
You never saw a guy in Dockers move like this. Pleated Dockers. Frontman Samuel T. Herring bounded and pogoed across the stage like a gymnast. He bent at the knees and the waist and pointed at audience members and looked them straight in the eye and generally danced like a man overcome throughout Future Islands' sold-out set of baroque, romantic new-wave dance-pop Tuesday night at Bottom of the Hill. It was a sight to see.
Anticipation was in the air as we awaited Adele's long return to the Bay Area last night at Berkeley's Greek theater. That's no understatement. We'd already withstood venue changes, tour cancellations, a late start, an (admittedly powerful) opening act, and a drawn-out, dramatic entrance. And fortunately, Adele was worth the wait. She showed up and showed out.
A rap career seems like an odd move for a classically-trained pianist, but Kev Choice has figured out how to make it work—often in startling ways. His latest release is a spin on "Arietta" (Opus 12-1), a classical piece by Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg. Choice delivers a rap serenade to a fictional love interest, while playing Grieg's piece—the original, not a chopped-up sample— on acoustic piano. Equal parts classical and hip-hop, it's completely unorthodox with respect to both genres. And yet it's a bold move on Choice's part. He's obviously got chops.
So. You may have heard that there's a big music festival in San Francisco this weekend? And as usual, the Express is sending our crack team of critics and photogs to cover all the musical fun in the sunfog. Check back with Ear Bud through the weekend and on Monday for show reviews, pictures, tips, musings and more, and scoot on over to our brand new, Outside Lands-specific Twitter account, @EBXOSL, for all kinds of adventures in microbloggery.
Okay, here's the problem with the San Francisco regional air guitar competition: It's actually split into two separate contests, one on Friday and one on Saturday, each with its own winner. That's policy, that's tradition, it's not clear who made it that way, but that's the way it is, and pretty much everyone accepts it. But this year it skewed the results. There was a giant talent gap between the Friday show, which was pretty underwhelming, and the Saturday show, which — according to everyone present — was totally freakin' amazing. Even retired champ and Friday night judge Hot Lixx Hulahan noticed it.
So, Lady Gaga? You may have heard of her. She played some songs at the Oracle last night. It was pretty chill.
PSYCH! It was fucking bananas. We're talking at least eight costume changes; fire, sparklers, smoke, and countless other pyrotechnics (literal and figurative); a small army of muscular, appropriately freaky-looking backup dancers — and an audience of 15,000 or so little monsters hanging on to every moment. It was, in other words, more or less exactly what you'd expect from a Gaga show.
Monologist Mike Daisey took a big risk by giving his salary out to audience members at the Berkeley Repertory Theatre. But apparently, the experiment paid off. According to the Berkeley Rep blog, he clocked a $1,169 and a half cent profit for The Last Cargo Cult , which ended its run last week. The whole impetus for the play was to replicate John Frum Day, a ceremonial rejection of western materialism that happens annually on the island of Tanna. Apparently, Daisey didn't entirely cleanse us of avarice — he commented on a Berkeleyside blog post that many theater-goers happily pocketed the money. Still, the extra tips suggest that other people took his message to heart. Or at least they enjoyed the performance.
Ted Leo sans Pharmacists. It’s an interesting prospect. His songwriting, teetering ever intriguingly between anti-establishment punk and romantic, pensive indie-rock — all infused with a certain charming East Coast Irish spitfire — is sufficiently strident to survive on guitar and vocals alone. And, as Leo proved last night during a headlining solo Noise Pop performance at Bottom of the Hill, his personality is strong enough to be in no need of support on an otherwise vacant stage. Yet I couldn’t escape the feeling that something was missing. I suspect I'm not alone in this: Ted Leo without a rhythm section is like Justin Timberlake without glistening pectoral muscles: he may not need it to survive, but he’s not necessarily better off without it.
in the best way possible, that is. Anyone who's seen the trash-DIY electronic artist perform knows that the music itself is almost secondary to the extracurricular activities: Deacon treats his live show less like a passive experience and more like a dance party, presiding over the crowd like something between an avuncular professor type and a benevolent dictator. From the moment Deacon started playing at around 11:15, it was clear that last night's show — the second of two Noise Pop gigs for him this week — was no exception.
The entire ethos of alt-rock icons Cake can perhaps be embodied in one picture, taken as part of a promotional photo shoot for the band. In it, lead singer John McCrea stands apart from his instrumentalists, all of whom lean unassumingly against a wall of dark wood paneling. McCrea is several steps away from them, closer to the camera — so close that the upper half of his face and his eyes, covered by amber sunglasses, hardly make it into the picture —and he's donning brown pants, a beige windbreaker, and a white T-shirt depicting a very serious-looking kitten wearing an American flag bandanna around its neck.