The blissed-out techno-pop of Montreal’s Milk & Bone seemed like it was made for the space at Constellation, where the duo of Laurence Lafond-Beaulne and Camille Poliquin performed on Friday, April 7. The space is a contradiction, a haven of quiet, mellow cool abutting a busy street leading to the highway. Lately, the stretch of Western Avenue that it sits along feels crowded and taken over by construction, but the venue is spacious, intimate and imbued by hazy red lighting in the entrance that sets the tone for concerts taking place.

Local musician Jessica Risker (also known as Deadbeat) kicked off the show in a simple, beautiful way. The seated crowd surrounded her on three sides. She began her set by strumming and singing blissful melodies accompanied by imagery projected on a screen, harkening back to an earlier place and time. It reminded me a good deal of the background projections at an Arcade Fire show, slightly odd, very captivating; movement in a way that looked like an optical illusion.

Risker finished up her set with one of the most unique performances I’ve ever witnessed. She played 20 lullabies she composed for her family’s newest addition, rolling them through the music box apparatus playing the notes before they floated quietly to the floor, a pile gathering beside her. It was a hypnotizing display that set a mood of pristine, melodic calm before Milk & Bone took the stage.

Camille and Laurence entered the performance area just as Risker wrapped up her calming, inventive set with an air of sophistication that spoke to their Montreal provenance. Laurence in a messy bun and Camille draped in all black, they set up their gear and played their first notes and as the crowd returned from the bar and settled in their seats. A sparse set up – two keyboards, two sound mixers, and two drum kits – was all the girls needed to create a spectacle befitting their mellow music. “Coconut Water” kicked off the set, with its sweet synth beats and lyrics filled with longing. Milk & Bone’s songs spin tales of romantic daydreams, the perfect accompaniment for a cold Chicago evening. Their performance let the vocals take center stage, Laurence’s voice showcasing a soaring sweetness and Camille’s a dazzling, jazzy quality.

Singer Camille announced early in the performance that this was her first show in 10 days, after overcoming an illness that put her on vocal rest for days. The haunting, harmonious vocals filled the space, especially in the performances of songs like their latest single “Poison”, the upbeat “Daydream” and the final number, “New York”. The aching anguish of losing a romance to the big city, and further shutting the door by moving was on translated beautifully as Laurence, with her agile voice, swooned wistfully over the song’s lingering notes.

A truly endearing moment of the performance is the joy that clearly registered on the faces of the women when members of the audience started to dance on stage to their songs. Camille cried out, “Nobody does this!” when the group started swirling closer still as they grooved along with “Shore” and “Watch”. The final number was made even more special when Milk & Bone invited the audience to sit on the floor of the stage with them, the participants no more than 5 feet away from the performers.

The duo recently performed at SXSW in Austin and create music that feels personal, yet relatable to that legion of us who work through heartbreak by listening to that particular song or album that strikes a chord. Be on the lookout for these two.

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The album and many corresponding parts to Emotional Mugger are unsettling. The video of the same title is grotesque, and the album is definitely a departure from his usual sound. Through the album there are synthesizers that are just, not quite on the mark. I say all of this with love though, the weirdness is welcomed. When Ty Segall first sent Emotional Mugger on VHS to many writers, he accompanied it with a note saying, “The over-communication relayed in cell based technology and content driven media further detaches passengers of our modern society from deep emotional understanding.” Basically we’ve been emotionally mugged by our dependency to these things and I honestly couldn’t agree more. I was lucky enough to grow up in a household and age frame where no one really had cell phones until they were about 16 or 17, while still young, we spent the first years of our lives having true human interaction. I think the whole point that Ty is trying to make is that we’re all uncomfortable around each other and it shouldn’t be that way, that is what is truly unnatural and freakish, so I think it makes sense that the sound matches.

Thalia Hall was a perfect venue. It used to be an actual theatre, so it’s constructed to amplify sound and I can say that was one of the loudest sets I’ve been at. Throughout the show Ty harkens back to the theme of Emotional Mugger. The show started with “Squealer” and Ty prancing out in a creepy baby/bald man mask and waving around a smart phone. The “muggers” are a powerhouse of present day rock; Mikal Cronin was on the bass, Kyle Thomas (also known as King Tuff) on guitar, Cory Hanson and Evan Burrows from Wand and Emmett Kelly were in the mix as well. Honestly an insanely talented group of musicians. The passion was palpable.

Let me now paint you a visual of how out there it got. Kyle and Ty were in these creepy, prisonesque jumpsuits (especially Kyle, his was orange) and Ty also brought out the umbilical cord, which he has done at many sets, another metaphor for our dependency. He kept giving speeches about his “mommy” and his “children,” just pure freakiness, all I’m sure, in some way or form, play into the motif he is trying to create and communicate. He has done an incredible job of staying true to the theme of this album. I love a man who commits.

During the set, Ty asked the crowd who wanted to be the lead singer, he chose a lucky young man named Sam. He told Sam there were only two rules. 1) He had to stage dive at least 3 times and 2) No Selfies (or emotional mugging). Sam hit the nail on the head.

Throughout the set, Ty lets all of the members have the spotlight. Mikal Cronin even whips out the saxophone. The show is almost ear splittingly sonic and it’s such a treat to watch all these musicians come together, although most of them have been playing together for more than a decade. I also think it’s great that Ty has taken the time to bring up the topic of our addiction to media and technology, while ALL of you are reading this on either a phone or computer, I hope that afterwards you’ll go outside and detach.

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Today the band consist of Neil Halstead (vocalist/guitarist), Simon Scott (drummer), Christian Savill (guitarist), Nick Chaplin (bassist), and Rachel Goswell (vocalist/guitarist); the core group that stands behind Just For A Day (1991) and Souvlaki (1993).

Over the last couple years, a wide array of various shoegaze bands have entered the music world, all in their own proud hipster attitude, closely followed by a tight-knit, washed out kool-aid hair and tight, tight denim, fan base.  Slowdive, however, is where it all started.

The band’s reunion 2014 tour began in Padova, Italy and will end on November 8th in Los Angeles. We had a chance to see Slowdive do their thing in Chicago at The Vic, and it was without a doubt a memorable night.

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The “Polar Vortex” that shut down the Northern half of the continent for the majority of 2014 is now just one of those things you drudge up whenever your kids complain about having to walk to school. (“You think this is cold? Back in ’14 we put things in the fridge to warm them up!”). It’s warm now, and this is the weather that outdoor festivals grow in, luring music lovers with the promise of lots of bands communing with Mother Nature in harmony.

And that’s awesome, sitting outside in mud and listening to 6 bands at the same time while getting sunburned rules. But it’s important not to forget the clubs. The stuffy, stalwart music venues who were here all winter and will be here all summer –with air conditioning. MØ’s show, which happened at Lincoln Hall, is an example of what a visceral treat a club show can be. Through comparing and contrasting we can see why club shows like hers are the best way to enjoy music.

MØ –which means “maiden” in their native Danish- is a four-human band consisting of electric guitarist, drummer, electo-drummer/computer guy, and, of course, Karen Marie Ørsted on heavily enhanced vocals. The tone is moody and danceable, its music meant to be felt, not just listened to, and Lincoln Hall’s incredible 45-gazillion-watt amps not only make the listeners’ hearts skip on tracks like “Don’t Wanna Dance” but it actually makes geologists in white lab coats grab the red phones in their offices as their seismographs sketch record-breaking tectonic activity. Yes, the big festivals have 20-foot tall towers of speakers stacked on top of each other that require their own nuclear reactor to power, but when most of the noise is floating off into the atmosphere, there isn’t much of a bass kick.

Intimacy is a hallmark of MØ’s sound. Many of her songs are about love or heartbreak, and when she sings them she means it. It’s in her eyes, which you can see in a club because the stage is right there, a short crowd-surf away. MØ takes full advantage of the stage and the venue: she climbs onto the bar, she hops onto the speakers, she disappears for a while then reemerges with an “I’m over here!” and now she’s in the balcony. For her last couple songs she stage dives into the center of the capacity crowd and continues singing- a real pro. She’s set down in the thick of the pit and begins whipping her hair in a small Nordic tornado, creating a circle of standing bodies around her. If she tried that at a festival forty sweaty security guards would bounce her butt back on stage faster than twenty dollars disappears at the beer tent.

For a show like MØ’s, ambiance is key. She has a pre-recorded video that plays in the background and the lighting intensifies with the music for complete audio-visual integration. What you experience in the audience is exactly what the artist wants you to feel, unmitigated by the weather or the mid-afternoon sun shining directly into your eye. Drinks are cheap and the line is short too, even though the show sold out.

MØ ends her encore with a cover of the Spice Girl’s “Say You’ll be There” that has nearly every twenty-something lady in the audience mouthing along. After the show as people file out of the club there are a lot of smiling faces and conversations starting with, “that was SO good!” For under twenty bucks MØ and Lincoln Hall give a first-class show-going experience that may have altered a few people’s whole week for the better -and there is still time to get stuff done before the show and drinks after. Compare that to spending a whole day and a whole paycheck in a park, sweating and enduring a band that sucks so you can be near the stage for the good band. MØ’s powerful performance proves that the club is king, and will be long after the festivals move on.

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In an interview with Reed, we talked about removing the niche genre “neo-soul” and forging ahead into a progressive sound. Reed is already doing that, but in the music scene, soul and jazz are sacred genres that can’t be altered or touched. Reed is a soul singer and one of the best.

Each moment of the concert was a callback to James Brown shrugging off his cape and coming back for more. In the video of Brown, his expression is pained but exuberant; he knows that he needs to continue to perform, but it’s the end of his set. Reed dominates each second of being on stage, his presence is saturated with charisma and vocal talent.

Everything is coordinated to Eli’s enthusiasm. The banter in between songs, the way he mentions that all the songs are from the new album, under-the-breath remarks about what other members of his band are saying, and the slim knit cream tie that completes his grey suit ensemble. He’s a Southern preacher onstage. “Paperboy” Reed performs with such earnestness that there is no questioning that music is his first love.

The performance was an excellent preview for the upcoming album, just enough of a tease to make the craving deep, but substantial enough that it won’t be forgotten in the five weeks left until the album actually comes out.

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Wednesday, Schubas, Minor Characters

Schubas is one of my favourite venues in the city due to the fact that it suffers from an identity crisis. Am I a bar? Am I a venue? Am I an adorable café? But I digress.

Upon arrival, I was treated by the presence of Minor Characters. These gentlemen not only make seriously melodic tunes, but they are also hilarious, humble, and self-reliant. Ever thankful to their fans and supporters, they were by far one of the most delightful bands I have ever interviewed.  They also helped me find my spirit animal, which is a koala.

Once usurping the stage, it’s hard to tell who is having a better time, the merry men of Minor Characters or the crowd. Andrew Pelletier commands the stage with an Elvis Costello-like presence, but with a falsetto-like twist. It’s hard to tell which is more impressive, the voice of Andrew or the riffs that come spewing out of Shelby Pollard’s guitar. Their EP Heal Me, Healing Times has a melancholy sound akin to the likes of Grizzly Bear or Local Natives. Upon meditating on the lyrics of Minor Characters, it becomes obvious that these boys aren’t singing about broken hearts, but about their concern with the social state of America. It might be safe to bet that they are perhaps trying to evoke a reaction from our generation. A reaction to the characteristic traits of previous generations that are failing today. Either way, if they were my brothers, I’d be proud!

Friday, Schubas, Bare Mutants

First off, the Bare Mutants are basically the alumni of The Empty Bottle, another bar I love. Upon hearing them, you are going to think, “I’ve heard this before.” And that’s because you have. Jered Gummere, former member of The Ponys, did what he did with his last band; sound like a mixture of Television and The Velvet Underground. The VU comparison is especially noticeable with the vocal accompaniment of Jeanine O’Toole. In her defence, she is not utilised enough. She also has a Neko Case presence that makes this little gypsy excited (FULL DISCLOSURE, I FUCKING LOVE NEKO CASE!). All that said, the Bare Mutants are fun. Jered’s soft murmuring slur reminds me of the Pixies and other silly “ I hate myself” boy complaint rock. Hopefully, Jered doesn’t take himself too seriously and knows exactly what he is doing. They put on a predictable show that, although it isn’t The VU, is a good replacement in light of recent events.

Sunday, Lincoln Hall, Yuck

Although a relatively new venue, Lincoln Hall has the BEST SOUND! For that reason, it is my favourite place to catch a show. It’s also one of the smaller venues, so it offers an intimacy that I seek more and more nowadays.

During the show, a fellow music head entered into a conversation with me. I’m not quite sure what compelled him to engage in conversation with me, but he did. He started off the conversation by asking me about what I thought of Yuck. I replied with a statement I thought to be accurate. I enjoyed them, but they were about 15 years late on the scene, he responded with “They’re a band without a lead singer.” This is and isn’t true. Yes, Daniel Blumberg left Yuck. For many people, this was the end of a band. But I think it’s unfair to say that Max Bloom isn’t a frontman. I will say, though, that I do believe I would thoroughly enjoy more tunes serenaded to me by bassist Mariko Doi. All in all, the show was enjoyable and I think Yuck will be just fine.

* * *

TNK is a small festival and I only had a taste of what it offered. Overall, there was one shining star, Minor Characters. The other bands weren’t horrific by any accounts, but I will use a horrific word here and say, perhaps, mediocre. BUT I didn’t loathe my time during any show and I didn’t want to leave any show. I had a good time, and isn’t that what most festivals are all about, losing oneself in the revelry of music?

Minor Characters

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Denis “Gramatik” Jasarevic himself is in the midst of an epic winter tour, covering clubs and festivals throughout North America. “I feel like I’ve never stopped touring since I moved here”, he told us in an earlier interview. He arrived at Concord from Dallas, Texas, only a few hours before the show. The only sleep he got was on the plane and he hadn’t eaten until just before going on. You’d never know any of this from watching him though. No more than thirty seconds ever passed without some sort of jumping or wild gesturing. Though soft-spoken off stage, Gramatik commands attention on stage and whenever he shouts a verse into the microphone, the audience goes bananas. “Put your hands up Chicago!” They’re already up, Gramatik.

Out on the dance floor a young lady turns around and tells me, “Hey, I like your, um, thing!”

“What thing? My shirt?”

“Yeah.” Then she whips her hair in time with the music and turns back around. Sudden, unexpected compliments are just one of the nice things about the Chicago EDM community, it’s very inviting. If you are, say, a music journalist looking for interviews, all you have to do is pull out a notebook, sit near a good lighting source and chatty new friends will come on their own, no need to hunt. Jon, a strength trainer and coach from St. Charles, Illinois, has seen Gramatik four or five times. He’s big into the EDM scene and goes to all the major festivals in the Chicago area. After a few minutes of amiable chatter, his buddy Quinn, from Sugar Grove wanders over and invites himself to be interviewed.

“Um, I’d prefer if he just interviewed me, Quinn.”

“Well I’d prefer if he interviewed me, Jon. I’m much more fun to talk to. Tell you what, how about we both just shout our answers at the same time?”

So I ask what their favourite colour is, to which Quinn shouts, “Ummm!” and Jon says, “ROY G BV! That’s all the colours in one!”

Concord Music Hall is less than a year old, but whoever designed the place obviously had some experience. The dance floor is large with good sight lines to the stage from every angle. The sound quality is excellent, many people found they didn’t need to wear earplugs, but could still feel the music from the monolithic speakers around the stage. The sound engineers have to mix both the electronic equipment and the backup guitarist Gramatik shares the stage with, but they do it so deftly it sounds as if it was all recorded on one track.

The one glaring flaw of the show is that the management might have stacked the line-up a bit too thick. The doors open at 9 with the first band coming on around 10. Gramatik comes on a little after midnight and plays until the bar closes, just after 2 in the morning. That means the early concert goers have been dancing for 6 hours by the end of the show. Even the people who just come for Gramatik have to keep their energy up for at least two hours, which is hard for people to do on a weekday. By the second hour of Gramatik’s set, the jumping and dancing have turned into swaying and nodding, with an occasional and short-lived flourish of excitement after a good hook.

But considering the alternatives on this frigid Chicago night -sitting at home, hibernating or freezing to death outside – the Gramatik attendee could do a lot worse.

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Local act Basic Cable opened the evening with their intense and wild punk antics, putting on an energetic performance for the quiet but head-bobbing crowd. YAWN (another Chicago band) followed suit with their harmony-laden indie pop, lulling everyone into a reggae-induced indie trance following the spastic songs from Basic Cable. Mikal Cronin closed out the evening to an almost full auditorium, making jokes about how the crowd should “circle up” into a mosh pit, playing on the overwhelming sense of calm in the audience.

While the crowd was unbelievably tame for a bill that included a punk band, the diverse audience members all seemed to listen intently and enjoy all three acts. A woman in her 50s turned to me after the first act and commented in a slow surfer drawl on how she liked the first group a lot, but was there to see “that California guy” (Cronin). Another gentleman then readily offered up his story on how he hadn’t seen Cronin live before, but has heard a lot of great things about him and was thrilled to finally get an opportunity to see him. By the amount of audience members willing to share how and why they had been brought to the show, it seems like Cronin is continuing to gain momentum and is consistently pulling new fans to his shows based on good press, solid songwriting, and great performances.

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The bar-slash-brunch place called Township hosts the evening’s revelries. From the outside, it looks like a cute little corner café with picture windows and weird found-art chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Once you get inside and walk past the little metal tables, coffee station, and waiter dressed in a white shirt and black apron, you get to a large, well-lit, but mostly vacant room with a single maitre d’ standing behind a podium in the middle of the room. This man takes the concertgoer’s twelve dollars and issues fluorescent armbands for those wishing to buy liquor, PBR, or fancy IPA, then he ushers you into yet another secret room. This third room is painted black, has a cutout in the wall connecting it to the main bar, and is lightly populated by bearded men in eccentric garb and women who wear thick-rimmed glasses. There’s also a stage with a bunch of speakers and lights overhead.

Before Nightlands comes on, the opening band, Chicago locals Thin Hymns, play an excellent set. They sound like the Dirty Projectors, but more melodic and less disjointed, yet still kind of weird and dreamy in a way that only three men with falsetto or nearly falsetto voices can pull off.

Nightlands’ set starts at an hour ‘til midnight, which, for most people, is a little late on a Sunday. The already ample arm-swinging room of the individual audience member grows wider as the weaker music fans are weeded out by a process of attrition. “Oh I have to work tomorrow, I’ll see y’all later.” becomes a mantra repeated with increasing frequency throughout the night. It doesn’t help that Nightlands’ music can best be defined as a “lullaby”.

This particular Nightlands show is composed of four music makers on stage. First, of course, is the main man and Philadelphian, Dave Hartley who plays the guitar, foot pedals, and sings. There’s also a slide guitarist to his left and another slide guitarist/trumpeter/bass clarinetist/foot pedalist to his far right. The fourth music maker is a wooden electronic drum machine sitting on top of an amplifier, sitting on top of a chair, with a microphone in front of it. The metronomic rhythms of the drum machine do little to alleviate the sleepy-time feel of the show, especially from songs like the cover of Art Garfunkel’s “99 Miles From L.A.”.

None of this is to say that the show is bad. It’s just dreamy and when the time is closer to Monday breakfast than to Sunday dinner it is a little hard to stay focused. The down-to-clown partner seems more down than the clown as she rests her head on the writer’s shoulder. Nightlands takes the remainder of the audience into a gentle closing of the bar and ending of the weekend as the drum machine sits bumping away.

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Mirroring those explorations, the live band has expanded to a thirteen-piece pseudo-orchestra, featuring brass, strings, and backup vocalists. The arrangement and plush sound of the full band mark a far departure from the stark and mellow recordings that defined his early sound. Rather, they use the dynamic range of instrumentation to craft lively soundscapes that complement his swooning poetic vocals.

They played to a packed house, filling a venue that bears one detail, making it startlingly appropriate to their music: assigned seating. Or, most importantly, seating. He’s always performed a show that is just as at home in a coffee shop as a standing-room-only venue. But with the current direction, now more than ever he and his band seem to be doing something more akin to theatre than a rock show.

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Meanwhile, right next door at the tent stage the DJs have been playing in a solid block since the park opened. They trade off every hour so that there is never a moment’s rest until just before the headliner’s play. There are ebbs and flows of course. The low ceiling and close proximity of the audience to the DJ make the tent stage feel like a club or basement dance party, but the shining sun and nearby beer tent are distracting. Party people can’t rage all the time. It’s the lucky and the skilled DJs who get the most amped crowds. PHNM, in a show of such expertise, bides his time until there is a large group of people milling about, then he turns down the music just enough so people can hear him whisper, “Let me play this twerkin’ song.” The fans freak out in a blurry of motion to “Bubble Butt” and the wanderers in the field head over to see what’s going on.

Although intrinsically different, there are a lot of similarities between the two major tribes of the North Coast: the hippies and the ravers. They both like drugs, they both like to dance, and they’re both fans of outdoorsy festival-style shows with lights and free love. But the music is totally different. They’re like wildebeests and zebras on the African savanna; two different animals, but they’ll hang out together. This is what it looks like in practice: when Datsik comes on stage the fans of electric music swarm the pit while the long-hairs hoola-hoop and Hackie-Sack their lives away in the field. Then when Rebelution starts shaking their reggae dreads the roles switch and a lot of the raver-types head to the tent stage.

 

On Sunday, there is a third tribe that grows as the sun starts to set. This is an older crowd –no bright beads on their wrists, no silly dinosaur masks on their heads. They wear baseball caps and t-shirts with a yellow bird insignia. This is Wu-Tang Clan’s clan. Poor Gary Clark Jr., scheduled to come on just before the Wu. The audience nods their heads to his bluesy rhythm, but it’s clear in the pit that everybody is just passing the time until the headliner.

And after all that anticipation, Wu Tang comes on in force with all the original members except RZA and Ol’ Dirty Bastard (sorry, no hologram). They play five or six songs until we hear, “Alert Alert. The National Weather Service has indicated that severe weather in on the way. Please exit the grounds calmly and seek shelter.” The Wu-Tang Clan tries to yell over the pre-recorded message, but their mics have been cut. And that’s that. You can never defeat the gods, impossible. There’s always next year, North Coast fans.

See more photos from North Coast on Facebook.

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