Drive To Live: Dama Libra and The Clean

“Looks like rain” I muttered to myself while simultaneously contemplating the information on my phone’s weather app and staring out the window into the dark night sky. 56% chance rain right now, then 38% the next hour and about the same thereafter. Now, I had planned to walk this particular night as there was a tight schedule involved. Driving was a possibility but that would also add parking to the timetable (or more accurately finding parking) as well as taking alcohol off the table. Using logic as my compass, the answer easily fell into the driving category. It’s a complex calculation used to reach this choice but the final result was then multiplied by lazy and a moveable seat won out.

As my two destinations were St. Vitus bar on Manhattan Ave in Greenpoint, Brooklyn followed as quickly as possible by Rough Trade NYC on North 9^th and Kent Ave in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, you can surmise that music was the reason for this journey. To me, the added bonus of a car is that it's an enclosed space with powerful air conditioning and a loud, decent stereo system. I’m not sure why I don’t just drive around the neighborhood more often, it’s actually pretty relaxing… if the streets are empty. Heading to St. Vitus, that was exactly the case- an easy and empty ten minute drive with ample parking available on the residential side streets. The second disc of Bob Dylan’s Bootleg Series Vol. 4: Live 1966 began to play when I started the car and I left it on. An historic album, it documents Dylan’s first electric tour- this particular stop at the Free Trade Hall in Manchester, England. Also known as the infamous Judas show that was the apex of his public lashings for daring to abandon his folk roots (for half a show anyway- he opened with an acoustic set). The show was actually a career highlight for the man and it’s damn loud with harmonica blasts and shouted vocals over pounding drums and organ swirls not even mentioning the guitar. Anyway, I made it to St. Vitus hoping that I had guessed the time of the band accurately. After getting my hand stamped, I politely yelled “Do you know the set times for the bands tonight?” to the ticket lady over music coming from the room behind her. A room kept out of view from the front bar area by a black curtain (a heavy material but a curtain none the less). “Roughly” was her answer. “”Who did you want to see?” she asked as I turned my head to listen to her words thinking it would be easier to hear if shouted directly into my ear. With my head shifted, my eyes then noticed the merch table to the right of her. I pointed at a t-shirt that read Dama Libra. “They’re up next” she shouted back and I nodded while moving forward pulling the curtain aside to see the stage. It was like that act of curtain pulling was the signal to end the opening band’s set as they stopped upon my first footstep through the curtain. Fine by me, I was on a schedule after all but perhaps I was also not being open to the power of coincidence. Truthfully, I was a little distracted by my glimpse of the merch table which shockingly lacked any records for sale. Part of the reason I had made the decision to see this show was to pick up a copy of their debut album Claw which they were self-releasing on vinyl (Northern Spy Records is handling the digital/cd versions). Online the record price includes built in priority shipping costs, my thought was it had to be cheaper at the show. As the majority of the room cleared out for the breakdown/set-up between bands, I decided to stay and listen to a podcast with my earbuds shoved in tight to drown out the sound guy’s ipod mix. This is something I do when attending shows by myself which happens more than you think. Those closest to me will go to as many shows as they can stomach but my tolerance level for this shit is just higher, I guess (I'm not saying that's a good thing). As engaging as the podcast was, for some reason, the record thing was stuck in my mind. So, with the added time on my hands, I proceeded to buy a copy of the record online while watching the band set up. In the notes section of paypal, I was going to leave a remark about where I was but thought the better of it. (I kind of regret it now, actually).

Dama Libra or Dama/Libra is a new collaboration between G. Stuart Dahlquist (Burning Witch, Asva, the Sunn O))) Rolodex) and Joel RL Phelps (Silkworm, JP & The Downer Trio). Apparently, friends for decades but never musically linked before this project. Their common bond being Michael Dahlquist, G. Stuart’s brother and Joel’s former bandmate in Silkworm who died in a tragic car accident in 2005 involving a suicidal driver. In terms of  Dama Libra, the backstory is that G. Stuart wrote this music, recorded it and sent it to Joel who then added his signature vocals/lyrics to the pieces. G. Stuart wasn’t even expecting Joel to add to his work but was so moved by his additions that the band became a reality at that point. At St. Vitus, it was definitely a band that night with five musicians on stage needed to recreate these arrangements in a live setting. After a bumpy start where monitors needed to be adjusted, microphones had to be repositioned and the live mix needed to find its correct levels- Stuart’s bass started to cut out. At first, the chord was replaced but the issue continued. Then another band gave them their Gibson bass guitar to swap out but to no avail and then for a while he thought he blew out his bass amp. Finally, he figured out a fix on his own and everything was fine. Once all the problems melted away, the music took over the room. Unfortunately, the clips of the album that I have streamed online seem to bask in atmosphere, subtleties and high production value, which this show did not have. The percussionist had a full side table with an array of chimes, wood blocks, a triangle and bells. A large, bald goateed man the size of a linebacker gently tapping his knick knacks in between harder drum beats was a waste of his talent in this setting. I could see him looking at the soundman with a hopeful stare of “you got this microphone jacked up as high as it goes, right?”. I can confirm that he did not. As the power of five musicians with six keyboards, a trumpet, a bass, two guitars, a gong, full drum set and a table of curios have the ability to overtax a venue's resources, the vocals were buried way deeper in the mix than on the album. Joel Phelps had his hand over one ear to hear himself when singing almost the entire set. It was kinda stressful to watch them play as they had to overcome a lot to get to a solid last fifteen minutes of their set. I could hear them tell each other on stage to scrap a song and go with the closer instead as they ate up too much of their set time with bass issues. Honestly, I’m excited to get that record in the mail and have a chance to sit down with it. It’s a strange sound that they created but almost a perfect mix of its principal players. Sunn like compositions with Asva production qualities mixed with in the red prayers and pleadings through Joel Phelps legendary pipes. It’s heavy and uplifting at the same time, a sonic workout for sure.

Jesus- 10:40 PM. That’s about 15 minutes later than I would have hoped. Now I’m leaving St. Vitus late with no record in hand and “Am I feeling raindrops?”. Yup, a 38% chance has come to pass. The odds were not in the rain’s favor, yet the windshield of the car says differently. Ah, Bob Dylan again. I’m not kidding- pick this album up or listen to it on Spotify or whatever platform you want. I wonder if I would like this album if I didn’t go through that Bob Dylan phase a few years back. I really went for it too, soaked in the music, the story and almost went to see him play (still never have at this point). I’ve heard mixed things about his latest tours but I really do like his new albums- he’s settled into a sound and seems to be happy there. I’m just not sure how his older material would sound through his new touring band’s filter. His voice really has changed… a lot.

Without this album, I’m not sure I would be so calm. Yes, I’m in the car moving forward to my next destination but there is some scheduling stress. My original calculations were that Dama Libra would probably go on a few minutes before the other band at Rough Trade. I mean, I knew that and I made my decisions based on Dama Libra having an opener’s thirty to fouty-five minute set and the other band having a one and half hour headlining set. It’s just, this is later than I thought by about ten to fifteen minutes and that’s huge in terms of a ninety minute set- that’s 1/6^th or about 17% of the show. Now, I’m not sure I want to bring this up as my trusted logic settled on driving but my fears have have come true- I’m stuck in traffic. The worst part is it’s just coming from this one fucking corner- North 11^th and Wythe Ave. I see a string of green lights going down the expanse of Wythe Ave but no one is moving. You see, that particular corner with the Las Vegas chain Brooklyn Bowl, the posh Wythe Hotel and some dance club I never bothered to learn the name of is an official UNESCO World Heritage Site as it is the ninth and final gateway to hell. Literally, the soul of the neighborhood is being sucked like light into a blackhole on that corner. All I have to do is make it to North 12^th and take a right off of Wythe and just grab anything that is even remotely parking. Man, these live versions of Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues and Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat are fucking incredible. It’s funny, I never thought Bob Dylan would ever become a part of my musical knowledge base. This was my father music- even as a kid, it was known to me that he was a fan. More in theory than in practice, as I tend to remember Huey Lewis and Dire Straits on the stereo my formative years when I was starting to become conscious of music and people other than myself. Still, my parents went to Newport Folk Festivals in the early sixties and acoustic guitars were still around the house when I was young. I wonder what my dad thinks of all this? I should ask him about this album. Not now though, I just managed to wedge the car between two SUVs on a street with a no parking sign between the hours of midnight and 3AM tonight. While parking is further away than I hoped, it’s still before 11PM and making it to Rough Trade for a few songs is now a certainty. An umbrella is needed though as the sky glows with distant lightning strikes and the streets are forming puddles and small streams where possible.

“You have a ticket?” the security guard questions me just as I finally make my way to the doors of the venue. “”Enjoy Yourself” he bellowed as he stamped my hand with a “Bowery Presents” logo. I feel like there was some judgment there but that’s fine, he’s probably right. I open the door to a fully packed audience with The Clean on the stage midsong. Their merch table is on the immediate righthand side, which I check out as I was wondering how a show at a record store would handle this. Looks as though they just jack the prices up a bit to match Rough Trade’s usual highway robbery. Truth be told, I pick up a copy of David Kilgour’s latest solo album End Times Undone as it’s currently sold out on the Merge Records website. A $20 pricetag, which is ridiculous, but I’m hoping it all goes to the band without a cut to the organization on my hand as a temporary tattoo.

Getting to sold out shows late is tough as the entire back of the room is either drunk, deep in conversation, sourpuss-faced wishing the person they came with wanted to leave or angry about their bad spot. Having never been to Rough Trade as a venue, I had to do go with some gut instincts as to where to venture on the floor. Having missed more than half of the set already, you don’t want to stand right in front of someone but you do have to make a move from the back eventually. I was deep into carving my way from the left side of the back past the sound board to the right back side away from the door when The Clean started playing “Draw(in)g To A (W)hole”. One of their biggest hits, if not the biggest, which was a great soundtrack to finding the sign that read “Balcony This Way”. After a winding hallway/stairs “Hello Cleveland!” experience, I finally made it up top. Like a concert oasis, there were open places to sit and railings to lean on with great sightlines. I settled in and just hoped they still had a long way to go. The Clean are a New Zealand institution, having been critical and indie darlings since at least the early eighties. Part of the Flying Nun Records roster, they have been named checked by Pavement to Sonic Youth to Yo La Tengo to (insert any relevant indie band). They really put the jangle in their pop, full on college rock with guitar exploration and a general quirkiness. YLT's guitar/pop mangler Ira Kaplan has certainly learned a thing or two about his instrument from this band.

This was my first time seeing The Clean live and they did not disappoint. Every effort will be made from this point forward to check them out on any future tours. While their music translated perfectly, the same could not be said for the between song banter. I’m not sure if it was the PA, their accents, the dialect used or a combination but they talked a bunch and I couldn’t make out a word. They were cracking themselves up on stage but even the most enthusiastic fan could just yell “Whooooo” as moral support after what I’m guessing was a joke or a quip. Musically, The Clean were effortless on stage and they cherry picked from a long career's worth of well-crafted pop that filled the room with adoration and sweat. It was actually awesome to see a packed venue full of fans celebrating such a niche band. Bassist Robert Scott and drummer Hamish Kilgour even came out for a second encore that seemed impromptu as a genuine thank you for the loud, never ending applause. A quick google search of prior tour setlists would answer solve the impromptu question but I don’t want to know. 

The rain after the show didn’t seem to be as bothersome after a night like this. Slowly walking back to the car, I sifted through the images of both Dama Libra and the Clean now firmly planted in my head. Dama Libra, with a veteran core, is now just starting out as a new act. They booked a tour of small clubs where twenty people watching at the start of their set increasing to nearly forty by their last note is a big deal. The Clean, now thirty plus years on, are playing to ten times that many people at sold out shows. While their audience sizes varied, both bands brought equal amounts of integrity and history to the stage. My hope is they were both able to enjoy a certain level of satisfaction based on expectation. Regardless of recognition, there is a common thread through all good music and that is passion which this night had in spades. As I started the car to drive back home, Bob Dylan accompanied me on the last leg of my trek. A fitting end to a great night of live music filled with amazing bands, good decisions, inclement weather and car stereos.

Frog Eyes Evolve On Carey's Cold Spring

It should be stated right at the top- Frog Eyes is an acquired taste. Certainly not to be mistaken for a band you mindlessly let slip into your headspace. Like a vampire, you need to invite them in before they can enter your inner sanctum. Twisting your perspective in the process, forcing you to see the world through their beautifully bulging and complex eyes. Optimally, their sound must envelope you just like the meninges around the brain providing you with both nourishment and protection from the ever-menacing world surrounding us all. Twelve years down the line, the fact this band remains present tense is solely dependent on the head, heart and soul of one man- Carey Mercer.  Who is a teacher by trade in his native Canadian British Columbia when taking a break from his career of being an underappreciated musician. Mr. Mercer specializes in unabashedly yelpy, shaky and stretched vocals that echo within their lyrical depth. Having had his musical endeavors recorded for over a decade, this history offers an aural report card that proves his visions seem to be getting clearer and more potent with age. Mr. Mercer’s past releases leave behind a string of labels in their wake- Global Symphonic, Animal World Recordings, Soft Abuse, Acuarela, Absolutely Kosher and Dead Oceans.  Frog Eyes’ latest release, Carey’s Cold Spring, recently found a home on the Toronto based label Paper Bag Records who saw the value in Mr. Mercer’s work… to a point. Respecting the niche appeal of the band and of the physical format, Paper Bag agreed to press 300 copies on colored vinyl with book and t-shirt bundle options to entice sales. That plan seems to have worked perfectly, as all copies of the LP are now sold out with a rising demand for further pressings.

Frog Eyes sixth full-length album, Carey’s Cold Spring, didn’t always have colored vinyl and record label ambitions in its future. In fact, it was initially self-released digitally back in October 2013 through their Bandcamp page with no other official plans in the works. In fact, Frog Eyes had seemingly taken a back seat to Mr. Mercer’s other projects in the recent past with only the LPs, Paul’s Tomb: A Triumph and Tear of The Valedictorian seeing release since 2007. Mr. Mercer’s focus had become split between other projects. In 2006, he formed a side project with former collaborators Dan Bejar (Destroyer, New Pornographers) and Spencer Krug (Wolf Parade, Sunset Rubdown) called Swan Lake. Mr. Mercer also continued writing and recording under his solo alias Blackout Beach during this time. Prolifically releasing three full-lengths in five years. However, it was Swan Lake, dubbed a Canadian indie supergroup, that had shone a public spotlight right into the retinas of Frog Eyes. In the process, laying the groundwork for Frog Eyes’ future by signing to their largest label yet, Jagjaguwar subsidiary Dead Oceans for Paul’s Tomb.

While not his only focus, Frog Eyes still remained a part of Mr. Mercer’s life and his efforts eventually materialized late last year on Bandcamp. Given that Mr. Mercer’s personal and musical lives intersect behind Frog Eyes’ drum kit, the band's delayed album made even more sense with the birth of his son, Ivan, by his drum partner, Melanie Campbell in 2011. The realities of parenthood happily slowing down his mobility and ability to be a touring band. With this realization, his solo vehicle, Blackout Beach's became a very relevant musical outlet. Frog Eyes turning into more of a long term recording project when all relevant parties could find the time.

Unfortunately, life both gives and takes by it's very nature and Mr. Mercer suddenly lost his father within months of a cancer diagnosis last year. A span of time where Carey’s Cold Spring was taking shape, the recording nearly halfway done when his dad passed. Yet, Carey’s Cold Spring is not as informed by this event as you would think with much of the album written beforehand. In fact, the most noticeable difference on the record from Frog Eyes’ previous work is the absence of Mr. Mercer’s wife, Melanie Campbell, on the recordings. Apparently, the only negative of motherhood (while still 99.99% positive) is that it can cause temporary musical collateral damage for husband/wife guitar/drum teams that have a unique melodic bond. While her studio replacement is probably a nice guy and even technically more proficient, on this record he is basically reduced to playing an imitation of her style. For comparison’s sake, it would be like The Dirty Three replacing Jim White with Neil Peart of Rush. For that reason, there is a subtle reserved polish to the music that never quite matches the magic of Mr. Mercer and Ms. Campbell’s intuitiveness.

Even with these obstacles, Carey’s Cold Spring is still an album to be celebrated. Mercer’s song structures, guitar work and lyrics are just too strong to be affected by such critical nitpicking. As with almost all Frog Eyes’ work, the vocals drive these songs with the mix correctly reflecting their importance. “Duration of Starts and Lines that Form Code” displays a Frogian chug along beat mixed with shimmering guitar lines underneath layered vocal tracks that build to a tension filled climax. “Seven Daughters” gives off an almost Ivy League Hold Steady-like vibe in the albums most musically adventurous track. “Don’t Give Up On Your Dreams” starts off as a moody, atmospheric piece with dripping guitar heroics, which builds into a musical squall showcasing the band’s range and content. This album even creates some transcendent moments (The Country Child, Needle In The Sun) where Mr. Mercer’s guitar and his supporting instruments battle his vocals for a temporary dominance.

Knowing the events surrounding the recording of Carey’s Cold Spring gives the project a certain emotional heft. There is no doubt that Mr. Mercer’s literal life and death family issues weighed on him. However, nothing could have prepared him for the news he received after recording this album- throat cancer. Through the passage of time and many heavy doses of radiation, his story ends as a successful, life-affirming journey. A few months back though, this path to remission was anything but a given. Mr. Mercer decided to announce the planned Bandcamp release of the now completed Carey’s Cold Spring with the simultaneous news of his personal cancer battle. The two items of business were connected as he had chosen to leave his label, Dead Oceans, whom he did not want to stick with the bill for a record he could not tour behind. The digital only release would allow the world to hear his songs, which he determined the most important thing and, also, the only option that remained. Mr. Mercer received treatment for his throat cancer in August and September 2013, digitally released his record in October and then endured the struggle and uncertainty of the months ahead.

In many ways, this sold out Paper Bag Records pressing of Carey’s Cold Spring is the completion of an original vision. It represents a way to celebrate what was almost taken and to appreciate the little things. He can now take a victory lap on Frog Eyes’ upcoming summer tour and then move on to the next project. With just a couple months into cancer free living, Mr. Mercer should be applauded for his successes and his determination. We should all learn from the courage and strength displayed to be motivated when the world tries to weigh you down. Showing that the desire to write and record can be stronger than any physical ailment. Mr. Mercer’s pen ready to dispense philosophical musings on life, love and the respect of death for whomever wants to listen even if only himself. He will continue to be innately driven to make art, which is the proof that he is still alive- that he is still in the present tense- with all the awe, hope, humility and endless possibilities the concept of a future offers.