celebration. Opening the gig with a tremendous “Dance Yrself Clean,” Murphy chirped and crooned like a digital David Byrne, his iconic laconicism punctuated by a black suit, untucked tuxedo shirt, white sneakers and 5 o’clock shadow. This is how we’ll always remember him, exactly as he is.

Though ostensibly Murphy’s vision, LCD Soundsystem would not be possible without a close-knit group of collaborators. Multi-instrumentalist and singer Nancy Whang and drummer Pat Mahoney picked up the lion’s share of the audience appreciation, though Murphy seemed equally indebted to everyone on the stage, including a chorus and brass section in silver jumpsuits and roughly half of Arcade Fire, who looked like the von Trapp children on growth hormones as they sang along to a bristling “North American Scum”.

To pinpoint a single highlight would be a disservice to a night where every second stood out as crucial. Was it the trembling future funk of “Get Innocuous!” or the Devo soul of “I Can Change,” the self-conscious “Losing My Edge” or the final bow, when hundreds of white balloons dropped from the ceiling to “New York, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down”? It was each of those and more.

There were still apparent hiccups, though to no one sensible and no one truly caught up in the moment. “No ‘Pow Pow’” remarked one lost soul in the tangle of the Garden’s exit pattern, in spite of a set that lasted nearly four hours, touched the four corners of the LCD Soundsystem experience and left thousands of true believers with the confusion of having faces streaked by tears and sore from grinning. A shock to the system so great has the power to befuddle, leaving one thinking they were shortchanged on a night where the inclusive give-and-take was as generous as anything ever seen in those hallowed halls.

As something of a postscript to illustrate what a magical night it was, I had a few friends find themselves in the midst of the official after-party at the Tribeca Grand Hotel. One member of the industrious crew, Aaron Gonsher, said the good vibes were still in full effect by then.

“James was walking around with a big bottle of champagne”, said Gonsher. “I gave him a huge hug and just said, ‘Thanks for everything’”.

It was a night where time stood still, where the sheer weight and significance of what was happening was further illustrated by the genuine humility and appreciation being hurtled through the great hall from every direction. And thanks to a live video stream of the show by Pitchfork, it was a moment shared across the world, Twitter and Facebook feeds fat with commentary.

If LCD Soundsystem resists the urge to reunite for some future Coachella or Lollapalooza, they will have said goodbye exactly as they should, as their music and attitude demanded, with a party for the ages. The life-affirming power of music and collective experience was in full effect at Madison Square Garden, and no amount of joyful hyperbole could come close to explaining how much it all meant.

Thanks for everything.

The Life of an Alien Lizard Queen: An Interview with Monica Baccarin

Originally published by PopMatters on April 13, 2011

Though she’s since become known to fans of the contemporary remake of the sci-fi television classic V, in a former TV life Morena Baccarin was known to fans the world over as an interplanetary prostitute on Joss Whedon’s heralded but short-lived series Firefly.

Inara Serra was really more than just a mere hooker in Firefly (and its follow-up feature film, Serenity). In the late 25th century world concocted by Whedon, Companions like those played by Baccarin are really high-society courtesans and part of the social fabric. Naturally, Inara Serra is something of a tormented soul. Coming as Baccarin’s first steady Hollywood gig, it was also an unforgettable experience.
 
“It was a blast,” Baccarin said, in part because of her work with Whedon.

“Joss was great,” she explained. “He’s really specific about his work; he knows exactly what he wants.” 

Baccarin said of Whedon, “I feel like he is the kind of person that allows for so much creativity,” she said. She added a tongue-in-cheek caveat: “Generally speaking, he is always right.”

Firefly and Serenity also gave Baccarin a taste of what it’s like to become a key figure in sci-fi fandom, especially after the experience entered her rear view mirror.

“It was humbling to see how many fans there are of Serenity,” she said. “It’s like an underground fan base.”

It’s something she’s likely experiencing all over again now that V has just wrapped its second season. On the show, Baccarin plays Anna, the Visitor Queen and High Commander of the sinister alien invasion.

“Reaction has been good,” Baccarin said of the ongoing series. “This (was) a much more action-packed season…Lisa doubts if she wants to be a queen.”

Though it might seem as though it would be a piece of cake to play an emotionless alien, Baccarin said she actually finds it to be a tricky proposition.

“Having no emotions is the most difficult, to tone it down,” she said.

One way of ensuring she can keep emotions out of the character as much as possible is to not let them get in the way of her private life. One way to ensure this is to avoid looking herself up on Google because she’s wary of seeing what people might be saying about her.

“I don’t want to believe the bad stuff,” she said.

As for what comes next, Baccarin said she might like to try her hand at something outside the realm of sci-fi, perhaps dabbling a bit in comedy.

“For me, it really is about the story and characters,” she said. “Inspiration is key for me in choosing characters.”

Fans of the Brazilian-born actress would likely contend she’s already done a pretty good job of that already.

Additional reporting by Charles Wallace

Beady Eye: Different Gear, Still Speeding

Originally published by PopMatters on March 4, 2011

People really seem to want Beady Eye to fail. Between the two Oasis-era Gallaghers, Liam generally gets the lion’s share of the scorn; they’re both acerbic jerks, but Noel’s sense of humor is maybe a little easier to read. Liam, on the other hand, comes off like he truly believes it when he says things like his new band’s debut, Different Gear, Still Speeding, is “as good as (Oasis debut) Definitely Maybe, if not better.”

First things first: Different Gear, Still Speeding is hardly a disaster, and is, in fact, a mostly enjoyable rock & roll record. It’s also nowhere near as explosive and dynamic as Definitely Maybe, but how could it possibly have been? On the other hand, it is certainly better than a couple of other Oasis albums.

Yeah, people questioned whether or not these guys could even write a passable tune with Oasis’ principal songwriter, Noel Gallagher, sitting on a big pile of money in his mansion as far away from the action as he could possibly get. The thing is, Liam was coming along rather nicely as a songwriter himself before Oasis imploded; one of the band’s best latter-era singles, “I’m Outta Time”, was written by Liam. And, you know, Andy Bell isn’t any slouch either, even if his Hurricane #1 material was Oasis Lite. He was in Ride, for crying out loud. Plus, Gem Archer rounds out the Beady Eye songwriting triumvirate, and he’s got his shit fairly well together. It also doesn’t hurt that producer Steve Lillywhite has a knack for knowing when to go big and when to pull back.

Which brings us to the first salvo from Beady Eye, “Bring the Light”. Released last November, the song has been generously compared to Jerry Lee Lewis and the Rolling Stones yet was really kind of a plodding bore. As an introduction, it failed spectacularly to live up to the hype. Fortunately, things picked up from there, with the band dropping the album’s opening track, “Four Letter Word”, in late December. I guess it’s a statement when the lasting impression is the repeated line “Nothing ever lasts forever”, but it doesn’t hurt that the song is also a monster, an avalanche of drums and strings and filthy guitars and super-snotty attitude.

“The Roller”, the first official single off the album, is also splendid, a choice cut of mid-tempo Beatles-esque fun, and while cut from the same cloth, “The Beat Goes On” is also good enough that its familiarity doesn’t really matter.

There are also some weak moments in addition to “Bring the Light”: “For Anyone” is fairly inauspicious ‘70s touchy-feely singer-songwriter fare, and “Millionaire” sounds more like the Charlatans than the Charlatans themselves have sounded in ages. “Standing on the Edge of Noise” is the sort of clumsy rawk the Beach Boys used to pad their early ‘70s albums with, only way noisier. It’s like “Student Demonstration Time,” only with marginally better lyrics.

But what people really want to know is if it sounds like Oasis. Of course it does. How could it not? After all, Oasis itself was a completely different animal when it ended from when it began, with only the Gallagher brothers remaining from its original lineup, and it carried on sounding like Oasis as it shed member after member. Plus, even though Beady Eye sometimes throws in pianos or sassy female backing vocals, the influences are essentially the same. There’s even a (rather good) song called “Beatles and Stones”, let ye forget where these fellows are coming from.

Beady Eye may have bitten off more than they can chew because, at 13 songs, Different Gear, Still Speeding really sags in the middle, with the least successful numbers all coming in succession. Thankfully, it picks up for the duration with “Wigwam,” a psych-rock spread with Simon & Garfunkel vocals and a dense, hazy production.

It opens and closes brilliantly, and hits its rhythm here and there, though Different Gear, Still Speeding is not without its faults. But it manages excess and grandeur far more gracefully than Oasis’ own overblown collection, Be Here Now. It’s also better than anyone shy of Liam Gallagher himself would have believed possible.

7 out of 10