Dear Reader,
In an effort to improve (add to) the content of my sorry ass blog, I offer up random ideas and commentary on cultural produce. That's all my melting brain can come up with.
Alex
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
British Sea Power w/ Fiery Furnaces
Northsix, August 11, 2003
The opening Fiery Furnaces set, in which a demure sister and brother named Friedberger emitted vocals and guitar in a going-through-the-motions sort of way, made me sleepy and a bit wistful. What interesting lyrics she sings on their record were mostly drowned out by somewhat uninteresting music, dominated by older brother’s playful organ.
The British Sea Power’s show was also a bit unbalanced, but was nonetheless much more brilliant. Like dormant animals having just devoured colonialist seamen on a jungle island, the Power pranced around the bough-bedecked stage in quasi-military uniforms as they let loose their Echo and the Joy Division stylings. There was a look of nervous anticipation on the faces of the band’s playful and visibly anesthetized admirals, singer Hamilton and guitarist Noble, presumably to indicate either a) an oncoming tidal wave, b) an oncoming wave of acclaim and hype that will make them rock stars but might just destroy their lives, or c) both. It was probably the last: their raucous stage terrorism during the final 15 minute opus indicates both why they’ll be popular, and how they’ll navigate their rising, rocky tide: a mix of energetic, infectious self-indulgence and backstage narcotics. Their energy was highly appreciated, but next time, they might turn down the gimmick amp a bit. It probably will help fill out their sails/sales even more.
Northsix, August 11, 2003
The opening Fiery Furnaces set, in which a demure sister and brother named Friedberger emitted vocals and guitar in a going-through-the-motions sort of way, made me sleepy and a bit wistful. What interesting lyrics she sings on their record were mostly drowned out by somewhat uninteresting music, dominated by older brother’s playful organ.
The British Sea Power’s show was also a bit unbalanced, but was nonetheless much more brilliant. Like dormant animals having just devoured colonialist seamen on a jungle island, the Power pranced around the bough-bedecked stage in quasi-military uniforms as they let loose their Echo and the Joy Division stylings. There was a look of nervous anticipation on the faces of the band’s playful and visibly anesthetized admirals, singer Hamilton and guitarist Noble, presumably to indicate either a) an oncoming tidal wave, b) an oncoming wave of acclaim and hype that will make them rock stars but might just destroy their lives, or c) both. It was probably the last: their raucous stage terrorism during the final 15 minute opus indicates both why they’ll be popular, and how they’ll navigate their rising, rocky tide: a mix of energetic, infectious self-indulgence and backstage narcotics. Their energy was highly appreciated, but next time, they might turn down the gimmick amp a bit. It probably will help fill out their sails/sales even more.
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