Mark Kozelek at Town Hall: A Stand Up Guitarist In a Seated Venue

San Francisco musician Mark Kozelek began his career with the Red House Painters in the late eighties releasing their first album in 1992.  In Manhattan at the venerable Town Hall on 43^rd street, Mark Kozelek recently played for over two hours with his band Sun Kil Moon as part of his latest tour. Over two decades have passed between these two events. While Mr. Kozelek now appears visibly middle aged (with a substantial paunch and slightly receding hairline), he still sounds as vital as ever.  His PhD level guitar work and seasoned vocals now emboldened with the confidence allowed by a mammoth back catalog of material. Arguments can be made as to the highlight of his expansive career, the 4AD years of RHP, his Bon Scott inspired records or maybe even his acting in Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous or Steve Martin’s mojito endorsing Shopgirl. My vote goes to Sun Kil Moon’s debut album, Ghosts of the Great Highway, a haunting, beautiful and sometimes amusing album. There is no correct answer to this query- just opinion. The objective truth can only be found in the longevity and strength of his career.

Mr. Kozelek has taken anything but the straight and narrow path to stardom. The Red House Painters slowly dissolved in major label turpentine after their relationship with 4AD records ended. Uncertainty and label frustration resulted in Mr. Kozelek becoming a somewhat reluctant solo artist. With the encouragement of Badman Recording Co., Mr. Kozelek recorded and released the first albums of his life under his own moniker. The contents of which centered around original musical compositions matched with pre-Back In Black era AC/DC lyrics. These LPs quickly became critically lauded and fan approved. Writer/director Cameron Crowe entered the picture soon after by taking over for Badman and releasing Mr. Kozelek’s albums on vinyl via his vanity imprint aptly titled Vinyl Film Records. An arrangement that premiered with the first Sun Kil Moon LP and still holds true to this day. Mr. Crowe can also be thanked for seeing Mr. Kozelek’s untapped potential for a second career in the cinematic arts with screen time in his movies, Almost Famous and Vanilla Sky. With Sun Kil Moon’s continued success, Mr. Kozelek then started his own record label Caldo Verde Records in 2005 to handle the non-vinyl releases of his own recording projects as well as a smattering of other hand picked bands such as Desertshore (which features ex-RHP alum not involved with SKM), Jesu, Advance Bass and Kath Bloom. A shrewd choice that left Mr. Kozelek in complete control of distributing his creative energies from that point forward.

It would appear that Mr. Kozelek has made a lot of these wise decisions regarding his career.  Now, at forty-seven, he is not only the master of his musical domain with a successful label but he also has options in terms of touring.  Depending on need, Mr. Kozelek can either play as a solo artist with just a microphone and guitar or as part of a band with longtime loyal musicians/friends always at the ready. The acting thing even seems to be a continuing venture with a new movie in post-production by Oscar winning director, Paolo Sorrentino, set for release sometime next year. Ambitious would not be an uncommon word to describe such a person with this resume. Which is surprising, as that descriptor would be far from the adjective of choice based on the observable information Mr. Kozelek offered while performing in New York City. His mannerisms, his permanently seated and slouched position (with two exceptions) and between song banter painted the picture of an exhausted and unmotivated loner just wandering through life.

As the night wore on, Mr. Kozelek proved his stage persona to be nothing more than an exaggerated version of himself. Due in large part to his innate sarcastic disposition, it became apparent his humor needed to thrive off of real or contrived pain and displeasure to be effective. His dry, even toned delivery ala Steven Wright would break from time to time to reveal full-bodied laughs and genuine camaraderie with his band which offered momentary glimpses behind his jaded mask of complaint. As prickly as he was trying to come off, it was consistently overshadowed by his ability to entertain. I honestly looked forward to the between song conversations as much as the music itself. Perhaps even more so, as my choice was to run to the men’s room during a song as not to miss his musings after it was over.

Right from the start he had a comedian’s approach to the room, a large balconied venue that held well over a thousand people, asking “How’s everybody doin’ tonight? You feeling all right? Good. Ok.” after the first song. We, as an audience, not realizing this was the first of many times that night he would sarcastically ask the same question phrased in the same exact way with no interest in the answer. Throughout, his comedic mind attacked every subject that popped into his head.  For once, making it apropos for his band to be named after South Korean boxer Moon Sung-kil. That night, Mr. Kozelek’s most pointed barbs were directed toward Town Hall’s unionized stagehands in charge of props and lighting. With equal parts aggression and glee, he continuously called them out for their stereotypical inefficiencies in everything beyond taking breaks. At one point, he even took credit for having one of them fired during soundcheck for sleeping on the job. While indie empire Pitchfork received just a glancing blow by declaring a new appreciation (unlike before) as they have been telling twenty-four year old girls he is a genius. Select artistic contemporaries were also called out when he roasted (or just bad mouthed) the actors Michael Caine and Harvey Keitel with whom he just spent three weeks on a movie set. Similar treatment was also given to early Cat Power and Brian Jonestown Massacre shows which were named as the worst concerts he had ever seen (the best- Bad Brains). Mr. Kozelek pulled no punches with the audience either when questioning the intelligence of those shouting out song names or by giving a fake apology to a younger man with a beard for not playing a show closer to the Portlandesque Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

His four-piece, accompanying band (drums, guitar, keyboard and occasional cello) also didn’t leave unscathed as Mr. Kozelek interjected his opinion of their performance in the middle of a song. He even openly laughed at their short improv piece while he was tuning his guitar stating it sounded like a bad cover of The End by The Doors. The songs themselves were not beholden either as he allowed a mock Nels Cline cello solo to take on comedic proportions and ordered the band to slow down the tempo during his two non-seated, guitar-free, front and center vocal performances (including one of the night’s best moments, the song Ceiling Gazing). Like any good comedian, he was also self-deprecating. At length, he laid into himself about how much weight he had gained on the road, admitted he was too lazy for sit ups or push ups and confessed he received a “mediocre handjob” from an extra on his last movie set who really just wanted to know about his co-star.

The atmosphere at Town Hall was thick with these remarks. Adding to the mix was a hefty dose of Mr. Kozelek’s heavy sighs directed into the microphone and mutterings about being “so tired” when each song was then counted off and brought to life. While his stage persona had a neurotic anxiousness and discomfort at the surface, the obvious contentment he felt could not be denied giving even his deepest sarcasm a lighthearted edge. This stood in contrast to his songs which radiated an overall loose yet confident vibe backed up by expert musicianship and undeniable melodies that betrayed the heaviness of the lyrical content. Thus creating a setting where the actual songs had to break through the mire to soar to the highest reaches of the room before their own weight brought them back down before thunderous crowd applause; each song needing to make that same journey which was incredibly compelling to witness. With so much experience playing his own work in a live setting, it stands to reason that this yin/yang, song/conversation contrast evolved over the years. Developing into a counterbalancing necessity given the raw honest emotion of his music.

The night’s setlist was comprised of selections exclusively from four of Mr. Kozelek’s latest offerings; Sun Kil Moon’s Benji and Among The Leaves, Mark Kozelek & Desertshore’s self titled collaborative album and Perils From The Sea which is Mark Kozelek’s album with Jimmy LaValle from The Album Leaf. Eighteen songs were played that night and not one was written before 2012. A testament to the faith and value he has placed on his most recent work, some of the bravest and bluntest pieces he has ever created.

Mr. Kozelek has crafted a career out of making albums with personal meaning and emotional power. As a long history of covering/reinterpreting songs by countless artists can attest, Mr. Kozelek also likes to take inspiration from other sources (his most recent examples being an entire LP of Modest Mouse songs titled Tiny Cities or the full length covers compilation Like Rats). On the latest albums it seems he may have blended his two strengths by applying this covers concept to his own written word. The lyrics of Benji and the Desertshore collaboration particularly possessing an off the cuff feel unlike other previous releases which is quite a left curve at first listen. Mr. Kozelek seemingly lifting passages directly from his old journals or personal family histories for the contents of his lyrics. His songs including tales of death and sickness with specific details like calendar dates and diseases. His albums full of therapy appropriate talk involving immediate and extended family (parents, sister, cousins, uncle, etc) mixed with tales of Led Zeppelin, first loves and lots of Ohio. The delivery of these lyrics is more like spoken word or poetry than outright song but still very musical. When he didn’t max out the reverb on his vocals, these lyrics and his distinctly smooth and emotive voice stole the show at Town Hall. It appears that Mr. Kozelek has found a new approach to his art resulting in inspired creations and releases at a near prolific rate.

In New York City, all this made for an engaging, time melting show that you hoped would never end.  To all who witnessed it, the night was a spotlight on music that elicited both respect and enjoyment which is a rare feat to accomplish for any artist. As odd (and perhaps selfish) as it is to say, my hope is that Mr. Kozelek keeps a deep well of misery and misfortune in reserve. Tapped only when needed to satisfy his melancholic muse given the much deserved success and contentment surely to come his way.

Duty Now That It's The Future: DEVO Look Back To The Beginning

In most any fictional exercise, the most satisfying stories always involve struggle and triumph. Tales of humble beginnings that hit utter despair before new strength and vision are gained for the groundbreaking innovation and/or world conquering ahead. Best selling non-fiction is no different either. Basically, people love to hear about each other’s humanity and of the enlightened spirit earned by a hard fought and painfully gained full life; looking for the universal clues to understanding purpose and place in the never ending everything around us all. Being comprised of flawed and mortal beings, bands (esp. rock bands) can be parables for these paths to knowledge too. In perhaps the most well known example, The Beatles success story still resonates to this day partly because of their blue-collar upbringing, their salad days in Hamburg, their controversial line-up shuffling and initial genuine love of the spotlight before everything that followed. Most successful, legendary rock bands of their day are from some variation on this theme- Sun records to garage to British Invasion to seventies arena rock to first generation punk to new wave to rap to hair metal to post modern to grunge to pop-punk to garage revival to the varied splintered scenes of today- they all fought for what they had with blinding belief in their abilities, rigid determination and intense charisma and likeability. As a fan, if you were on board from the start, that band’s rise to fame was yours to keep deeply but from a distance. Great bands know that any possibility of mass acceptance and cultural relevance comes blasting off of that original small but solid fan base. Creating a career trajectory that stands as the antithesis of pre-packaged, marketed creations of record labels and managers who will never reach the heights nor have the staying power of those who went through the bond of time and struggle.

DEVO is a band that has had a Homeric forty plus year story that could be used as a template to display the pros and cons of success. As mentioned, it’s a long one so read the book or, at least, the wikipedia page. A tale bursting with nearly five decades of fabled lore chock full of historical touchstones (political, cultural and musical), lots of Ohio, some California, a little New York City, true musical innovation, genius, inner band drama, artistic vision, major labels, rock stardom, MTV, cultural influence, Dr. Detroit, fading popularity, solo endeavors, families, kids shows, inner band peace, recognition, resurgence and staying power. DEVO are as relevant to the American story as any other mythical part of this country’s history be it Paul Bunyan, Babe the Blue Ox, Johnny Appleseed, Johnny Cash or Michael Jackson’s nose.

Even with all that said, the past twelve months have been unfairly harsh to the groundbreaking theorists behind the concept of de-evolution. The latest chapter to their story now involves death beyond that fateful day at Kent State in 1970. In just over one year’s time, former longtime drummer Alan Myers and guitarist/keyboardist/brother Bob Casale (Bob 2) both clocked out for the final time. Leaving behind a Mothersbaugh leaning three-fifths of the classic DEVO lineup in Jerry Casale, Bob Mothersbaugh (Bob 1) and Mark Mothersbaugh. Very rapidly, it seems time has caught up with DEVO and the truth of the matter is that we all now live in a world where the three remaining spudboys are all about to qualify for Medicare. With this knowledge comes introspection for both the band and the fans, a reflective experience that found solace for all involved in the form of DEVO doing what they do best- touring and reissuing. As DEVO have always been a band that embraced their past’s greatest hits (and greatest misses), this most recent inward gaze went all the way back to the big bang of their existence investigating the cosmic microwave background of the DEVO universe.

At first glance, the “Hardcore DEVO Tour 2014” and the re-release of the Hardcore DEVO Vol. 1 & Vol. 2 albums would seem to be a direct result of the band’s experience in the shadow of the reaper. However, it appears this album/tour package was already in the works before the loss of Bob 2. Their looming retirement age birthdays on the horizon were apparently enough to start the process and their surprise grief was strong enough to be a unifying force in moving ahead with their planned tour.

The two Hardcore DEVO releases, originally compiled and released on the Rykodisc label in the 1990s, have been out of print for years before this glorious 2014 reissue by the nearly flawless San Francisco based label Superior Viaduct Records (who very thoughtfully included a limited colored vinyl preorder edition to boot). The tracks on these albums, taken from their first recordings from 1974-1977, were songs that either ended up on varied, limited singles and compilations or were officially unreleased material from the same time period. As I learned on that Rykodisc reissue back in the nineties, for every song on Hardcore DEVO that was a different version of a later re-recorded “hit” such as Be Stiff, Clockout, Working In A Coal Mine, Social Fools, Soo Bawls, Satisfaction, Jocko Homo or Mongoloid, there were also equally obscure songs you now couldn’t imagine missing from their catalog like I Need A Chick, Midget, Auto Modown, Space Girl Blues, O No, Bamboo Bimbo, Goo Goo Itch or Fountain of Filth. As the majority of the songs on these albums aren’t usual DEVO live staples- the prospect of a tour based on this material had longtime (aka aged) DEVO fans keeping all the eyes on their potatoes peeled for tickets. On a rainy night in June, the silver spuds of the tri-state New York City area came out in force to claim their audio-visual prize.

Going back forty years to pick songs for your set list is an exercise in memory, of feeling the nostalgia of nostalgia. Based on the audience that night, these loyal devotees were ready to go through this temporary time warp probably even more than the band themselves. This crowd was large, wide and had the look of an AARP convention where attendees were encouraged to bring their families. Held in the former Astor Plaza Movie Theater (NYC’s largest movie house for years before being renovated into The Nokia Theater a few years ago and then just recently renamed Best Buy Theater), a set of descending escalators greeted you right after opening the front door. As you traveled downward, it clued you in that this place was going to be an almost underground cavern that had been around since the revered bad good old days of Time Square’s history. “A firetrap for sure” was my thought as the steep escalator ride ended on carpeted floors near the first of many bars in the venue. This crowd loved it though, there was an escalator after all and the 8PM start time (7PM doors, no opener) made you realize this was a show for adults by adults. Definitely catering to the after work crowd the dominant ages ranged from thirties to those who hopefully voted for Hubert Humphrey for president when they had the chance (given the other option). The only younger types in the place seemed to be in attendance as an attempt at cross-generational bonding. As the majority of the crowd had gotten there early to snag the best of the only seats in the house far off in the back behind the standing room orchestra section, it was easier than expected to find room on the floor not too far from the stage. Around the perimeter of this standing room area, middle aged bodies were leaning all over any possible open surface; walls, railings, columns, each other, even the stage itself. The scene really made the movie Logan’s Run seem more like a documentary on mercy killing than a dystopian morality tale. Perhaps a sign of de-evolution in progress?

A reserved din fell over the crowd as they sat (maybe even napped?), leaned or shifted their weight from leg to leg (if forced to stand) right through the posted start time of 8PM all the way to 8:10PM by which time the only DEVO to be heard was over the PA system in muzak form (check out the Rykodisc E-Z Listening Disc release to hear for yourself). For those standing, it looked like anticipation was turning into foot arch agony until salvation came in the form of quickly dropped lights and the rising of the curtain (this was on Broadway after all) to reveal Mark Mothersbaugh on stage in the midst of theatrically reading a newspaper that is revealed to be from circa 1972 based on the subject of his comments (Nixon, The War, etc). Gerry Casale and Bob 1 then made their way onstage along with now old new drummer Josh Freese before kicking things off with the song Mechanical Man which really set the tone for the night in terms of song selection and sound. All the previously aching and tired bodies of the audience were instantly forgotten by their suddenly stimulated brains. A long forgotten wild, youthful energized spirit circled from the stage to the audience and right back to the band in the form of non-stop post song roars of approval throughout.

The Hardcore Tour was not your average DEVO live experience, along with the specialized song selection they had also came with a production value in mind as well. When the curtain rose, the set design revealed itself to be the actual basement in Ohio USA that birthed the first sounds of this de-evolution cult. With a faux brick background, the stage was filled with guitars, a sideways facing drum set and mounds and mounds of keyboards and electronic gear. Except for a couple songs, Mark was anchored behind his many synth stacks with Gerry and Bob 1 handling the stringed instruments. Patented “moves” came flowing out of them as stage presence and visuals were always a large part of their vision from the very beginning with automaton-like keyboard strikes, guitar posing and choreographed steps and head turns. The big reveal in the middle of the show was the changing of their outfits from tour t-shirts and black pants to blue janitorial jump suits with matching hard hats which unceremoniously involved the viewing of three 60 something year old men in their boxer shorts and shoes mid outfit change. This also marked the quick change of the set design from the 1970’s basement into a more standard light based rock show.

Regardless of the backdrop behind them, DEVO played a set of songs as promised with all early material that spotlighted their more experimental nature. Yes, it was odd to see grandfatherly men perform songs with lyrics written by young minds filled with sexual frustration/fascination but that’s common these days and a big business (Rolling Stones, The Who, Paul McCartney, Tom Jones, etc). Maybe it was just that Gerry Casale was reminding me of a more put together Jerry “Beaver” Mathers from one of those 80s/90s Leave It To Beaver TV reunion specials; "the Beav"/DEVO dichotomy too great for my brain to process. Bob 1 didn’t speak much during the show, mostly holding his position on stage between Gerry and Mark looking like a dead ringer for Fred Armisen (Get this guy into a Portlandia sketch!) and impressively covering most of the lead guitar duties. Josh Freese also remained silent leaving his ability to summon the spirits of Jim Mothersbaugh and Alan Myers to speak for itself. This left between song banter to mostly scripted and some off-the-cuff remarks between Gerry and Mark that had the lively back and forth rhythm of a good game of Pong. Bob 2’s absence was handled by an extra hand or two on a few songs by unnamed extras on stage left behind Mark or more overtly on stage during a spirited performance of Clockout to close out their show after Booji Boy’s beautiful performance piece that kicked off the encore section.

Definitely a unique set and a show that will be remembered by those in attendance for a long time; a fitting tribute to Bob 2 and to the DEVO journey overall by exposing their roots to the world. Mark Mothersbaugh barely picked up a guitar (Uncontrollable Urge being one of the rare exceptions) given the requirements of the material but it was a blast of noisy joy when it was in his hand. Yet, that is exactly what made this show special, it wasn’t a typical show with all the big hits in the exact version that you were accustomed. The only energy domes to be found were in the audience, in particular the guy in front of me who made it clear to all that he had found the “store” section of the DEVO website. This spud was singling along all evening (in the spirit of accuracy, night shouldn’t be used as this show was over before 10PM), fists pumping with sweat glands working overtime in his official yellow plastic DEVO jumpsuit and red plastic energy dome atop his head. While a lot of photos were taken with this guy before the show, no one went near him afterward as it looked like he had fallen asleep in a sauna wearing, well… wearing plastic from head to toe.

With the houselights now up and my phone reading 9:45PM, I was wondering what there was to do with my actual night. Everyone around me seemed to be in a good mood and thankful for the early hour and the escalators to take them back up to street level. It did seem that a lot of people used this evening to relive their past lives, as there were a fair amount of grey haired, drunk, sweaty people taking that escalator along with their more perfumed and sweatered seat seating peers. In a Hallmark moment, I even saw two teenaged sons on either side of their dad carrying him arm in arm out of the venue, as he was visibly loaded or high on something. It appears DEVO was trying to teach everyone that evening (themselves included) how to properly revisit one’s youth. While some will learn their lessons faster than others, DEVO proved to all they were the Yukon gold standard that night.

Keep a Watchful Eye On Viet Cong

Outdoor shows have long been a tradition of the summer months, especially in urban cityscapes where these free bread and circuses are used to distract the oppressed from the oppressive seasonal conditions so they continue to do the right thing. Based on the magnitude of the occasion (holiday, benefit, etc.), the bands involved vary in popularity and location. The Village Voice sponsored 4Knots Music Festival at the South Street Seaport in lower Manhattan is more like croutons and clowns compared to it’s previous incarnation as the Coney Island based Siren Festival back when people read newspapers and toxic mortgages were still dream homes. Yet, 4Knots remains a destination for fans of the announced bands and anyone interested in free entertainment/just passing by that day.

The third band to play on 4Knots main stage, Viet Cong, initially seemed like any of the other bands who get talked into playing these mid-day outings in the bright, skin-crisping, sun-baked, jungle-like humid summer air. They hit the stage with shaded and/or squinting eyes in sweat soaked black clothes looking like pasty white shut-ins that even John Watson could determine were still reeling from the night before. That being said, Viet Cong handled their 3:30 PM time slot very well. The South Street Seaport currently under renovating construction detoured bands onto a tucked away stage at the end of a long pier that found attendees passing under elevated highways, cutting through bike paths and entering into close quarters with the usual Saturday pier crowd and the many boothed sponsors of the festival touting their goods. All this topped off with the many sailing and motored boats clogging the East River directly behind the stage.

“Hello Ship!” said Matt Flegel the bassist and vocalist of this Calgary, Alberta, Canada based four piece which drew awkward smiles from his band mates drummer, Mike Wallace, and guitarists/keyboardists Scott Munroe and Daniel Christiansen. His greetings aimed at the classic Tall Ship "Peking"found stage left bobbing in the questionable waters of the East River filled with 4Knots VIPs who were all huddled to the stage side of the boat, looking down from their lofty perches with drinks in hand. After a bit more observational banter from the stage, it started to become obvious that Mr. Flegel was passively asking for a beer. Before kicking into the next song of their half hour set, he mumbled something about the lack of beverages backstage. As Viet Cong are barely out of the phase of discussing their band history in terms of months instead of years, the festival shortened half hour set may have been the perfect length. Their only known material so far is just a tour cassette EP and the promise of a full length by the end of the calendar year. In the interim, Brooklyn based label Mexican Summer has stepped in and just re-released their tour cassette as a limited twelve-inch vinyl aptly titled Cassette. A seven song collection that attempts to define the aesthetic of the band- dark, synth edged, eighties leaning (except when it’s not) rock mixed with post/math-rock, pop, indie, and garage- with a Bauhaus cover (Dark Entries) thrown in for good measure. Strangely with all this varied influence, a unique and unified sound remains in your memory after repeated spins of Cassette - even with its forays into instrumental passages, repetitive krautrock-like tangents, occasional syrupy vocal harmonies, synth heavy moments, dueling guitars heroics and classic verse chorus verse arrangements.

As is the case with any mention of the band Viet Cong, it must be referenced that this band rose out of the ashes of another four piece out of Calgary called Women. An amazing band that gave the world two stellar albums- Women (2008) and Public Strain (2010) before going on hiatus after internal issues insisted (culminating in a brother vs brother brawl on stage) and ceasing to be after the tragic death of  guitarist Christopher Reimer in 2012. Viet Cong consists of Women’s rhythm section, Mr. Wallace and Mr. Flegel. The latter also happens to be one half of the previously mentioned pugilistic brothers (who are now on good terms). A bass and drum combo that have played together since they were kids who now possess an instinctual shorthand which is the backbone of Viet Cong. After the demise of Women, it appears most of the band retreated into the world of Chad VanGaalen, the producer of Women’s two records and a Calgary based solo artist in his own right signed to Sub Pop records. Mr. VanGaalen is widely known to have been inspired by his experience recording with Women and his subsequent solo albums bear the mark of that influence. So much so, members of Women are said to have played on the albums in question and even became part of his touring band. It was this connection that brought both guitarists Scott Munroe and Daniel Christiansen into the VC fold. From that introduction, practices turned into 4 track recordings that turned into a short tour that lead to being signed that resulted in playing outdoor festivals like the 4Knots Music Festival.

While it would be untrue to say the presence of Women is not felt in these recordings, it must be reinforced that Viet Cong is an entirely different band. The added dimensions brought by Mr. Munroe and Mr. Christiansen’s contributions cannot be skipped over. That is exactly what makes Viet Cong so engaging, being both familiar and foreign at the same time. A combination that creates a wholly new sound that is a natural extension of the lineage involved journeying into vastly new and unexplored territory. Excitingly, there is always the chance of a random guitar part, vocal inflection or drum beat on this new sonic palette that will still tap into distant memories that permanently reside in a warm, nostalgic place.

On that sun beaten Manhattan stage, this still soft spotted band blew through their thirty minute set with smiles on their faces. Bright, shimmering guitars lines escaped from their guitars as pulsated and rolled rhythms found their place in intricate bass and drum parts. Mr. Munroe at times simultaneously wielding a guitar and manning the keyboards; pulling off both with a natural dexterity that made it look easy. Weathered but radio friendly vocals courtesy of Mr. Fegel coming in at just the right moments and disappearing back into the ether at his command. The whole time showing a confidence and stage presence of a tenured frontman along with his drumming counterpart whose skater flipped and chemical dipped white hair oddly almost never moved given the amount of energy he released with each snare hit. On stage left, Mr. Christiansen was lost in his work and was sweating so profusely that it was a given the “cigarette” he kept tucked behind his ear the entire set was a goner. Their combined efforts resulting in each song sounding better than the one before it as they realized their moment, winning over the crowd in the process. Finishing their last song to a roaring crowd that had grown in size over the course of their time on stage, their unencumbered sound waves had brought in new listeners like a siren song. In an almost movie script ending, the crowd (not the VIP section) threw a can of beer up to Mr. Flegel after the last song- an outward sign of earned respect if there ever was one.

Viet Cong’s newly re-released Cassette EP may suffer from spotty production and its “a little bit of everything” approach to song structure but it should be noted this is just a glimpse of a band that recorded this material months ago after only being a band for months. Though listened to very frequently over these past couple weeks, Cassette in no way matches the power and comfort they displayed on stage under the high summer sun. Out of sorts, thirsty for drink and sweaty from the great outdoors, they still won over their pier that day. Proving to all that could hear that the upside to this band is ridiculous with the prospect of a new full length one of the most anticipated musical highlights of the second half of 2014. They have already set the bar high (like the one on that VIP Tall Ship) and they have the pedigree, the talent and the songs to continue their upward climb. Consider yourself recommended to see this band in a proper club at a proper nighttime hour the next time they come to your town.

King Buzzo's Record Selling Tour

Age is a crazy thing. Not only is it theorized that nearly every atom in our bodies is replaced every seven years bringing up an array of philosophical questions, but your brain also continuously rationalizes your feelings, wants and desires to bring new perspective and perception. This can happen in slight ways, in such a gradual fashion that you are oblivious to your newfound pivot in position. Shit, off the top of my head, I wear a lot of sweaters these days instead of the perennial t-shirts of yore. I find that I now enjoy previously horrid tasting vegetables like squash or broccoli and that some deserts are just “too sweet”. There are also big changes too- George W. Bush found Jesus at 40, Al Sharpton’s head grew to a balloon like size compared to his body just a few years ago and, I think, Dennis Miller was brainwashed. These are musings, nothing more. Yet, these points seem relevant and apropos after watching one of the oddest, usually muumuu’d and stage fan blown, axe grinding front man of all time- King Buzzo of The Melvins- take the stage in the upstairs room at Santos Party House in Manhattan. Armed with only an acoustic guitar and a microphone, it was as bare-boned as it was shocking.

On most relevant music sites, the build up to this tour had an accompanying warning label that promised this was not going to be Eric Clapton unplugged. This acoustic experience was going to be different, providing everything you would expect from a sonic titan like the mouth piece/guitar-toucher of the mighty Melvins. His accompanying solo acoustic album, This Machine Kills Artists, in name and cover appeared to be designed to harken back to a Woody Guthrie-type man of the people with dogged, earned respect for truth telling of the downtrodden and powerless. Except, that is not the outcome of this endeavor… at all.

Without judgment, let’s call this solo acoustic tour/album package for what it is… a cash in. Now, it is fact that The Melvins have been sticking it their loyal fan base for a while. Granted, in a manner that doesn’t garner that many complaints and, honestly, in a way that the fans are willing to be exploited. It was a plan of evil genius that drew inspiration from those infamous babies and their damn addiction to cane sugar. A few years back, The Melvins teamed up with Tom Hazelmyer of Amphetamine Reptile Records and began to take wild swings at the newly trending format of choice, vinyl records. They were going for a knock out like no other band out there- screen printed covers, tri-colored vinyl and small batch, limited pressings that sold out in minutes online with the only remaining copies going out on tour with the band. The metal up the ass of their fans is truly Machiavellian, they knew their fan’s demands and went about methodically rigging the system in their favor. Case in point, the aptly titled This Machine Kills Artists album is readily available to the public as a cd, digitally and even as part of music steaming services like Spotify. However, if you want the vinyl as most of their biggest (and bearded) loyal fans do, they have you on the hook. They spin it so that you work for them now and not the other way around. The 17 songs on This Machine Kills Artists album are split into three separate volumes on ten-inch vinyl (think bigger than a single, smaller than a full length). Each volume is priced to move at $40 a pop- netting $120 per sucker fan- that is if these fuckers (sucker + fan, no swearing here) can even be so lucky to get their hands on it which is a testament to how well this system is working. Perhaps unknown to The Melvins is that the limited nature of these items is making secondary markets explode with sales going for two to three times the already bloated asking price. This mark up attracts flippers (no, not the band) who then become professionally invested in Melvins releases and their timed online sales. Unless the band is getting in on the secondary market action, this outcome is the worst possible news for both the fans and the band themselves.

Unfortunately, this $120 triple ten-inch isn’t even the worst offender. The Melvins have expanded this concept with their recent live album Sugar Daddy Live and their covers album Everybody Loves Sausage. Again, cds and digital versions are available to all. The vinyl, however, has been taken to lofty heights never seen by other bands- a height that would even give Gene Simmons pause before doing the same to his fans (Don't worry- he would and will eventually. I have no doubt about that). The thirteen tracks on the live cd have been split into thirteen double A-side 45rpm twelve inches containing just one song from the live album and one non-exclusive, previously released song by a band of their selection (think Cows, Mudhoney, etc). The covers are a silkscreen print that only change slightly per each of the 13 releases all contained in a generic plastic sleeve. They do pull out all the stops with the clear paint-splattered vinyl though. Totaling a shiny object that makes the loyal collectors squeal with desire. At a price of originally $25 (now $30) individually, they have their “beloved” fans paying out $325 minimally to get the complete set of songs on the live cd. With the covers cd, they went even further and did a seven-inch series for those thirteen tracks but for the same price point as the twelve inches. Again, $325 at the least to get the complete vinyl set with tracks totaling the covers cd album. That is fucking gouging! Ridiculous but the only dilemma they seem to be having is keeping them in stock online for more than 10 minutes upon release.

A lot of bands could get away with something like this but few actually do. At least, no one to the degree that The Melvins have inflicted. The old adage of “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should” comes to mind. Not that I believe this point gets through Buzz’s thick pelt of aged grayish-white hair on his head. It is understood that Buzz was smart enough to notice the market opening up and to go full bore into the exploitation game for his own gain… but I’m not a marketer or his manager. I am just a fan. To me, it’s capitalism at it’s peak, it’s exploitative and it’s gross… so gross, that I bought volumes two and three of his solo album for $40 each at his show. I would have even bought the first volume but it sold out before the tour even started. So, yes, I am a hypocrite at worst and a sucker at best. Still, I was aware of the game going into my purchase. Someday, maybe, I’ll turn into a flipper too- that’s my astute business mind talking when I handed $80 in cash in exchange for two ten inch pieces of vinyl that probably run around five dollars max to produce a piece. Is King Buzzo to blame? Or Are his stupid fans (myself included) that buy anything with his name on it the issue? It’s a symbiotic relationship but it’s unhealthy like a parasite on a host. Yet, it goes on with no end in sight. He presses the vinyl and we presses the “buy” button for our preciouses.

With this particular paradigm in mind, King Buzzo’s show in Manhattan that night took on a new meaning. I can easily confirm that he commanded the room with just one guitar, one microphone and one merch table. With about half a grand worth of merchandise on that table, the visage of King Buzzo on the elevated stage with his steel stringed wooden acoustic looked little more than a ploy to shake the money tree one more time. In his solo arrangement, he was finally free to reap the full 100% of the profits- no roadies, no guitar techs to fiddle with his usual array of peddles and, most importantly, no other band members- just a straight line of cash directly into his pocket. It appeared he understood his good fortune on the stage as he was in a great mood; playing covers, Melvins songs and even an occasional solo song as well. His pacing was expert as he was able to slow things down every couple songs to wipe the ever-present sweat from his face and forearms with a rag he kept in one of his theoretically cashless pockets. Simultaneously making side comments, telling stories about male/female relationship dynamics, name dropping and embarrassing his merch guy by chastising him for earlier in life decisions (and overtly reminding all in house of his wares for sale. It should be noted that Brian Walsby of Manchild fame and one-time drummer of the band Polvo was tasked with manning the merch table during this tour. A heavy responsibility as outright theft of its contents would result in grand larceny.) While Buzzo’s stories were long, rambling affairs that bordered on conversation more appropriate for a psychiatrist’s office, he regaled the audience with stories of publicly humiliating Mike Patton with his lack of knowledge regarding Faith No More and respecting Iggy Pop for walking out on a festival crowd because they liked the band Weezer. Basically, King Buzzo didn't come off as a people person to say the least. (Please note that he used the descriptor "dick" about himself a few times on stage.) A realization that made the rest of his fan gouging actions seem less shocking. He’s a true, original American legend but it appears that he may still be doing it at this point for the money alone just like Chuck Berry. While I suppose this is true for most bands, it just sounds dirty and wrong to say that he’s making it off the backs of his fans. As a longtime favorite band of mine, I will still continue to be a fan of Buzz and The Melvins… but under protest from here on out. It’s always cool when a band doesn’t give a fuck, does what it wants and spits in the face of all opposition; it just isn’t as satisfying when it’s your face.