The Walkmen are Stranded

The Walkmen have instituted a horn section a number of times and in a number of ways before, but not quite like they have on “Stranded,” off their September slated album, Lisbon. Their horns have been somber (“Red Moon”) or festive (“Louisiana”) but never this grand, and right from the beginning of the song. Assisting to the construction of this lofty start, the percussion steadily crescendos to a halt right before that scratchy, howling voice known all too well as frontman Hamilton Leithauser’s comes in. The earnest instrumental introduction to Leithauser’s flippant opening line: “Throw another dime in me, my friend/And I’ll sing a song I know for thee”— without regard to what jukebox tracks actually cost these days or that the chosen song will be anything but familiar — demonstrates the brilliant composition of this song.

The impressive instrumentation contrasted with Leithauser’s when-it-rains-it-pours lamentations strategically and cleverly pokes fun at the self righteous and pitying tone of the lyrics, with lines like “I’m the bigger man here oh it’s true,” and “Oh why does the rain fall cold/When I’m stranded and starry-eyed.” This song is a comedic achievement as well, because as broken down as the lyrics are, you kind of want to laugh at the mess that is the poor chap singing them (or maybe that just goes for those of us with cruel senses of humor).


There’s been talk of a New Orleans inspiration on the album, and as far as this song is concerned, that could be reflected in the use of the horns which traditionally and currently are leading instruments in New Orleans music, as well as the images of broken glass, the concept of being stranded, and drunk and lonely friends who you can’t help but love anyway. Whatever the inspiration may be, “Stranded” is a triumph of a song, as a multifaceted ballad of sorts that is all smooth, powerful and tortured.

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Fat Possum

Dark Dark Dark was Bright Bright Bright at Union Pool

When Dark Dark Dark — hailing from Minneapolis, New York and New Orleans — settled themselves on stage at Union Pool, it seemed right that both the band and the audience were in the company of friends, whether they actually knew each other or not. With featured instruments like the accordion, banjo and cello and an early 20th Century railroad aesthetic, it was clear that these young musicians are of the bohemian order, not to be confused with fauxhemian — the new term recently dubbed by Gawker to replace hipster. These are true bohemians, credentialed by the fact that at least two members have a train hopping history and the music that comes out of them is that of undeniable artists.

Directly outside the small venue in its own separate room away from the PBR and DJ fueled buzzing of the main bar was a packed outdoor patio, adding to the house show feel of the night. During the performances prior to DDD, a crowd gradually filled up the room, not a difficult feat for the speakeasy sized venue. But during Dan Beckman of Uke of Space Corners’ set and before DDD took the stage, stragglers from the patio quickly filed in, maxing out the space capacity. A “sold out” sign was promptly slapped on the entrance door, as much to the latecomers’ dismay.

After the first song was played, front woman Nona Marie Invie adjusted the accordion, while keyboardist/vocalist/clarinetist/banjo player (really), Marshall LaCount explained, “Nona has to tie that thing together — it’s made out of string and wire.” The quick fix was probably due to a DIY way of life, which often produces creative and resourceful musicians.

After the quintet — which also included a trumpet and drums — had something of a jam session toward the end of “Something For Myself,” Marshall jokingly commented “who knew you all would be listening to lounge folk music on a Friday night,” a pretty apt genre classification at the time. Nona confessed confusing a cheer from the crowd for an out of tune vocal, causing her a “momentary heart attack.” Marshall assured, “I think they like you,” and the crowd enthusiastically concurred with whistles and applause and someone said “absolutely beautiful,” referring to the set so far, and that person was right.

Bright Bright Bright, their new EP with songs exuding a new found resiliency could very well be a response to both the band name and their dismal last record, The Snow Magic. Nona’s lyrics, “Don’t pull me in/Let me be” on “Something For Myself,” fend off a former lover and proclaim her independence, in the more subdued vein of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”

“Make Time” is a triumphant seafaring tale carried by foot-tapping, upbeat banjo about a boat made of lightning and diamonds just to prove “the impossible possible.” As the band sang in unison, “The time that you thought you saved is just gone/We’ll make time where there is none,” the theme of hope sailed to land.

Nona’s band mates took a knee and all bowed their heads with their eyes closed in a prayer like pose as she performed the painfully beautiful “Wild Goose Chase,” showcasing her mature voice and quite accomplished keyboarding skills. The lights dimmed to suit the mood of this vagabond ballad.

DDD is part of a special musical community derived from an on the road, neo-beatnik, scraping by existence which lives to make honest and personal folk music, often of the freak variety. Another band included in this group are DDD’s contemporaries, Hurray For the Riff Raff (who DDD trumpeter/accordionist Walt McClements also contributes to), likewise from New Orleans who are starting to build up a powerful presence within and outside this family of musicians. They play for their instruments, which they show great affection for in their performances. Watching Walt, you could see his hands making love to the accordion, and the sound was just as impassioned and moving.

After they played their last song, the crowd all screamed for an encore and one fan sent a request via paper airplane to Nona to which she responded “we’re not prepared to play that” but instead played for us the second part to “Wild Goose Chase,” and we were the first lucky ones to ever hear the song played live. Nona told us “no one’s heard this yet so it’s a special occasion,” and a special occasion indeed it was.

DDD is in the middle of an East Coast/Mid West tour right now that started at SXSW.

Marley and Me: NOT a family film!

I realize I'm more than a year late commenting on David Frankel's 2008 adaptation of best-selling memoir, Marley and Me, but to confirm: this is not a review. This is a warning.

On a rainy day not too long ago, I resulted to movie watching on the couch. As the premium channel and On Demand selection was meager, I decided on Marley and Me as a low investment, blissfully uncomplicated, feel good pet movie. After all, one of my greatest loves in life is the canine species. Well, friends, this movie isn't at all for dog lovers. Quite the contrary, in fact. If you hate dogs so much to the point that you bask in the joy of witnessing their painful demise - then by all means - treat yourself to this film. For the remaining majority of soul possessing humans, I discourage you.

After the first scene showing the marriage of Marley's soon-to-be parents - John (Owen Wilson) and Jenny (Jennifer Aniston) - R.E.M.'s "Shiny Happy People" plays over the opening credits. Frankel sure has one sick sense of humor. The idealist, nearly painfully cheery song is used in this film as nothing more than a tool of cruel, low-down irony.

The rest of the film is a parade of disgust and horror. Critics' proclamation that it's a nice holiday or family film is a sore misinterpretation. *SPOILER ALERT* For three fourths of the movie, the viewer gets acquainted with hell raiser Marley, grows to love him just as John and Jenny do, then in the last 30 minutes are assaulted with a hopeless, drawn out deterioration of the clueless and sweet Labrador leading up to his graphic death. As if the mere concept of putting an animal down when it comes his time isn't traumatic enough, they display the lethal injection on screen. PARENTS: DO NOT LET YOUR CHILD SEE THIS FILM. I REPEAT: THIS FILM IS NOT FOR CHILDREN.

As someone who is usually more distraught seeing an animal die in a film or reading about it in a book more than a human, I'd just assume do away with such stories all together. Marley and Me will join Old Yeller and Where the Red Fern Grows on my personal list of banned movies/books. Okay, not really, but anyone else who seeks any of them out will be adequately warned.

I implore the MPAA to reconsider the PG rating of this film. I dare say Marley and Me is the saddest film since Sophie's Choice.

From The Big Easy to the Big Apple: The Scatterbrained Diaries, Volume 2

After a brief scare that I wouldn't be able to make the Strength Through Unity benefit for Haiti after discovering that online tickets were sold out, I laced up and walked the cool two blocks from my apartment to the Gowanus venue The Bell House ten minutes before doors opened. I was not the only one. There was already a line of about 30 people which more than tripled after five minutes of standing there. I thought surely they'll let me in. They have to, I only live two blocks away! But then again they might feel more sympathy for someone who came all the way from Jersey. But no matter, my fretting was relieved when they had plenty of tickets at the door. *phew*

AND PHEW INDEED because the show kicked ass. And what a great thing that it was sold out because all the proceeds go to Haiti earthquake victims. They reportedly raised $35,000. Not too shabby. So here's the rundown:

Eugene Mirman was the host with the most (you know, you know). Some might know him as the landlord on Flight of the Conchords. He appeared effortlessly funny and made a hilarious spoof of the Microsoft "diversity" commercial, throwing himself in the mix as the token outspoken white guy from Brooklyn, pointing out the asinine absurdity of Microsoft's attempt at heartfelt marketing.

Jimmy "I can't contain my laughter for shit" Fallon made an appearance as Neil Young and sang the Fresh Prince of Bell Air song to the tune of "Heart of Gold." Totally amazing. His impersonation was uncanny. He sure has the whole Weird Al vibe down, but a little less weird and a little more hip.

I'll just cut to the chase here - my favorite act by far was Lauren Ambrose and the Leisure Class, maybe because their New Orleans style gypsy jazz reminded me of home. They were fantastic and Lauren sang the crap out of those songs. I particularly enjoyed the hyper jazzed Bob Dylan cover. I would say which song it was except I can't currently recall. They said ALL proceeds go to Haiti which I assumed meant drink sales as well, so I obviously had to contribute as much as I could. You understand. If it's even possible, my girl crush on Lauren Ambrose has just grown stronger.

Other notable performances came from The Wrens who played a really satisfying rock set, slowly building up and then driving home each song. Then there was The Walkmen who closed it out with a filling brass quintet accompaniment of four trumpets and one trombone. And the appearance by Pat Kiernan, the man who gives New Yorkers their morning news each day on the local channel New York One was a real treat. He hosted trivia and reminded us to keep Haiti in our minds and do whatever we can to help them out.

As a Katrina evacuee and die hard New Orleanian, I can certainly empathize with the devastating Port au Prince tragedy. I was lucky enough to not have my house flooded and evacuate safely during Katrina but I've heard enough stories about the poor souls in the Superdome waiting without basic human essentials like food and water to know that the people in Haiti need fast and concentrated attention.

From The Big Easy to the Big Apple: The Scatterbrained Diaries, Volume 1

So I live in New York now. Have been for a few months. It’s taken me this much time to take it all in before I make any documentation (oh, how I can justify procrastination…). Some might say I made an odd and curious decision migrating here when I did. The economy is a mess and New York, though as an economic epicenter — what with Wall Street (for better or worse) and the country’s highest commercial activity — isn’t a budget friendly place for the less than top ten percent income earners (me and a bunch of other folks).

But I see every day those less fortunate than me (i.e. people without family and friends willing to “invest” in their future while they remain unemployed) walking the streets and riding the subway somehow making it. Their tired faces suggest they work the harder end of the daily grind, or maybe it’s just that down-to-business, no nonsense New York manner. Anyway, the point is, if there’s that many dream chasers other than myself out there putting in the time, then New York has got to deliver. I mean, obviously. This is the city of opportunity and inevitably of course, competition. Like Jay-Z and probably a lot of other people before him said, “If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere.” So, there you have a babbled response to those who think I’m wack for moving here during one of the greatest economic recessions ever.

I came from New Orleans which by all intrinsic measures is pretty much the opposite of New York. New Orleanians lack a certain focus that New Yorkers have. Unless that focus is all put into getting to Happy Hour, which in New Orleans isn’t at all a designated or limited period of time. People there are so lovesick with life and everyone they meet that they are by nature easily distracted. When New Yorkers start a job they finish it and in a swift fashion so they can promptly experience its benefits. New Orleanians would rather have fun while doing the job than be restricted to just having fun after the job is done. New Yorkers are more long term oriented and New Orleanians are more right now oriented. And right now in New Orleans it’s all about the Saints. The unthinkable has been accomplished. THE SAINTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPERBOWL. I know not one Saints fan present in the Dome or watching intently on their couch that didn’t cry when Garret Hartley kicked that winning field goal in overtime play. I’ve never been much of a football fan or even observer, but if something like that can lift up a troubled city to new heights, then I am a full fledged football endorser. But isn’t it just like the Universe to allow my adopted home to blow up just after I leave it for new, personally unchartered territory? What is that — Murphy’s Law or something? What am I saying? I’m just homesick, because New York is obviously blowing up at all times.

And this is not to say I haven’t been enjoying some of New York’s own cultural delights here and there. Oh, no. Just the other day I was at The Met and saw some of the most mind blowing man made artifacts. I walked inside a huge structure — a tomb perhaps — crafted by Egyptians a whole lot of years ago. I also saw straight up super old school samurai swords and ancient Japanese warfare grade body armor. Those treasures in the company of Degas and Monet originals make The Met’s collection among the utmost impressive.

I also visited The New York Public Library recently which debunked my idea of what a public library should be based on my previous public library going experience at more casual locations like New Orleans and my hometown, Athens, Georgia. This seemed more like a museum than a library, like an extension of The Met for books. I was afraid to touch some of their inventory, scared I would be escorted out of the building. There were security personnel everywhere in sight at this place. There was someone to check my bag (for explosives?) upon entering in the front, at each new wing of the library and upon exiting, as well as patrolmen just standing around waiting to spot any unruly patrons. All of the books I needed were available for library use only and not to check out so I left the huge, ornate beacon on Fifth Avenue and proceeded to the Barnes & Noble across the street.

Well, friends, I’m signing off for now, but will regale you with further New York adventures. Cheers.

White Noise: We're Doomed.

A Broadway-bound production premiering in New Orleans dares its audience to deny the regime of hatred ever present in today’s society. Using American pop culture as an outlet to present its case, “White Noise” is an unconventional musical of the utmost disturbing kind. Its challenge lies in the extent to which its vision can be seen beyond the stage and consequently how resounding it really is.

The story unfolds around a pop band of the play’s same title starring two sisters, Eva and Kady Sillers (MacKenzie Mauzy and Patti Murin). In the beginning, when White Noise’s new manager, Rick (Brandon Williams), who wants to make them Billboard stars describes them as “cute little Nazis,” he isn’t exaggerating. Their addictive choruses yet fascist lyrics are straight out of white supremacist propaganda. The tunes “Tragic,” “Do The Laundry” (in which a strangely upbeat demonstration of separating the whites from the colors is given), and the frighteningly catchy rap song “White Invention” all manage to stick in the head of anyone who hears them, immediately causing unease thereafter.

No doubt Eva Sillers’ namesake is that of Eva Braun – Hitler’s mistress and consultant who stuck by his side till their fateful demise. As tiny as Mauzy is in frame and body mass, she’s tremendous in vocal volume and passionate bigotry. Her subscribed ideology is convincing as a shockingly blunt and blatant racist of all those excluded from the Caucasian persuasion. One of the creepiest aspects of Eva is that she’s exceptionally well spoken and driven in her cause, just as most sociopathic dictators tend to be (see Hitler, Stalin, Hussein).

Though Mauzy turns out an intimidating and disconcerting performance, what’s considerably more horrifying is that her and Murin’s characters are based on real life tween Aryans. The seemingly innocent twin sisters are in a band called Prussian Blue. These golden-lock-adorned-milky-white-skinned twins are nothing more than ignorant hatred fueled neo-Nazis (or “White Separatists” as they’d like to be referred to), assumedly lead blind by their mother, as the Sillers sisters were by their mother, Laurel, in White Noise (Nancy Anderson who also offered a praise worthy, almost sympathetic and somber performance). In a “Good Morning America” edition featuring the twins, they said that for fun, they play a game called “dance around the swastika.” Ever tried hopscotch, Nazi freaks?

Every facet of the production was of supreme craftsmanship, from the lighting to the stage-protected orchestra to the impressive performances of a relatively fresh, young batch of actors. White Noise is Patrick Murney’s first full scale production outside the confines of Syracuse University, where he received his BFA in acting. Murney plays Duke, Eva’s boyfriend and bassist of White Noise who might as well have been wearing an SS officer uniform. He was one of those characters you weren’t sure whether to clap or boo for his heinous portrayal during curtain call.

White Noise should also be applauded in its bravery. Directors Mitchell Maxwell and Donald Byrd put a shameful, tea time taboo reality on display, restraining nothing from extremely derogatory terminology to bringing out in the open — to a desensitized degree — concepts such as lynchings. The themes demanded the audience to look inside themselves and their fellow humans to consider how much racism and hate prevail within both.

With that being said, it was also an extremely pessimistic and discouraging outlook on society and society’s potential of tolerance. Everyone in the play was a villain and part of the perpetuating problem. It offered absolutely no hope for individual or general growth. This was White Noise’s aim yet downfall. It was a difficult piece of theater to swallow — uncomfortable and unpleasant. Hopefully the fact that it seemed a lost cause and that such monumental racism is inevitable was an example to its audience that such grim outcomes must be prevented.

Athens Rockers Keep it Weird with "Dark Developments"

Vic Chesnutt is the dark comedian of southern folk rock.

The Athens, Ga. music veteran teamed up with the quirky Elephant 6 dream rockers, Elf Power and backing instrumentalists The Amorphous Strums who smooth Chesnutt’s typically rough edges, brightening the new album, “Dark Developments,” with twinkling xylophone and cheery back up vocals. Chesnutt proves to be a sneering lyricist with a mildly sick sense of humor, but a sense of humor nonetheless.

The opening track, “Mystery,” sets the tone. Eerie yet beautiful, straightforward but nonsensical, from the wordless crooning to the sad proclamation of a void, the song is full of stimulating and stark contrasts, like a profound food and wine pairing.

When “Little Fucker” opens up, you know it’s going to be a good rock song. The title is an apt representation of the attitude of the track: pissed off, dismissive and vindicated. The instrumentation follows suit with bellowing, descending bass introducing an aggressive electric guitar, and when Chesnutt drops the f-bomb, you can hear the satisfaction upon its landing.

The album isn’t all so brooding, with tracks like “And How” that are surprisingly bouncy but still remaining incredulous with a nice country guitar twang as the cherry on top. The choir of Elf Power in the background helps to uplift spirits as well. Their influence is partly manifested in some of the electronic experimentation, namely the spaced out synth on “Teddy Bear,” in refreshing juxtaposition to Chesnutt’s husky Tom Petty meets Leonard Cohen roar.

Chesnutt offers an excuse for their dreary disposition in “We Are Mean,” blaming the city for their bitterness: “In the country we are healthy/ In the city we are lean/ In the country we are smiling/ In the city we are mean” leading into the chorus with a reinforcing “We are mean!” shouted in the background.

“Bilocating Dog” is the catchiest of tracks and misleadingly upbeat. Its tone is undercut with narrative lyrics fitting for a gothic fable about a not so fortunate dog. Chesnutt seems all too enthusiastic when singing about the poor dog’s fate. Perhaps his grim tendencies are the influence of spending too much — or just enough — time in the Georgia woods.

Chesnutt and friends can be counted on to please in a weird and uncomfortable kind of way, like a first kiss or learning to ride a bike. Channel your inner kook with “Dark Developments.”