Sunday’s lineup at the Belly Up boasted not one but two noteworthy bands: North Carolina’s The Love Language and LA’s fast-rising Local Natives. The Love Language and Local Natives aren’t exactly kindred spirits; the former is known for brittle tavern rock, the latter for catchy, world music-inspired compositions. Despite these differences, both bands suffered from excessively uniform sets. Continue reading…
Menomena‘s sound is that of a mind wrestling with its demons. Their songs careen between cacophony and quietude like an agitated stream of consciousness. The music swells and darkens but, just when it seems as if the demons will win, the band reins in the discord, and serenity is — at least for the moment — restored. Menomena’s mastery of chaos is one of their greatest strengths but, at their recent Casbah show, some real life chaos threatened to derail their performance. Continue reading…
Back in early 2004, The Walkmen rolled into San Diego, touring off of their breakout album Bows and Arrows. I had yet to hear the album, and the nation was still about six months away from unanimously agreeing that the searing anthem “The Rat†was the best rock single of the year.
So it was just dumb luck when a friend and I — having just moved to the city and wanting to introduce ourselves to the live music scene — basically closed our eyes, pointed to the concert listings, and chose The Walkmen. At the Casbah. It was a hell of an introduction. Front man Hamilton Leithauser was a whirlwind that night, slightly drunk, perching on the monitors and throwing around mic stands, and stalking the stage like he owned the place and everyone in it. We were all instant fans. Continue reading…
It’s hard not to love The Swell Season. Since winning the hearts of audiences — and an Oscar — with the 2006 film Once, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova have maintained that adoration through rigorous touring, refreshing humility, and the recent release of their second album, Strict Joy.
Before The Swell Season took the stage at House of Blues on Tuesday, singer/guitarist Ryan Bingham opened up with some astonishingly derivative blues and folk. His raspy voice dripped with affectation as he rambled on about times changing and winds blowing like some copy of a copy of a copy of Bob Dylan. Continue reading…
Ah, Comic-Con. This year’s inexplicably hyphenated gathering of geeks and gawkers has come to an end, leaving San Diegans feeling hungover, used, and sore in strange places. This was my first crack at the convention, and I went (almost) all in. Continue reading…