If you ever read the Opinions page, you may have noticed that both myself and fellow music critic Kevin Doran get a lot of negative Letters to the Editor addressed to us. And, while I certainly appreciate the feedback, I've noticed that some of you don't really understand the proper way to address a music critic via letter, so I'm going to give some basic guidelines.
1.) Be sure to complain when a critic criticizes.
I often get letters calling me "biased," claiming I'm inserting my own opinion into my reviews and failing to be objective. I often get mixed-up when I'm called upon to review an album or concert and oftentimes even insert my own opinion on the work of art. It's easy for me to forget that I get sent to concerts with the job of being a parrot for public opinion and to give the fanboy with the band's posters all over his room a few inches in which I echo his sentiments. I get a little confused now and then and work under the impression that I'm supposed to be "reviewing" or "criticizing" a band when I write a "review" or act as a "critic." So, the first step of any successful hate mail is calling me out for inserting my own evaluation.
2.) Make sure to point out that we don't have record deals.
It's true, I am not the member of a famous rock band, so clearly I have no room to criticize other musicians if I can't do what they do. Now, you might be asking "But Dustin, why can Angels and Airwaves sing about world affairs and politics? Did Tom DeLonge get a degree in political science? Does Toby Keith have an automotive background that gives him a valid reason to support Ford trucks on-stage?" To which I reply: don't be silly. Artists don't need to have first-hand experience in whatever they give their opinion on. That's just music critics.
3.) If the fans liked it, it was quality work.
If a crowd cheers a lot or a lot of people buy a record, a critic should ignore all other factors and give it a glowing review. Under this new policy, my revised review of the Fergie album (Grade: A+) will debut in Friday's Arts in Review. Next semester, film and music reviews will be replaced by box office figures and Billboard charts, which are better barometers of quality than critics.
These are just a few tips to help you in your quest to write hate mail and keep critics like me on our toes. I'm looking forward to reading next semester's crop of letters, and let me know if there are any techniques I left out. Happy reading!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Monday, December 04, 2006
A Promising Weekend
Some interesting shows this past weekend. We'll go in reverse order this time, to bring up the highlight first.
Saturday, 12/2 - Psychedelic/Zaireeka Roustabout! at Tall Shiva Hookah Lounge
Headlining a Roustabout! show with a listening party for an album instead of a band wouldn't normally fly, but Zaireeka is an exception. The four-disc Flaming Lips album is meant to be played on four sets of speakers, with the idea that the tracks will never start at the same time and always synchronize differently. And you get a different experience depending on your relation to the speakers, so every listen will be different.
So, after a warm-up from some psychedelic bands (quick props to Goldenball for a great set,) the show was on. It took a few false starts to get the rhythm of four people working CD players down, but it was always funny to hear "Track one... track two... track four..." followed by a chorus of sighs and another go.
Describing the album is difficult and kind of beside the point. But it was a unique show, and showed the kind of creativity lacking in the arts scene in general. And people seemed to have a good time, though it would have been nice to see a few more people walk around and take advantage of the multiple sound sources that were set up.
Friday, 12/1 - SOMA Pop Art/Music Extravaganza at Dragon Chaser's Emporium
It's been a weak year for SOMA shows, both in terms of quality and failure to match the original aesthetic set last year. Friday's show, though not up to last year's standards, was still a step in the right direction. The club remembered that the "MA" stands for "Multiple Arts," and made an attempt to integrate art with the music. Unfortunately, the art was limited to a small selection and a few pieces of paper for the audience to draw on with Crayons, hidden in the corner.
The music faired a bit better. This Place is Haunted delivered a solid set, and out-of-towners Endless Mike and the Beagle Club stole the show. The band, which included tenish members, featured simple, pounding indie-pop with about five guys just bouncing around, banging tambourines and shouting along. It was loose, sloppy, fun, and unlike anything else I saw this year, which used to be something you could rely on from a SOMA show. The next band scared me off by butchering a Neutral Milk Hotel song and then launching into pop-punk, but it's still a step back in the right direction.
Saturday, 12/2 - Psychedelic/Zaireeka Roustabout! at Tall Shiva Hookah Lounge
Headlining a Roustabout! show with a listening party for an album instead of a band wouldn't normally fly, but Zaireeka is an exception. The four-disc Flaming Lips album is meant to be played on four sets of speakers, with the idea that the tracks will never start at the same time and always synchronize differently. And you get a different experience depending on your relation to the speakers, so every listen will be different.
So, after a warm-up from some psychedelic bands (quick props to Goldenball for a great set,) the show was on. It took a few false starts to get the rhythm of four people working CD players down, but it was always funny to hear "Track one... track two... track four..." followed by a chorus of sighs and another go.
Describing the album is difficult and kind of beside the point. But it was a unique show, and showed the kind of creativity lacking in the arts scene in general. And people seemed to have a good time, though it would have been nice to see a few more people walk around and take advantage of the multiple sound sources that were set up.
Friday, 12/1 - SOMA Pop Art/Music Extravaganza at Dragon Chaser's Emporium
It's been a weak year for SOMA shows, both in terms of quality and failure to match the original aesthetic set last year. Friday's show, though not up to last year's standards, was still a step in the right direction. The club remembered that the "MA" stands for "Multiple Arts," and made an attempt to integrate art with the music. Unfortunately, the art was limited to a small selection and a few pieces of paper for the audience to draw on with Crayons, hidden in the corner.
The music faired a bit better. This Place is Haunted delivered a solid set, and out-of-towners Endless Mike and the Beagle Club stole the show. The band, which included tenish members, featured simple, pounding indie-pop with about five guys just bouncing around, banging tambourines and shouting along. It was loose, sloppy, fun, and unlike anything else I saw this year, which used to be something you could rely on from a SOMA show. The next band scared me off by butchering a Neutral Milk Hotel song and then launching into pop-punk, but it's still a step back in the right direction.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
"I could be happy with less, I guess, if you told me that less is more."
Since part of my job description is to offer my opinion on music and art, I get on people's bad side a lot. And, as I am of the opinion that the majority of popular music and art is watered-down and those who like it have no taste, I get on people's bad side a lot more often than I probably need to.
This really bugs me. Not the getting hate mail part (I squeal with delight whenever I see a letter to the editor slagging me,) but the fact that these same people who are so apathetic to the local music scene and the promotion of quality artists turn around and act as though they've sworn a blood oath to stand up for a major-label band churning out by-the-numbers music free of passion or individuality.
Some pop star puts out a boring album and I say so, but you'd think I stomped into the listener's home, slapped their mother, then made their puppy cry. I understand people grow very attached to their art. I can admit I might have a raised eyebrow and harsh words for anyone who would say Dylan can't write or Hendrix can't play.
It's when people whine that I've been mean to Fergie that I get confused.
I recently got a double-dose of this on Monday, when two letters were published about my review of the recent Angels and Airwaves gig at the BJC. (To recap what I said: I personally hate all of their fans and am glad for all the personal suffering Tom DeLonge has endured in his life.)
On one hand, as always, I was excited to see that people read my stuff and cared enough to compliment it. On the other hand, it was a lousy gig by a mediocre band, and I panned it thusly. Yet people are up in arms about it. I try my best to mix my criticism with solutions and pointing in better directions: I support local bands, I highlight albums I enjoy, etc. But I get the same tired "oh, man, everyone there liked it, just shut up" e-mails. As if it's the job of a critic to just regurgitate what the fans think.
I'm glad that people at least cared enough to buy tickets to a rock concert, but I'm sad that standards have fallen so low that people are praising the weak show. Maybe if the average student here put a sliver of the energy they spend into defending tripe into searching out better music, they would't have to settle.
This really bugs me. Not the getting hate mail part (I squeal with delight whenever I see a letter to the editor slagging me,) but the fact that these same people who are so apathetic to the local music scene and the promotion of quality artists turn around and act as though they've sworn a blood oath to stand up for a major-label band churning out by-the-numbers music free of passion or individuality.
Some pop star puts out a boring album and I say so, but you'd think I stomped into the listener's home, slapped their mother, then made their puppy cry. I understand people grow very attached to their art. I can admit I might have a raised eyebrow and harsh words for anyone who would say Dylan can't write or Hendrix can't play.
It's when people whine that I've been mean to Fergie that I get confused.
I recently got a double-dose of this on Monday, when two letters were published about my review of the recent Angels and Airwaves gig at the BJC. (To recap what I said: I personally hate all of their fans and am glad for all the personal suffering Tom DeLonge has endured in his life.)
On one hand, as always, I was excited to see that people read my stuff and cared enough to compliment it. On the other hand, it was a lousy gig by a mediocre band, and I panned it thusly. Yet people are up in arms about it. I try my best to mix my criticism with solutions and pointing in better directions: I support local bands, I highlight albums I enjoy, etc. But I get the same tired "oh, man, everyone there liked it, just shut up" e-mails. As if it's the job of a critic to just regurgitate what the fans think.
I'm glad that people at least cared enough to buy tickets to a rock concert, but I'm sad that standards have fallen so low that people are praising the weak show. Maybe if the average student here put a sliver of the energy they spend into defending tripe into searching out better music, they would't have to settle.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Emerging venues
As of today, November 15 2006, it's been exactly six months since Crowbar closed. I still remember the sting I felt at the news, especially my outrage at the bogus rationale.
They cited "influences from other, larger venues within Crowbar’s market area" as the reason for their close.
Well, it's November, and almost half a year later these new venues haven't really showed up. If you're not going to a big BJC show, your options are kept pretty small and local. As much as I enjoy and appreciate the shows put on at Dragon Chasers, the Tall Shiva Hookah Lounge and other locations, they do not have the capacity to draw bigger acts that Crowbar did. I don't think one hundred kids hitting the occasional all-ages Roustabout! was really siphoning off that much revenue from a venue that could book Hawthorne Heights.
But analyzing the incompetence at Crowbar will not do. It's gone, and that's that. The Cell Block, so far, has put more emphasis on the club aspect of the venue. From talking to people who've seen the Erie and Williamsport locations, I understand this is probably not going to change much.
This is unfortunate. It's in a great location, has the right capacity and would still have a lot of the fanbase that was familiar with going to Crowbar shows. It would be nice to see them give booking more shows a try (preferably someone who didn't peak in the 80's,) but there's no use holding your breath.
There are two up-and-coming venues on the horizon to watch though. The first is Lulu's Nightstop (renamed from Club Love, which evidently was a bit too masculine.) They had Shooter Jennings last night, the Drive-By Truckers earlier in the year, and State Radio is coming up with locals Cloverleaf as openers. It's not a lot of shows to judge them by, but it's a step in the right direction.
I think the shows are 21+, which is a huge downfall that really hurts. Eddie Money at the Cell Block was 21+ and packed the house, but I think that can be written off by realizing that most people who wanted to go either listened to Money in his prime, or had to be drunk enough to forget the guy on stage had aged about 20 years since he'd been on the radio.
Making a show 21+ cuts off over half of the potential student audience and is just a lame move for reasons detailed in a previous blog. Scroll down and read the archives!
The other one is the long-awaited State Theatre. The Grand Opening is set for Dec. 14. So far, the most interesting announced shows are Marah and Sean Lennon. While the Theatre will not primarily focus on rock music, or even music, the location and size make it a great place to host some mid-level acts.
But even a couple of shows would be a welcome addition to the scene here. Bringing in bands would, I think, draw a great crowd. I don't want to speculate on the kind of acts that could show up, but the crowd for indie and lesser-known bands here is tremendous.
My hope, I guess, is that these potential new venues will take the chance to try bringing in some good bands regularly, and learn from the mistakes of the Crowbar. There is a huge gap in the potential to see live bands, and the new venues have the ability to remedy this situation. Here's hoping that this time next year, we've got more options.
They cited "influences from other, larger venues within Crowbar’s market area" as the reason for their close.
Well, it's November, and almost half a year later these new venues haven't really showed up. If you're not going to a big BJC show, your options are kept pretty small and local. As much as I enjoy and appreciate the shows put on at Dragon Chasers, the Tall Shiva Hookah Lounge and other locations, they do not have the capacity to draw bigger acts that Crowbar did. I don't think one hundred kids hitting the occasional all-ages Roustabout! was really siphoning off that much revenue from a venue that could book Hawthorne Heights.
But analyzing the incompetence at Crowbar will not do. It's gone, and that's that. The Cell Block, so far, has put more emphasis on the club aspect of the venue. From talking to people who've seen the Erie and Williamsport locations, I understand this is probably not going to change much.
This is unfortunate. It's in a great location, has the right capacity and would still have a lot of the fanbase that was familiar with going to Crowbar shows. It would be nice to see them give booking more shows a try (preferably someone who didn't peak in the 80's,) but there's no use holding your breath.
There are two up-and-coming venues on the horizon to watch though. The first is Lulu's Nightstop (renamed from Club Love, which evidently was a bit too masculine.) They had Shooter Jennings last night, the Drive-By Truckers earlier in the year, and State Radio is coming up with locals Cloverleaf as openers. It's not a lot of shows to judge them by, but it's a step in the right direction.
I think the shows are 21+, which is a huge downfall that really hurts. Eddie Money at the Cell Block was 21+ and packed the house, but I think that can be written off by realizing that most people who wanted to go either listened to Money in his prime, or had to be drunk enough to forget the guy on stage had aged about 20 years since he'd been on the radio.
Making a show 21+ cuts off over half of the potential student audience and is just a lame move for reasons detailed in a previous blog. Scroll down and read the archives!
The other one is the long-awaited State Theatre. The Grand Opening is set for Dec. 14. So far, the most interesting announced shows are Marah and Sean Lennon. While the Theatre will not primarily focus on rock music, or even music, the location and size make it a great place to host some mid-level acts.
But even a couple of shows would be a welcome addition to the scene here. Bringing in bands would, I think, draw a great crowd. I don't want to speculate on the kind of acts that could show up, but the crowd for indie and lesser-known bands here is tremendous.
My hope, I guess, is that these potential new venues will take the chance to try bringing in some good bands regularly, and learn from the mistakes of the Crowbar. There is a huge gap in the potential to see live bands, and the new venues have the ability to remedy this situation. Here's hoping that this time next year, we've got more options.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
"I laugh until my head falls off..."
After spending the past year making snide comments in the paper, I had the pleasure of yelling them out, unfiltered, to the actual performer.
In other words, I got to heckle.
But first some background: This past Friday, I attended a joint comedy show venture between Students Organizing the Multiple Arts and the Full Ammo Improv. And while comedy is inherently hit or miss, I could't help but wish the balance wasn't so skewed at the HUB that night. The "hits" were just friendly jabs on the shoulder, while the misses made me wonder if the comics hadn't hit a bump and lost their punchlines while driving down Beaver Ave.
The show featured a mix of local talent, comics from Rutgers, and some people with national exposure, like comics featured on Comedy Central's Premium Blend and host Michael Showalter (Wet Hot American Summer, Stella.) But even Showalter faltered at times, opening his introduction with some d-level schlock that seemed like a desperate attempt of a failing comedian to engage the crowd.
Showalter: How are we doing, Penn State?
Crowd: (mild applause)
Showalter: I can't hear you!
Crowd: (slightly more enthusiastic)
Showalter: No, I really can't hear you. I have an inner ear disorder.
Crowd: (crickets pushing tumbleweed)
The rest of Showalter's stuff was much better, including his guilty pleasure playlist (any excuse to diss crappy music is fine by me) and a wonderfully surreal bit nitpicking on why Starbucks sells the movie Akeelah and the Bee--and only Akeelah and the Bee.
But aside from that, there were few highlights. Technical problems prevented the videos from being shown. There were at least four musicians comedians, only two of which were worth anything. Rob Paravonian probably had the best set though. His in-between song banter was better than most everyone else's stand-up, and his songs were funny and not repetitive. Best of all was a song about how he can't stop hearing Pachebel's "Canon" whereever he goes, which ends with a medley of popular songs using the same chords that had the crowd in hysterics.
But even that hit was not enough to counter the night's biggest miss. I don't know the guy's name, and even if I did, his performance was so bad that printing it in public would endanger his life (even moreso if a chunk of the crowd hadn't left two minutes into his set.) I can't repeat his jokes for two reasons:
1.) Everything that came out of his mouth was idiotic, racist, sexist, and offensive when it was intelligible (which half of it was not.)
2.) He didn't tell a single joke.
It's all a blur of bad taste, but I remember this psuedo-Dane Cook wannabe with a thick Brooklyn-Italian accent rambling on about going to the hood, getting beaten up for hitting on women of others races, and then yelling at girls at parties, or something. He went over his time limit twice. He lost at least a tenth of the crowd. His "comedy" was met with silence by everyone aside from one vocal girl in the front (clearly a plant, his girlfriend, or a planted girlfriend.)
Now, I understand comedy is a tough art. I respect anyone who gets up there and tries. There's constant crowd feedback, so the comedian is feeling it everytime a line doesn't hit. A lot of them were student comedians playing to a very large crowd so I cut them a lot of slack.
Until this clown yelled out "Yeah, you like that?"
To which someone else in the crowd replied "No!"
"Who said that?" the alleged comedian replied. "Hey, man, f--k you!"
At this point, fifteen minutes of enduring this guy had taken its toll. Without thinking, I yelled out "No, f--k YOU! Tell a f---ing joke!" I don't know if he heard me, though the amount of turned heads told me at least the ten rows in front of me did. But it still felt good to voice my displeasure at his total lack of talent. And if you're reading this, Mr. Comedian, please remember how many backs of heads you saw as you scared the crowd away. Please take my advice. Try telling a joke next time you're on stage.
In other words, I got to heckle.
But first some background: This past Friday, I attended a joint comedy show venture between Students Organizing the Multiple Arts and the Full Ammo Improv. And while comedy is inherently hit or miss, I could't help but wish the balance wasn't so skewed at the HUB that night. The "hits" were just friendly jabs on the shoulder, while the misses made me wonder if the comics hadn't hit a bump and lost their punchlines while driving down Beaver Ave.
The show featured a mix of local talent, comics from Rutgers, and some people with national exposure, like comics featured on Comedy Central's Premium Blend and host Michael Showalter (Wet Hot American Summer, Stella.) But even Showalter faltered at times, opening his introduction with some d-level schlock that seemed like a desperate attempt of a failing comedian to engage the crowd.
Showalter: How are we doing, Penn State?
Crowd: (mild applause)
Showalter: I can't hear you!
Crowd: (slightly more enthusiastic)
Showalter: No, I really can't hear you. I have an inner ear disorder.
Crowd: (crickets pushing tumbleweed)
The rest of Showalter's stuff was much better, including his guilty pleasure playlist (any excuse to diss crappy music is fine by me) and a wonderfully surreal bit nitpicking on why Starbucks sells the movie Akeelah and the Bee--and only Akeelah and the Bee.
But aside from that, there were few highlights. Technical problems prevented the videos from being shown. There were at least four musicians comedians, only two of which were worth anything. Rob Paravonian probably had the best set though. His in-between song banter was better than most everyone else's stand-up, and his songs were funny and not repetitive. Best of all was a song about how he can't stop hearing Pachebel's "Canon" whereever he goes, which ends with a medley of popular songs using the same chords that had the crowd in hysterics.
But even that hit was not enough to counter the night's biggest miss. I don't know the guy's name, and even if I did, his performance was so bad that printing it in public would endanger his life (even moreso if a chunk of the crowd hadn't left two minutes into his set.) I can't repeat his jokes for two reasons:
1.) Everything that came out of his mouth was idiotic, racist, sexist, and offensive when it was intelligible (which half of it was not.)
2.) He didn't tell a single joke.
It's all a blur of bad taste, but I remember this psuedo-Dane Cook wannabe with a thick Brooklyn-Italian accent rambling on about going to the hood, getting beaten up for hitting on women of others races, and then yelling at girls at parties, or something. He went over his time limit twice. He lost at least a tenth of the crowd. His "comedy" was met with silence by everyone aside from one vocal girl in the front (clearly a plant, his girlfriend, or a planted girlfriend.)
Now, I understand comedy is a tough art. I respect anyone who gets up there and tries. There's constant crowd feedback, so the comedian is feeling it everytime a line doesn't hit. A lot of them were student comedians playing to a very large crowd so I cut them a lot of slack.
Until this clown yelled out "Yeah, you like that?"
To which someone else in the crowd replied "No!"
"Who said that?" the alleged comedian replied. "Hey, man, f--k you!"
At this point, fifteen minutes of enduring this guy had taken its toll. Without thinking, I yelled out "No, f--k YOU! Tell a f---ing joke!" I don't know if he heard me, though the amount of turned heads told me at least the ten rows in front of me did. But it still felt good to voice my displeasure at his total lack of talent. And if you're reading this, Mr. Comedian, please remember how many backs of heads you saw as you scared the crowd away. Please take my advice. Try telling a joke next time you're on stage.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah: Automatic Standing Ovations
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.
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 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.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
"And they're doing the standing still..."
Last Wednesday, I caught a show at Abba Java Coffee House that probably drew between 100-200 people. The crowd appalled me, though. Those figures sound great for a few local bands in a coffee house until you realize most everyone came for one band and left before the others came on, meaning the attendance was more like 40 people at a time. And half those 40 were just standing around, ignoring the fact that a rock show was going on in front of them.
I was there to catch the Arctic Summer for a profile story (free plug: check Venues on Thursday!) They opened, putting on a high energy set. Stationed from the couch mid-way back in the room, I could turn my head to see two entirely different sights.
Turning to the left, I saw the band's buds and real music fans, enjoying the set, or at least paying attention to it. One guy was even dancing!
But if I turned to my right, I saw people browsing the Internet and shooting pool. I saw idle conversations, and people wandering in and out of the building.
It may seem like I'm going to whine about the guys in the back, but both groups were at fault. After the Arctic Summer's set, most of the people who had been up front left the venue. Some of those who were ignoring the music before moved up close to catch the next band, and new people filtered in. This continued throughout the show.
Maybe this is just me, but I wouldn't show up thirty minutes late to this week's NRT show, watch my friend's five minute segment, then leave. Forget the fact that it's disrespectul to the other performers: why not enjoy the whole show?
Last week I ripped on Alpha Sigma Phi for organizational problems. But there is one compliment I can give them: they drew a decent crowd who had fun, despite some flaws. Arctic Summer even called it their favorite show ever, and said the crowd connection was fantastic. From what I saw of their Abba Java set, there's no reason they shouldn't have had the same response.
What is with this attitude? Do people even realize that their friends aren't the only ones playing at shows? I honestly don't see the point of paying five dollars to watch your friends play a 30 minute set of songs you've likely heard before. You've already purchased admission, you've already dragged yourself to the venue, why not check out some new bands?
If your friend's band is throwing on a show, show up on time and see the other acts. Stick around and see the headliner. If you find yourself at a show standing in the back talking, move up front to get a better look at the band. See those things sticking out of your waist? Those are called hips. Move them. I'm not asking you to love every local band you see, but at least give them a chance.
I was there to catch the Arctic Summer for a profile story (free plug: check Venues on Thursday!) They opened, putting on a high energy set. Stationed from the couch mid-way back in the room, I could turn my head to see two entirely different sights.
Turning to the left, I saw the band's buds and real music fans, enjoying the set, or at least paying attention to it. One guy was even dancing!
But if I turned to my right, I saw people browsing the Internet and shooting pool. I saw idle conversations, and people wandering in and out of the building.
It may seem like I'm going to whine about the guys in the back, but both groups were at fault. After the Arctic Summer's set, most of the people who had been up front left the venue. Some of those who were ignoring the music before moved up close to catch the next band, and new people filtered in. This continued throughout the show.
Maybe this is just me, but I wouldn't show up thirty minutes late to this week's NRT show, watch my friend's five minute segment, then leave. Forget the fact that it's disrespectul to the other performers: why not enjoy the whole show?
Last week I ripped on Alpha Sigma Phi for organizational problems. But there is one compliment I can give them: they drew a decent crowd who had fun, despite some flaws. Arctic Summer even called it their favorite show ever, and said the crowd connection was fantastic. From what I saw of their Abba Java set, there's no reason they shouldn't have had the same response.
What is with this attitude? Do people even realize that their friends aren't the only ones playing at shows? I honestly don't see the point of paying five dollars to watch your friends play a 30 minute set of songs you've likely heard before. You've already purchased admission, you've already dragged yourself to the venue, why not check out some new bands?
If your friend's band is throwing on a show, show up on time and see the other acts. Stick around and see the headliner. If you find yourself at a show standing in the back talking, move up front to get a better look at the band. See those things sticking out of your waist? Those are called hips. Move them. I'm not asking you to love every local band you see, but at least give them a chance.
Monday, September 18, 2006
"Where disappointment and regret collide"
Hot on the heels of last week's post, I had, delivered into my hands, a concrete example of what I was complaining about last week in the form of Alpha Sigma Phi's Band Aid concert. (Yes, I'm picking on a charity show. Deal with it.)
The fliers advertised a show from 8-11 p.m., featuring Mark This Day, Arctic Summer, The Man, Minor White and Cloverleaf. I made the trek out past Frat Row to Fairmount Ave., hoping to see the Man and Minor White in particular, two of my favorite local acts.
The show started not at the advertised 8, but pushing 9. Not a big deal, I thought at the time. (More on this later.) We got a unadvertised bonus: some of the brothers playing a few acoustic covers of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Third Eye Blind, etc. All in good fun, I suppose.
Then came Marks This Day, on guest from Pittsburgh (if you trust their MySpace, which they made sure to shill regularly.) Tailor-made for the Warped Tour, they supplied plenty of songs about high school, girls, and high school girls. They weren't bad at what they did. They had a new nice riffs and good energy. All the same, I'm not fifteen anymore. I've gotten over the fact that I didn't have a date to my freshman dance, so I've kind of outgrown Mark This Day.
Cloverleaf came on next, which confused me since they had top billing in all advertising I saw. That made sense; in terms of drawing power, they probably have it over the rest of the bill. They made it to the quarterfinals of mtvU's Best Music on Campus contest in the spring, and were opening up for Yellowcard the next night. I popped out per my friend's request, thinking I'd get back in time for the last few bands.
I never made it back, but it wouldn't have mattered. The show ended promptly at 11 due to noise regulations. Neither The Man nor the Minor White ever made it on the stage.
So I guess it was a big deal that the show ran an hour late. I would think that, if the show had to end promptly at 11, they'd start on time. I would think that, if they knew they had five bands and two hours, they'd cut the frat brothers doing cover tunes (as much as I liked harmonizing the "doo doo doos" in "Semi-Charmed Life.") Instead, we had a cluttered mess of people in the backyard of a frat, watching cover tunes and emo rock while talented groups like the Minor White just sat and watched. (They were in the crowd. I saw them.)
A frat-organized show has the opportunity to draw people who wouldn't usually come to shows. People who haven't heard these bands before lost the opportunity due to poor organization and planning. Instead, the lackluster show will probably sour them to exploring the music scene further. I personally dragged four people to the show, and feel I let them down.
Maybe I forfeited my right to complain when I excused myself. But if I'd stayed, even I'm not enough of a jerk to demand my money back from philanthropy. But why waste time with covers and imported emo when you have some of the local scene's finest bands at your fingertips? Unfortunately, the existence of a few quality local bands can't always overcome local apathy and bad booking.
EDIT: It has been brought to my attention the Man cancelled because of a family medical emergency. My condolences go out to the family members. I stand by all other comments.
The fliers advertised a show from 8-11 p.m., featuring Mark This Day, Arctic Summer, The Man, Minor White and Cloverleaf. I made the trek out past Frat Row to Fairmount Ave., hoping to see the Man and Minor White in particular, two of my favorite local acts.
The show started not at the advertised 8, but pushing 9. Not a big deal, I thought at the time. (More on this later.) We got a unadvertised bonus: some of the brothers playing a few acoustic covers of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Third Eye Blind, etc. All in good fun, I suppose.
Then came Marks This Day, on guest from Pittsburgh (if you trust their MySpace, which they made sure to shill regularly.) Tailor-made for the Warped Tour, they supplied plenty of songs about high school, girls, and high school girls. They weren't bad at what they did. They had a new nice riffs and good energy. All the same, I'm not fifteen anymore. I've gotten over the fact that I didn't have a date to my freshman dance, so I've kind of outgrown Mark This Day.
Cloverleaf came on next, which confused me since they had top billing in all advertising I saw. That made sense; in terms of drawing power, they probably have it over the rest of the bill. They made it to the quarterfinals of mtvU's Best Music on Campus contest in the spring, and were opening up for Yellowcard the next night. I popped out per my friend's request, thinking I'd get back in time for the last few bands.
I never made it back, but it wouldn't have mattered. The show ended promptly at 11 due to noise regulations. Neither The Man nor the Minor White ever made it on the stage.
So I guess it was a big deal that the show ran an hour late. I would think that, if the show had to end promptly at 11, they'd start on time. I would think that, if they knew they had five bands and two hours, they'd cut the frat brothers doing cover tunes (as much as I liked harmonizing the "doo doo doos" in "Semi-Charmed Life.") Instead, we had a cluttered mess of people in the backyard of a frat, watching cover tunes and emo rock while talented groups like the Minor White just sat and watched. (They were in the crowd. I saw them.)
A frat-organized show has the opportunity to draw people who wouldn't usually come to shows. People who haven't heard these bands before lost the opportunity due to poor organization and planning. Instead, the lackluster show will probably sour them to exploring the music scene further. I personally dragged four people to the show, and feel I let them down.
Maybe I forfeited my right to complain when I excused myself. But if I'd stayed, even I'm not enough of a jerk to demand my money back from philanthropy. But why waste time with covers and imported emo when you have some of the local scene's finest bands at your fingertips? Unfortunately, the existence of a few quality local bands can't always overcome local apathy and bad booking.
EDIT: It has been brought to my attention the Man cancelled because of a family medical emergency. My condolences go out to the family members. I stand by all other comments.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
"You don't know what you got till it's gone"
It feels weird to be starting off a blog highlighting the local music scene when Crowbar, one of the only places to see some good acts, has shut down. What's worse, the sting was worsened by the abrupt nature of its departure. No warning, no farewell show. Not even a plausible reason.
The venue's Web site listed "other, larger venues within Crowbar’s market area" as a reason for their closure. I've been racking my brains since I heard this over the summer, and I've yet to think of a venue bigger than Crowbar aside from the Bryce Jordan Center. As much as I love hitting Dragon Chaser's or the Tall Shiva hookah lounge for a local show, I doubt they were dipping into the profits of a band that had boys in girl's jeans lined up around the block for Hawthorne Heights.
But as much as I wanted to blame Crowbar for incompetent management (and believe me, I do,) I think a bigger problem is the apathy of students to the local music scene. All the good shows in the world mean nothing if people don't seek them out. So, if I can do anything with this blog, I can steer a few people in the right direction.
No, State College isn't the biggest place the world, but there is a lot more to offer than pop stars at the BJC and the slew of cover bands that play at weekly bar slots. (Note: I'll be 21 at the end of the month. I might sing a different tune after one too many Jack and Cokes leads me to desperately beg for "Don't Stop Believin'.")
Even with the hole left by Crowbar, there are plenty of opportunities for those willing to seek them out.
My favorite memory of last year was a show run by the Asylum, a group who runs a lot of hardcore, punk, and emo shows out of Pollock— not normally my thing.
But in April, they brought Jonah Matranga, who releases albums as Onelinedrawing, to the HUB. I hadn't heard his music before, but I was wowed by his genuine appreciation of his fans and joy for music. When his time was up and the doors to the auditorium were locked, Jonah had the remaining kids circle chairs in the lobby of the HUB, grabbed an acoustic guitar and portable amp and played more songs while we crowded around. He stayed around long to enough to say hello to every fan. He granted a request for one last song, unamplified, to a dozen or so fans crowding around to hear him softly playing and singing.
That's the kind of musical experience you can't get while barely paying attention to a bar band sloshing through a Bon Jovi song, or hundreds of feet away from the BJC stage. But the opportunity is there for that kind of experience in State College. As shown by the Crowbar's troubles, if people don't take advantage, the opportunities dry up. Take a chance, just one or twice, to check out a local show and see what the scene has to offer. If you won't, don't be surprised when your choices disappear.
The venue's Web site listed "other, larger venues within Crowbar’s market area" as a reason for their closure. I've been racking my brains since I heard this over the summer, and I've yet to think of a venue bigger than Crowbar aside from the Bryce Jordan Center. As much as I love hitting Dragon Chaser's or the Tall Shiva hookah lounge for a local show, I doubt they were dipping into the profits of a band that had boys in girl's jeans lined up around the block for Hawthorne Heights.
But as much as I wanted to blame Crowbar for incompetent management (and believe me, I do,) I think a bigger problem is the apathy of students to the local music scene. All the good shows in the world mean nothing if people don't seek them out. So, if I can do anything with this blog, I can steer a few people in the right direction.
No, State College isn't the biggest place the world, but there is a lot more to offer than pop stars at the BJC and the slew of cover bands that play at weekly bar slots. (Note: I'll be 21 at the end of the month. I might sing a different tune after one too many Jack and Cokes leads me to desperately beg for "Don't Stop Believin'.")
Even with the hole left by Crowbar, there are plenty of opportunities for those willing to seek them out.
My favorite memory of last year was a show run by the Asylum, a group who runs a lot of hardcore, punk, and emo shows out of Pollock— not normally my thing.
But in April, they brought Jonah Matranga, who releases albums as Onelinedrawing, to the HUB. I hadn't heard his music before, but I was wowed by his genuine appreciation of his fans and joy for music. When his time was up and the doors to the auditorium were locked, Jonah had the remaining kids circle chairs in the lobby of the HUB, grabbed an acoustic guitar and portable amp and played more songs while we crowded around. He stayed around long to enough to say hello to every fan. He granted a request for one last song, unamplified, to a dozen or so fans crowding around to hear him softly playing and singing.
That's the kind of musical experience you can't get while barely paying attention to a bar band sloshing through a Bon Jovi song, or hundreds of feet away from the BJC stage. But the opportunity is there for that kind of experience in State College. As shown by the Crowbar's troubles, if people don't take advantage, the opportunities dry up. Take a chance, just one or twice, to check out a local show and see what the scene has to offer. If you won't, don't be surprised when your choices disappear.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
