I'm used to being told my standards are a little high. As the Collegian's senior music music reporter and stingy critic on the Arts in Review page, I get all kinds of mail about how I'm too much of an elitist. (Okay, by "all kinds" I mean "half a dozen," and four of those were in response to a column where I said how much of an elitist I am.) But my most recent encounter with feeling like a miser came not when dissing a Pop CD, but when going to see a friend in a play.
The Rocky Horror Show came to the Schwab Auditorium. I'd recently seen clips of the film version for the first time, I knew a girl in the chorus, and I had nothing better to do when watch boys in corsets on a Friday night, so I checked it out.
The show was very good, even great. A live band did all the songs, the choreography was great, the audience shout-outs were hilarious, and I have nothing but respect for the guy who played Frank; anyone who can walk steps then slide down a fireman's pole in high heels is certainly applause-worthy.
But, as a critic, I had a few minor complaints too. And I do mean "minor." Not every single song was a knockout, and one or two tunes in the middle dragged a bit. To me, all this means is that the show was great but not flawless. If I was reviewing it, it might get an A-.
So when the show ended and the audience rose for a standing ovation, I remained sitting. To me, a standing ovation is the highest possible award, one you give when a performance blows you away for the duration.
Did I enjoy myself at Rocky? Immensely. One guy in the balcony was yelling comments that had me in stitches, and "Time Warp" is one of my favorite songs from a musical ever. I just didn't feel it was one of the best things I'd ever seen, so not standing ovation worthy.
But man, did I feel like a jerk for it. I tried to explain myself and say that it was "very good" (I got yelled at for not saying "great") I said that I just felt the standing ovation was a higher honor (I got yelled at for that too). At least I'm getting used to this: I was one of the only guys sitting during a No Refund Theatre run-through of The Breakfast Club last year, too.
Am I wrong? I don't know. Both shows were a blast, and everyone had a great time. I could have gone with the crowd's energy and hit my feet, but I sat there like Scrooge. But it's hard for me to feel bad: I cheered during the show, I clapped at the end, and I have 95 percent positive things to say.
I'm just doing my small part to show performers that, hey, give it just a little something more, and THAT'S a standing ovation. It's part of my ongoing struggle to slowly raise the standards of the audience and thus the arts scene at Penn State.
Or maybe I'm just an ass.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
The Tyranny of 21+ Shows
A pet peeve of mine that I've been meaning to write about for awhile is the concept of 21+ shows. As a youngin', I remember repeated disappointment at any good gig that would be limited to persons of the legal drinking age. Modest Mouse did a rare gig in Boise when I still lived in Idaho, but I couldn't go because I couldn't drink. Nevermind that I didn't drink or have any interest in doing so. One of my favorite bands (one I have yet to see live) was playing in the Gem State for the first time since 1997 and I couldn't go because of alcohol restrictions. I also caught many good gigs at the Crowbar last year that I couldn't have seen if the Cell Block had hosted them, evidenced by their 21+ Eddie Money show.
Many of my friends told me that I'd sing a different tune once I turned 21 myself. "No way," I told them, holding onto my youthful conviction. And though our opinions often change with increased age and perspective, the folly of 21+ shows is still something that gets me sore.
Now, I'm not talking about every local bar band or cover act with a weekly gig. While I'm still upset about missing the Mouse, I think any 17 year old who's just dying to see a Velveeta gig has his priorities messed up.
But what's the point of booking a big act and then keeping half of their fan base out? Ticket prices should more than compensate for their inability to drink. And, on a more general level, excluding non-drinkers from a show shifts the emphasis from music to alcohol. The Eddie Money show seemed less like a concert and more like a beeline from the 25 cent drafts and back to the stage when a hit came up. Half the crowd stood around with their backs turned to the band.
I know there's another option. One of the greatest nights of my life was when I saw Eyes Adrift, a short-lived supergroup made up of Curt Kirkwood from the Meat Puppets, Bud Gaugh from Sublime and Krist Novaselic from Nirvana. Nirvana was the band that got me into rock music and were still my favorite band at that time.
I stood three feet away from Krist in the front row, swooning the entire show. Afterwards, I got to meet him and tell him how much his music had meant to me, and it's probably the only time I've been truly awestruck meeting a musician.
Why is this relevant? It was a gig in a bar in Boise. I was only 18. But they just slapped some Xs on my hands and kept me away from the bar. And it bothers me to think that, if the venue had been more concerned with getting the money out of a few beers instead of from my ticket, I never would have had that experience. And even though I may now be 21, I don't want anyone else to lose opportunities because of age.
Many of my friends told me that I'd sing a different tune once I turned 21 myself. "No way," I told them, holding onto my youthful conviction. And though our opinions often change with increased age and perspective, the folly of 21+ shows is still something that gets me sore.
Now, I'm not talking about every local bar band or cover act with a weekly gig. While I'm still upset about missing the Mouse, I think any 17 year old who's just dying to see a Velveeta gig has his priorities messed up.
But what's the point of booking a big act and then keeping half of their fan base out? Ticket prices should more than compensate for their inability to drink. And, on a more general level, excluding non-drinkers from a show shifts the emphasis from music to alcohol. The Eddie Money show seemed less like a concert and more like a beeline from the 25 cent drafts and back to the stage when a hit came up. Half the crowd stood around with their backs turned to the band.
I know there's another option. One of the greatest nights of my life was when I saw Eyes Adrift, a short-lived supergroup made up of Curt Kirkwood from the Meat Puppets, Bud Gaugh from Sublime and Krist Novaselic from Nirvana. Nirvana was the band that got me into rock music and were still my favorite band at that time.
I stood three feet away from Krist in the front row, swooning the entire show. Afterwards, I got to meet him and tell him how much his music had meant to me, and it's probably the only time I've been truly awestruck meeting a musician.
Why is this relevant? It was a gig in a bar in Boise. I was only 18. But they just slapped some Xs on my hands and kept me away from the bar. And it bothers me to think that, if the venue had been more concerned with getting the money out of a few beers instead of from my ticket, I never would have had that experience. And even though I may now be 21, I don't want anyone else to lose opportunities because of age.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Weekly Wrap-Up
Last week, I ended with a few suggestions for live music events to check out that week, ranging from '80s rock to whiny acoustic drivel to a top-level Roustabout! show. Here's my recap of how they turned out:
Wednesday, 10/11 - Eddie Money at the Cell Block
Though Eddie Money isn't exactly looking as pretty as he did in the '80s, I'd be hard pressed to deny the show had great energy. Maybe it was the excitement of hearing hits like "Two Tickets to Paradise" and "Take Me Home Tonight (Be My Baby)" sung live. Maybe it was the (surprisingly) packed house, filled with frat boys and 40-something women reliving their glory days as high school rockers. Maybe it was the .25 cent beer. Whatever the cause, it was a full house and everyone was entertained. My only complaint is that, though the Cell Block packed the house in a way the Crowbar seemed unable to do, they did it on the strength of a retro act. Ill be more impressed when they promote upcoming artists and current music with the same efficiency.
Thursday, 10/12 - SOMA Acoustic Show at West Halls Study Lounge
It pains me to say this, as I have uniformly enjoyed all events by Students Organizing the Multiple Arts, but Thursday's acoustic show was a low point for me.
Local band the Minor White opened, seeming a little dull. Their songwriting is tight enough that I imagined an acoustic set would be natural, but sound problems, a short set, and a different arrangement meant they seemed a bit lacking. Raise Roof Beams were a highlight, though, integrating country and folk influences well, including one guy who whipped out both the mandolin and the banjo.
It was all downhill from there though. Solo act Koji on the Roof was the worst kind of earnest, strumming-under-the-willow-tree-in-the-quad-to-get-girls kind of singer (and, yes, most girls I asked were swooning a bit.) He left out the whole "talent" part though, and worse yet, he butchered a Wilco song, then had the nerve to invoke Otis Redding through a woefully inappropriate cover of "(Sittin' on) the Dock of the Bay," stripping it of it's emotional resonance in an arrangement too wimpy for even John Mayer to consider. I couldn't re-enter the room after that but I think the band name of Boys Like Girls tells any potential listener whether or not they'll like that band.
Friday, 10/13 - Roustabout! at the Tall Shiva Hookah Lounge
Now here was the week's highlight. The Minor White more than compensated for the previous night in one of my favorite gigs by them, emphasizing elements like the keyboards and sounding a lot looser and more rocking. And Olivia Mancini and the Housemates, in from D.C., were astounding. Using female vocals and brass, they swayed from great pop to total noise (I've never seen anyone play their trumpet into their guitar pick-ups before) very smoothly. I will be first in line next time they visit.
Wednesday, 10/11 - Eddie Money at the Cell Block
Though Eddie Money isn't exactly looking as pretty as he did in the '80s, I'd be hard pressed to deny the show had great energy. Maybe it was the excitement of hearing hits like "Two Tickets to Paradise" and "Take Me Home Tonight (Be My Baby)" sung live. Maybe it was the (surprisingly) packed house, filled with frat boys and 40-something women reliving their glory days as high school rockers. Maybe it was the .25 cent beer. Whatever the cause, it was a full house and everyone was entertained. My only complaint is that, though the Cell Block packed the house in a way the Crowbar seemed unable to do, they did it on the strength of a retro act. Ill be more impressed when they promote upcoming artists and current music with the same efficiency.
Thursday, 10/12 - SOMA Acoustic Show at West Halls Study Lounge
It pains me to say this, as I have uniformly enjoyed all events by Students Organizing the Multiple Arts, but Thursday's acoustic show was a low point for me.
Local band the Minor White opened, seeming a little dull. Their songwriting is tight enough that I imagined an acoustic set would be natural, but sound problems, a short set, and a different arrangement meant they seemed a bit lacking. Raise Roof Beams were a highlight, though, integrating country and folk influences well, including one guy who whipped out both the mandolin and the banjo.
It was all downhill from there though. Solo act Koji on the Roof was the worst kind of earnest, strumming-under-the-willow-tree-in-the-quad-to-get-girls kind of singer (and, yes, most girls I asked were swooning a bit.) He left out the whole "talent" part though, and worse yet, he butchered a Wilco song, then had the nerve to invoke Otis Redding through a woefully inappropriate cover of "(Sittin' on) the Dock of the Bay," stripping it of it's emotional resonance in an arrangement too wimpy for even John Mayer to consider. I couldn't re-enter the room after that but I think the band name of Boys Like Girls tells any potential listener whether or not they'll like that band.
Friday, 10/13 - Roustabout! at the Tall Shiva Hookah Lounge
Now here was the week's highlight. The Minor White more than compensated for the previous night in one of my favorite gigs by them, emphasizing elements like the keyboards and sounding a lot looser and more rocking. And Olivia Mancini and the Housemates, in from D.C., were astounding. Using female vocals and brass, they swayed from great pop to total noise (I've never seen anyone play their trumpet into their guitar pick-ups before) very smoothly. I will be first in line next time they visit.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
"Despite all my rage..."
Okay, I think I remembered my problem with cover bands.
There I was, standing in the Saloon on Thursday night and enjoying a monkey boy or two, when some cover band hit the stage. They launched into "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" by Smashing Pumpkins, which pleased me at first.
Then they began launching into a progressively awful set of songs, ranging from "Headstrong" by Trapt to "We Are All on Drugs" by Weezer, the latter of which I actually booed. It was a nice timeline of the decline of alternative rock into the over-processed, amelodic trash it is now.
As a kid who cut his teeth on Nirvana, it's ridiculous to see a band like the Pumpkins lumped in with Trapt and current Weezer. (And, seriously, out of every Weezer song ever, why "We Are all on Drugs"? So many classics. "Buddy Holly." "Say It Ain't So." "Undone - the Sweater Song." "Hash Pipe." "Island in the Sun." "El Scorcho.")
I know cover bands are there just to get drunk to and hear recognizable music, but come on. You can't just lump in accomplished, talented bands with a bunch of goons who rhyme "headstrong" with "headstrong" in the chorus of their big hit. I'm getting a headache just thinking about those monkey boys, but I still wasn't drunk enough to sing along to this band.
The band itself angered me too. They looked like a collection of rock cliches. I saw a bandana, shaggy hair, and a big guy with tattoos.
It's not even the fact that the band played terrible music that bothers me, it's that they lump in worthy art with total junk. Do people really not care what they listen to? I can't even blame it on drunkeness, because this is a problem I notice everywhere. (See my column from last Thursday for more on this.)
I guess, instead of complaining, I'll offer a few alternatives. SOMA is throwing a free show tomorrow; an acoustic show in the West Hall Study Lounge, with Boys Like Girls of Columbia Records headlining. Then the hookah lounge is hosting an all-ages Roustabout! at 9 p.m. on Friday.
And if you're not going to check those out, at least do me a favor. The next time you're at a bar, and the band launches into an inexcusably lame song, don't just bob your head and keep drinking. Boo a little, keep them on their toes.
There I was, standing in the Saloon on Thursday night and enjoying a monkey boy or two, when some cover band hit the stage. They launched into "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" by Smashing Pumpkins, which pleased me at first.
Then they began launching into a progressively awful set of songs, ranging from "Headstrong" by Trapt to "We Are All on Drugs" by Weezer, the latter of which I actually booed. It was a nice timeline of the decline of alternative rock into the over-processed, amelodic trash it is now.
As a kid who cut his teeth on Nirvana, it's ridiculous to see a band like the Pumpkins lumped in with Trapt and current Weezer. (And, seriously, out of every Weezer song ever, why "We Are all on Drugs"? So many classics. "Buddy Holly." "Say It Ain't So." "Undone - the Sweater Song." "Hash Pipe." "Island in the Sun." "El Scorcho.")
I know cover bands are there just to get drunk to and hear recognizable music, but come on. You can't just lump in accomplished, talented bands with a bunch of goons who rhyme "headstrong" with "headstrong" in the chorus of their big hit. I'm getting a headache just thinking about those monkey boys, but I still wasn't drunk enough to sing along to this band.
The band itself angered me too. They looked like a collection of rock cliches. I saw a bandana, shaggy hair, and a big guy with tattoos.
It's not even the fact that the band played terrible music that bothers me, it's that they lump in worthy art with total junk. Do people really not care what they listen to? I can't even blame it on drunkeness, because this is a problem I notice everywhere. (See my column from last Thursday for more on this.)
I guess, instead of complaining, I'll offer a few alternatives. SOMA is throwing a free show tomorrow; an acoustic show in the West Hall Study Lounge, with Boys Like Girls of Columbia Records headlining. Then the hookah lounge is hosting an all-ages Roustabout! at 9 p.m. on Friday.
And if you're not going to check those out, at least do me a favor. The next time you're at a bar, and the band launches into an inexcusably lame song, don't just bob your head and keep drinking. Boo a little, keep them on their toes.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
"Now that's you're 21 you've got a lot to lose"
So I turned 21 this weekend.
If I was on the nightlife gig, I'd have plenty of comments on the absurdity of 21st birthday policies: for example, the Shandygaff doesn't let you in until 26 hours after your birthday.
However, one aspect of my new of-age status does apply to my blog's little corner: access to the cover band scene.
I've been in the original music camp since I came to State College. I've always thought the idea of a cover band was pretty much a waste. Throwing a few familiar tunes into a set is fun, but why devote your time to totally unoriginal material?
The opposing side said it was just music to have fun and get drunk to, but I've always had trouble buying it.
Flash forward to Saturday and I'm in a booth, half-empty beer in front of me, enthusiastically air-drumming during the big slowdown and explosion in the intro of "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand. And while I stiffled a giggle when I heard "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)," I also have to confess I was upset they chose to cover Blur while I was in the little boy's room.
I was still cognizant enough to recognize this shift in attitudes, so I asked a sober friend who was with us what he thought. He said that, while they were proficient enough in terms of musicianship, he still didn't enjoy them very much.
Then I tried to figure out the advantage of hiring a band to play covers instead of just using a jukebox or DJ. It's certainly more interactive and spontaneous. No one cheers for a record, but if it's a live band kicking into a song you like, it's more like a show. And it makes more sense to pay attention to, and dance to, a live band.
So why the turnaround? Are there just times when you drop your pretensions and want to have a good time? Is there anything wrong with having a live band to punch out some songs you can sing along with? Is it just a better option than having a radio or playlist running in the background? I imagine that, as I continue to head out on the weekends, I'll come to grips with this changing of the tides in my attitude on cover bands.
If I was on the nightlife gig, I'd have plenty of comments on the absurdity of 21st birthday policies: for example, the Shandygaff doesn't let you in until 26 hours after your birthday.
However, one aspect of my new of-age status does apply to my blog's little corner: access to the cover band scene.
I've been in the original music camp since I came to State College. I've always thought the idea of a cover band was pretty much a waste. Throwing a few familiar tunes into a set is fun, but why devote your time to totally unoriginal material?
The opposing side said it was just music to have fun and get drunk to, but I've always had trouble buying it.
Flash forward to Saturday and I'm in a booth, half-empty beer in front of me, enthusiastically air-drumming during the big slowdown and explosion in the intro of "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand. And while I stiffled a giggle when I heard "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)," I also have to confess I was upset they chose to cover Blur while I was in the little boy's room.
I was still cognizant enough to recognize this shift in attitudes, so I asked a sober friend who was with us what he thought. He said that, while they were proficient enough in terms of musicianship, he still didn't enjoy them very much.
Then I tried to figure out the advantage of hiring a band to play covers instead of just using a jukebox or DJ. It's certainly more interactive and spontaneous. No one cheers for a record, but if it's a live band kicking into a song you like, it's more like a show. And it makes more sense to pay attention to, and dance to, a live band.
So why the turnaround? Are there just times when you drop your pretensions and want to have a good time? Is there anything wrong with having a live band to punch out some songs you can sing along with? Is it just a better option than having a radio or playlist running in the background? I imagine that, as I continue to head out on the weekends, I'll come to grips with this changing of the tides in my attitude on cover bands.
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