A few current spins, open for debate

I've got a number of newish things in regular rotation that deserve a mention.  Not that anything has blown me away.  Quite the contrary when it comes to the new Arcade Fire album.  I've been a big fan and I've seldom waited as anxiously for a new album.  And while it's good, the cumulative effect is far from great.  My rating - a mildly-disappointed, bored B-minus.  There are some strong turns and I expect the live shows that come from this new material will also be beefy given Arcade Fire's awesome performance chops.  But I'm about as fired up giving them an obligatory review as I am about the backlog of this summer's "Top Chef" on our DVR.

I also feel the need to lump together some new albums that I've fallen in and out of heavy petting like with recently.  Menomena's most recent album ("Mines") is where I come in contact with their creative arc.  Portland-based indie rock.  Works best loud.  Surprisingly resilient.  I have to give it a durn good review.  Solid B rating.  But, then again, after listening a bunch of times....well, I'm not convinced I know enough of their package to give a complete assessment.  I am intrigued enough to have subsequently tracked down their first album ("I Am the Fun Blame Monster!").  That's probably the way to initiate a fresh flirtation with a band that ain't new.  Don't hate me for an early poke in their collective grill.

Otherwise, I can't get fired up about Wavves latest ("King of the Beach") - rating a C-plus that probably would benefit from a road trip.  Or The Roots ("How I Got Over") - rating a re-tread feeling C-plus. Oddly, the thing that I've liked the most recently is a compilation release from the long since defunct Seattle band Carissa's Wierd.  It's folk rock, although that characterization makes me throw up in my mouth a wee bit.  Newbies might hear some faint echoes of what made The XX such a surprising breakthrough act last year.  I give "They'll Only Miss You When You Leave" a sentimental B-plus rating.

Hope your own listening doesn't get in the way of all the books you've got on the proverbial nightstand there days.  Rock on.

Good "Subversive" fun

There exist those rare, successful bloggers that have turned their small "f" fame into book deals.  They are by far the exception to the rule.  And now, thanks to David Goodwillie, there is a novel about a blogger who achieves something else along those lines.  Don't worry - no spoilers here.  But I do need to say a few things about this very good novel - "American Subversive" - in the course of backing up my review.  First of all my rating - a very entertained B-plus.  More importantly, I want to suggest that anyone wanting to blow through an otherwise safe, secure, unaffected summer day give this entertaining read a deserved looksie.  I don't know Goodwillie.  If I did, the first thing I'd do is question him about his family name.  But aside from the easy joke, I would also love to pick his brain about writing a book that is so current, so spot on, and so damn ahead of the ever arching cultural curve.  If this book was a futures market bet, he'd have hit it right on the money.  The basic set-up can be pulled from the book jacket - blogger, domestic terrorist, intertwined destinies.  The point of my appreciation is how he pulled together such a smooth flowing thriller that feels like it was written on the fly in the past month.  But with buckets of polish.  If you go for such reads, this one's a slam dunk.  Especially if you've wasted time blogging (paid or otherwise) or planned to attack the State (you know who you are).

I saw another SIFF film last night @ the Neptune.  It's actually a collection of mini documentaries filmed by Seattle filmmaker John Jeffcoat to be included in Lynn Shelton's new season of the MTV series "$5 Cover" (this summer will focus on Seattle).  It was truly cool.  The crowd was not huge, but there were plenty of film geeks and bands scattered throughout (I saw two of the women from the Tea Cozies - one of the featured bands - sitting near the back on my way out).  I felt comfortably half my age watching all the featured bands doing what musicians do behind the scene - talking about how they work, what they love, and showing how their interactions influence their performances.  Or at least that's what I took from it all.  I wholeheartedly recommend what Jeffcoat's done.  Especially when you hear how he filmed all the HD footage with an unobtrusive Canon SLR and a kit he could fit into his backpack.  If you're a film geek, you know what I mean.  But if you're not - or even if you're not that connected to music being made and performed here in Seattle - it's a compelling mix of personalities.  My rating - a surprised high-quality B.

Hope your own snippets of life are worth some big screen time today.  Rock on.

Yo La Tengo can still safely say "I've got it!"

Yo La Tengo is that rare band that's still touring today with 25 years of shared inventiveness under their belts. Music geeks love them inordinately, even if they tend to parse every little thing Yo La Tengo does down to the sub-atomic level. I'm not going play that game by trying to put on a dork clinic about the history of Yo La Tengo (fun fact - the band's name is a Spanish colloquialism for "I've got it!"). They're just plain ol' one of my faves. The sort of band that I will always see. And even when the evening contains a bundle of less than stellar elements, I'm always glad that I did so.

My wife and I saw Yo La Tengo perform last Thursday night at one of Seattle's least likable venues - the Showbox SODO. This newer Showbox is a warehouse space with a concrete floor, horrible acoustics and an otherwise likable staff that seems equally amazed that anyone comes there for shows. With the lights up, it looks like the a cleaned-up, empty tire dealership. Seeing small groupings of hipsters standing around drinking PBR tallboys in this space is so dull, so repetitious, so un-buzz-worthy. Before the opener broke the static, it looked like a photocopied venue teleported from a very long, rather uninteresting list of mid-sized Midwestern towns - let's say Eau Claire or Kalamazoo or Topeka - where everyone affects a pose like they'd prefer to be somewhere else. Maybe that sounds judgmental and pretentious. Sue me. But I'm just saying that it didn't feel like the epicenter of articulate, classic cred. Yet amidst the sea of earth-toned hoodies and ironic t-shirts was Ira Kaplan (lead guitar and vocals, one of the two original members with his wife, Georgia Hubley). Sitting behind a tour merch table - signing CDs and taking pics with fans. When Ira, Georgia and James McNew eventually took the stage, they were filled with good-humor. If they are filled with cynicism or angst about still doing what they do so well, you won't see it in the club. Or at least not on this particular night.

Their opener was Jackie-O Motherfucker, an absurd, freeform psychedelic, post-rock quartet of meat from Portland that jammed like the revolving door, acid-dropping band of goofballs they've been for years and years. We tolerated them the way older music geeks do when they're just happy to be out, without wanting to fully attribute it to having a trustworthy babysitter home with your kid so that you can act nearly half your age.

As the music got ready to roll, a trio of insanely drunk misfits forced their way into our space. By the time Yo La Tengo started playing, the sole dude - a fat little drunk choad in one of those ugly, ubiquitous army green British Invasion caps - passed out cold on the floor. His female "friends" took pictures of him and texted with their cell phones until some of us stepped in to make sure that he was OK. He wasn't - security had to carry him out. Then his friends were extra drunk and annoying for another hour before the surrounding group disdain eventually got them to leave. Even Georgia rolled her eyes at how they were carrying on and interrupting the quieter songs. It just solidified my one and only rule of seeing live music - don't be annoying. Of course that rule has 127 subsets of definitions, but we all know what I'm saying.

In the end, Yo La Tengo played a great show. Jackie-O Motherfucker and Yo La Tengo made a big deal out of a "special guest" on the way. I'm sure everyone else had the same degree of nerdy fun debating who that might be. Then Howard Kaylan from "The Turtles" showed up. I know - who? He was totally adorable, not entirely wasted, and about as much fun as having a beer with your uncle after church. Then Yo La Tengo came back out for two encores. By the time they left, everyone felt great about it all. Real pros played a really decent show. And it wasn't until a few days later that I could take a few minutes to reflect upon just how rare that is. As it always was, and surely will be.