Dylan, it’s sufficient to say, was Dylan.

A bad-ass fedora hat hid his face, but his voice and harmonica reverberated deep into the auditorium, sinking into our ears and echoing the pivotal significance of the coming moment. I’ve been told Dylan’s not a big talker. Indeed, aside from singing, he didn’t say much save band introductions, and a brief comment containing only one discernable word - “change,” which was greeted warmly.

No electoral map tracked our hero’s progress. Instead, after the encore song, a subdued, bluesy version of “Like a Rolling Stone,” the glow of dozens of cell phones and one laptop, told us that yes, Obama had surmounted 270, reaching at first report 297. Yes, we would have our first black president.

To say the air changed would be an understatement. It was more like a circuit cable ignited and sent electricity into the crowd. Walking out of the auditorium was a sea of smiles. The muted CNN screen in the corridor confirmed it. The universe revolved around one word, six letters, three syllables.

It was more than special, better than beautiful. The air outside was warm, and the world that greeted us was different than the one we had left behind when we had first entered the Northrop that night.

Improvisational Jazz embraces freedom and creativity as much as the common drug addled jam band. The genre that redefines genre - its instrumentalists range from the conservative to the insane. Despite its madness and spontaneity, Jazz is embraced as an upscale art form, fooling the rich and classy into dressing up for what amounts to a mind blowing, face melting show. Indeed, if the volume was increased and the distortion switched on, the entire crowd would undoubtedly leave with scowls and shaking fists. The live Jazz experience is indispensible.

A new series put together by the Hennepin Theatre Trust and the Dakota Jazz Club is bringing three of the world’s most renowned jazz musicians to Minneapolis. Over the course of the next two months, the Generations of Jazz series will allow music lovers to experience jazz music at its finest. Each of the three invited musicians is considered a child prodigy, and will bring their own brand of modern jazz to the Dakota.

Russian pianist Eldar Djangirov kicked off the series on Wednesday, October 29th. Eldar was trained classically by his mother, beginning at the age of three. After moving from Kyrgyzstan to Kansas City, he began to receive increasing attention as a musician. He has booked shows around the world, and is respected as one of the youngest and most proficient piano virtuosos today.

Candlelight flickered shadows across the walls and faces at the Dakota Jazz Club. The mellow ambience suited the crowd well – most of its members were in their forties and beyond. Had the stage not been present, the Dakota would have appeared to be an upscale restaurant. The drum kit, electric bass, and grand piano seemed somewhat out of place surrounded by hushed voices of quiet conversation.

Eldar approached the stage nonchalantly after a brief introduction. If it hadn’t been for his formal attire, which he wore with a certain air of forced protocol, he would have been the last person I’d pick in a line-up of famous jazz musicians. It was then that I realized the only thing separating Eldar and myself was prodigious musical talent and a stage. At that moment, the three youngest people in the Dakota Jazz Club were myself, Wake photographer John Hooper, and, at 21 years old, the man sitting at the piano. The full weight of this fact rested in the back of my mind as I experienced an hour of perfectly executed jazz music from someone just a year older than myself.

It was one of those rare experiences in which, for once, my ears played tricks on my eyes. What I was seeing was one man behind a piano. What I was hearing was at least three. Crawling bass lines bounced below dancing melodies on a foundation of climbing chords. I was immediately convinced that Eldar must have at least two brains, and that each of his fingers must have its own set of hands.
Eldar’s musical style gives away his age. It’s extremely energetic but not unrefined. Like all jazz, his music is like an epic novel. Eldar creates tension and relief with constantly changing atmospheres. He is able to increase speed and intensity without ever sacrificing subtlety and accuracy. Where experimental jazz musicians would break into complete disorder, Eldar retains consistent structural perfection.

While jazz concert tickets can be a tad more costly than the average punk show, the series offers multiple performances at various times and prices. Usually, the later a show runs, the cheaper the ticket, so it’s possible to experience the madness while on a budget.

The next Generations of Jazz show, featuring jazz pianist Ahmad Jamal, will be at the Dakota on November 24th. For more information visit www.dakotacooks.com.

The Dakota Jazz Club

The Dakota Jazz Club has been around for 23 years. Having moved from its original location in St. Paul five years ago, it’s now located in Minneapolis and contributes to the thriving nightlife of the city’s downtown. The Dakota is open seven days a week with live music performances every night. The club has hosted numerous high-profile acts over the years, including jazz-fusion guitarist John McLaughlin, rock and roll hall-of-famers Booker T and the MG’s, trumpeter Roy Hargrove, and singer Boz Scaggs. Local favorites The Bad Plus make an annual stop each November, dating back to 2000 when they were still dubbed the Dave King Trio. The Dakota is primarily a jazz club, but has recently diversified its style to include world music, rock and roll, and even hip-hop (local B-Girl Desdamona) into their impressive roster. With praise from The New York Times, Esquire, Time, Downbeat, and The Wall Street Journal, the Dakota is a nationally-recognized venue where many top acts request to play. However the Dakota is known for more than just the music.

“We have an outstanding chef, Jack Riebel,” says Lane. Winner of the Masters in the Marketplace Celebrity Chef Cook Off in 2005 and the national American Cheese Society’s “Iron Man Cook Off” in 2006, Riebel is a seasoned Twin Cities cook who is recognized as one of the best in the state. Riebel’s presence in the kitchen is “the kind of thing that sets [the Dakota] apart from a lot of other places,” Lane states.

A plethora of sounds ranging from blues and folk to reggae and hip-hop can all be found in Cope’s
music. His funk, style and simplistic beats can be rooted back to the genre of “Go-Go,” Washington
D.C.’s original music scene that emerged in the 1970s led by famous funk and groove master Chuck
Brown.

The concert was an all-around humbling musical experience, which showcased the raw vocal and instrumental talent of Cope. “Bullet and a Target,” off the album The Clarence Greenwood Recordings,
“speaks about amputee’s in Freetown, Sierra Leone’s” to violence that corrupts the streets of American’s own cities, and how people are constantly stuck in situations “between a bullet and a target.”

“Let the Drummer Kick” was definitely the high point of the night. The accompaniment of the piano
against the backdrop of a hip-hop style beat mixed with lyrics reminiscent of pure poetry shook the crowd as everybody became in sync with the rhythm of the music.

As unique as his beats and instrumentals are, he also brings a lot of culture back into music. He refers
to politics, education, the people that he’s met, everyday experiences and art, all to create what he describes as a “story” from his music.

In one of his popular songs, “Pablo Picasso,” off the album, Clarence Greenwood Recordings, he sings about an eccentric relationship: “The woman that I love, is forty feet tall, she’s a movie star, she’s all in the papers” and “she never bats an eye, when someone takes her picture.” These lyrics, many fans believe, are about a man who has a certain love-connection with a piece of art.

The smoky voice with a subtle hint of a Brooklyn accent is truly the distinctive trait of Cope’s music - a trait that is restoring simplistic beats and reviving an art that has been lacking in mainstream music for decades.

The Wake caught their performance at the Triple Rock, where they shared the stage with other
bands that featured the violin. It became clear that Marvelle’s use of the instrument is unique compared to most others in town. Holm humbly eschewed Winter ‘s gauntlet-dropping proclamation that he was the “best violinist in town.”“Better not say that,” Holm warned. “People are going to start challenging me to duels.” Though he is a particularly talented violin player, what sets Marvelle apart from other bands is the role of the violin. Most bands tend to incorporate string instruments as an atmospheric element or a compliment to the lead instruments, delegating them to the background as support for the more traditional guitar-bassdrum setup.

“Whenever I see that, it’s really frustrating as a violinist,” says Holm, who does just the opposite in Marvelle. The violin comes to the forefront, belting attentiongrabbing leads without becoming overbearing. The band manages to retain a sound that is captivating while not overly bombastic. Marvelle’s songs, which stray from the standard rock format, often resemble waltzes and incorporate multiple time signatures.

“I got so sick of playing the 4/4 rock thing in guitar bands; it gets old after a while,” Winter says, and it’s clear from Marvelle’s sound that the band was looking to create something different from the norm of rock music. Marvelle has done collaborations with spoken word artist Isis, who takes over vocal duties for one of the band’s songs, blending poetry and hip-hop elements into the band’s overall baroque sound. This works surprisingly well and reiterates the fact that Marvelle has opened themselves to new ideas and notions of music. Incorporating live art into the band’s set each night is another example of their individuality.

“I firmly believe in the blending of different art styles,” Winter iterates. “I think that’s what the future is.” Artist Maas completes a full canvas by the time Marvelle’s set is done, which is no small feat. “She gets cat calls every once in a while,” Winter recalls. “’Turn up more art in the monitor!’” She was nervous about painting onstage with the band initially, which requires a very different approach than painting offstage.

“Derek was asking me for a month to get on stage, trying to convince me I could handle it,” she says. Seeing Maas in action, it is clear she can handle it. Her art has a vibrancy that works sublimely in conjunction with the music surrounding it. “I usually have a pretty good idea of what I’m doing before I get up there. I know their music so well that I just daydream to it all day long.” Her connection to the music is strong and it comes out in the art, which can be seen on the band’s mySpace page and is put up for auction at the end of performances. The live art angle comes off neither as a gimmick or an unnecessary flourish, but a fully-fledged element element of the band, another aspect of the group’s dynamic that extends beyond the sound.

Marvelle has played extensively since their inception, having hit nearly every venue in the city that’s
not theatre-sized. Their biggest show to date was opening for Firewater at the Triple Rock, a sold-out
show for which they were the only opening band. “There’s a lot of competition in this town. I wouldn’t
think there’d be room for bands that weren’t part of the ‘good ol’ boys’ club,” Winter says, decrying City Pages “Picked To Click” best new artists list, which mostly comprised of musicians who were formerly in other popular local bands. “But surprisingly it’s pretty accepting. Being around for five, six months and being able to play a sold out show at the Triple Rock is pretty exciting.” The band is steadily building a name for itself. They have played shows alongside Magic Castles, A Ghost in the Water, Military Special, Muja Messiah and Toki Wright, moving from one venue to the next as they expose their sound to a wider audience.

“We’ve sort of done it backwards…most bands release an album, then get some press and are able to get some shows,” Winter says. “Luckily I have friends from being a booking agent, and just from the sake of playing shows we’ve gotten other shows. Venues have seen us and invited us back.” Marvelle is currently in the process of recording an album. The band has been occupying Orchestra Hall, “sneaking in guerrilla style” in the hours between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m., laying down tracks for the release. “I don’t think it’s illegal, necessarily. It’s sort of a gray area. We’re very respectful of the space,” says Holm, who works at Orchestra Hall. “I don’t think anyone’s going to have a problem with it. As long as none of us touch the harp.” The album is expected out by spring.

Marvelle brings a startlingly original sound to the Twin Cities rock scene, sparse yet fleshed-out, avant-garde yet unpretentious. The talent of the band members is clear, (“There is not one violinist in town that can hold a candle to this man’s ability, I kid you not,” Winter speaks of Holm, dropping the gauntlet once again), and the songs have a striking quality about them that captures the audience’s attention and refuses to let it go. The energy they maintain through their live performances is impressive, and the live painting brings a new and interesting component to the music. Standing out from the rest is a difficult task in our local music scene, but Marvelle rises to the challenge each and every time.

Marvelle is playing a show at 7th St Entry with Rumble Strips (England) and Birdmonster (San Francisco), 10/23, 18+, doors at 8 p.m., $10

Band members Cacie Dalager (vocals, guitar), Brad Hale (drums, vocals), Britty Hale (keyboards) and Justin Schweim (bass) combined to form Now, Now Every Children in the summer of 2007. Since being signed in October by Afternoon Records – joining the likes of Mouthful of Bees, One for the Team, Haley Bonar and I, Colossus – the band has been diligently balancing live performances with the recording of two EPs and full-length album due in May.

The audience at the coffeehouse quickly surrounded the playing area as Now, Now opened their five song set. Heads bounced to the rhythm of the guitars while feet found themselves settling to follow the bass beat of Brad Hale’s brilliantly unique drumming. Now Now’s self-proclaimed “awkward” changeovers were welcomed by the laidback uptown audience. Brad Hale supplemented the changeovers with a microphone that “quacked” whenever adjusted. A solution was quickly issued to the problematic mic stand that will go down in history for ingenuity: “I’ll try moving it quickly this time.” The crowd is amused when Cacie praised her guitar tuner as Brad points out that she mentions the same thing every show. As characteristic of the quad, time spent between songs was time spent not at self-promotion, but instead supplying more compliments than a color wheel could to the evening’s accompanying performers. As the music continued the audience could not help themselves from becoming engrossed in vocals reminiscent of the band Eisley and the captivating keyboarding of Britty Hale. Yet the music is truly distinct – catchy xylophone progressions, killer drumming, palm muted guitars, and danceable choruses all crescendo an amazing musical experience.

On an environmental note, the EPs sold at the show had minimal packaging. So minimal in fact, that one EP was purchased lacking a disc – a matter that was quickly remedied with no symptoms of PTSD from the customer. The extended plays were enclosed by a recycled chipboard casing would make any tree hugger content with their purchase.

For further information and listening visit the band’s website at myspace.com/nownoweverychildren. To catch a life performance of Now, Now join them at the Triple Rock near the West Bank on Wednesday night at 9PM.

St. Vincent - Your Lips Are Red

Openers, The Rhythm Roots Allstars begun the night with some of their original material. They also served as the backing band throughout the night. They handled each song perfectly, their blaring horns accenting each MCs larger than life persona. By the time opening act Brother Ali took the stage at 10:00pm, there were already bodies spilling back out into the entrance. It was a testament to both the Hip Hop fan base in Minneapolis, and Brother Ali’s growing popularity. He was all smiles when greeted by his enthusiastic crowd. His performance was worth the commotion. He’s never performed so confidently in the past, and you can see he has returned home from his extensive touring a seasoned MC. His newest album, The Undisputed Truth, has gotten him some serious national exposure and allotted him this prestigious opening slot. He was openly gracious for the opportunity. “Rakim is the reason a lot of us started rapping in the first place. He changed Hip Hop. He’s a legend.”

Ghostface Killah mirrored these sentiments. “I wouldn’t be rapping if it wasn’t for this man. Rakim is one of the all time greats.” Despite his humility,, Ghostface was the evening’s main event. He took the stage to thunderous applause after minutes of hype men and suspenseful build. The opening guitar licks of, “The Champ,” announced his arrival to the stage. It’s one of several classic cuts off of his most recent release, “Fishscale.” His presence was palpable. Several Wu-Tang chants were started throughout his set. He performed two Wu stand bys, “Ain’t Nothin’ Ta Fuck Wit” and “Triumph,” and challenged the crowd to rhyme along. He talked through the set: commending Minneapolis as, “The livest crowd yet,” inviting everyone to hold up their weed bags, and telling stories about chickenheads stealing Oreos off the tour bus. “The thing was, they didn’t even give my boys none afterwards. I wrote this song about that shit.” During, “Greedy Bitches,” he invited ladies on stage to grind with his entourage. It was a hilariously ironic situation. He’s lyrically on par with any MC in the game, and the man knows how to party. He had the crowd at his finger tips all night.

Headliner, Rakim, is Hip Hop royalty in the vein of Bob Dylan’s influence on Rock N’ Roll. He didn’t invent it, but he revolutionized the way it was approached. His fearless vocal acrobatics and wordplay opened doors and minds for generations of future MCs. He started his set with “Follow the Leader,” and moved in to “Dead Presidents,” a song familiar to many as the one performed by Snoop Dogg in Old School. He too vocalized his respect for Minneapolis as a noted music scene and supporter Hip Hop.

From the indie kids in their skin tight jeans, to the couples on the railings, to the weed smoking suburban types, to the drunk guy who was obliviously grinding with a transvestite by the bar. It was a show worth the price of admission. Few amongst the diverse group of attendees left unsatisfied.

Stars is touring for their new album, In Our Bedroom After the War. Opening with “Take Me to the Riot”, the single from their new album, the band carried the energy of that song through the rest of the show. The setlist for the show was composed mainly of songs from In Our Bedroom, broken up nicely with older fan favorites like “Elevator Love Letter”, “One More Night” and “Soft Revolution”.

At one point, the stage lights were brought down, and Torquil Campbell walked slowly onto the stage wearing a jacket covered in round luminous lightbulbs as the rest of the band began to play “The Ghost of Genova Heights”. Stars was joined by guitarist Andrew Whiteman, a contributor to In Our Bedroom After the War, and he enchanted the audience with his impressive ability and beautiful mien. The show closed with a promise to return and a three song encore composed of “The Night Starts Here”, “What I’m Trying to Say” and “Calendar Girl.”

On their new album, In Our Bedroom After the War, Stars has taken their signature sound and let it explode. It begins, properly, with “The Beginning After The End”, a short, subtle instrumental piece that starts with a simple beat, expands, warms, and ends with a short poem. “The Night Starts Here”, the second track, is a typical Stars anthem championing hope, free-spiritedness and the beauty of death by love. It is during the third track, “Take Me To The Riot”, when the listener is showered with colorful confetti, sunshine, dancing, laughter and intimacy, that and the album really takes off. In this song, Stars has reached a new stage in their musical and lyrical journey, one that carries through the rest of the album.

“On “My Favourite Book”, Amy Millan’s Feist-esque vocals and the band’s multi-tier instrumentation create a complex, beautiful song. The fifth track, “Midnight Coward”, changes tempo and mood multiple times before its finish. “The Ghost of Genova Heights” is a combination of classic Stars verses and chorus and a bridge reminiscent of Michael Jackson. “Personal” is a glimpse into a blossoming love through exchange of letters and personal ads, accompanied by a piano duet fronting various instruments. “Barricade” features Torquil Campbell, a piano and an accordion. “Window Bird” is a sweet song featuring Amy Millan’s upper register. “Bitches in Tokyo” and “Life 2: Unhappy Ending” sound similar to Set Yourself On Fire, Stars’ 2004 album. “Today Will Be Better, I Swear!” is long and mostly instrumental, winding down some of the energy produced by the previous songs. The album ends with the title track, “In Our Bedroom After The War”, which features a string arrangement and a vocal duet by Amy Millan and Torquil Campbell. In Our Bedroom After the War is a captivating album that gets better with each listening.

Getting into the concert was ridiculously painful. It turns out that on the official Metalocalypse website there was a ticket section hidden away where people could sign up for tickets to the show. 800 tickets were given out over the Internet, and those who were lucky enough to find the site got a star bracelet for the show, which would let them wander in and out of the venue. However, the Great Hall only has a capacity of 700 at concerts. Needless to say, everyone in the chump line (which is, coincidently enough, where The Wake was) became very angry. There was nothing on any advertisements that said people needed to go to the website in order to get free tickets for this concert, which was billed as a free event. This setback ended well because most of the people who had reserved tickets online did not show up.

The first band to play was…Trail of Dead. As one might suspect from their name, they didn’t look happy during their performance. Although they’ve been around the rock music scene for several years, they played like they were going to kill someone. This is probably due to the fact that although they received top billing on the advertisements for the Adult Swim tour, they were in fact opening for a fictional band. Once 7:30 p.m. rolled around, they couldn’t get off the stage fast enough.

It didn’t matter to the crowd. Most of them had come to see the real version of Dethklok. The band consists of legendary drummer Gene Hoglan, lead guitarist Mike Keneally, bassist Bryan Bellers, and lead singer and guitarist Brendon Small, the show’s creator.

Dethklok opened with the show’s theme song, immediately creating a mosh pit in the front area, despite many signs forbidding moshing. Like many death metal acts, the band refused to be lit on stage, instead preferring sparse lighting. The band took the experience further by providing three Jumbotrons, each playing a music video to whatever song they were playing. They also played what seems like an exclusive episode of the show for the crowd between song intervals, involving the audience by creating a plot that Dethklok was to be assassinated at the show. The audience ate it up, crowding in and banging their heads to a cacophony of pure hate-filled metal.

“Mustakrakish” came next, and hell broke loose among the crowd. Whoever wasn’t moshing in the front was thrashing in the middle, with the back section banging their heads in time. An ever-growing amount of devil horns were thrown into the air. It continued like this for the entire show, even after the Deathklok’s double encoure. Of course, the fan-favorite song of the set was “ThunderHorse,” a three-minute exercise in dizzying guitarist solos that left the front section blown away from moshing.

Even after the closing hit “Fansong,” the crowd was left wanting more. Everyone looked shell-shocked with pleasure after walking out of Coffman. It seemed there was a common sentiment among the crowd:

“I went to a Dethklok concert. And survived.”

Last year Tokyo Police Club canceled their Minneapolis date when they got stuck in Minnesota’s harsh winter weather after an arduous two day trek from Toronto, the band’s hometown. Once the band got to its next tour stop in Milwaukee their luck didn’t get much better. When they went to Michael’s Restaurant, across the street from the venue, they were a bit letdown.

“This guy is like, ‘Best food in town,’ and you go in, and on the wall it says, ‘If we overcook your steak we are not responsible,’” lead singer and bassist Dave Monks remembers.

When the four members of the band arrive at 7th Street Entry, their manager and sound tech walk ahead of the musicians, forgoing the heavy lifting. The band members wear skintight jeans and Converse, carrying themselves with a youthful charm. Guitarist Josh Hook bears a Waldo-like sweater with the word Canada and a maple leaf printed in red relief. They carry their instruments over their shoulders, one by one. Laying out equipment on the cramped stage, they nimbly move over and around one another for the next twenty minutes until they’re content with their setup.

After a summer of festivals, the band has recently returned to playing small venues, headlining their first tour, and playing a few gigs with larger bands. Their recent shows with Bloc Party brought their naiveté into sharp relief.

“We just got out of the studio when we played with them, and it was the first time playing in like a month,” Monks says. “And we were like, ‘Wow - this is awesome.’ And then Bloc Party came on with the lights and you’re like, ‘Man we want to be like that someday,’”

Monks humility offstage is a paradox to the bands raucous stage presence. In less than forty-five minutes the band is able to render their small output trivial. Sweating through their shirts, they don’t sound like anybody else. Their supple bass section rebounds off sharp keys and angular guitar riffs that transcend comparisons with their passion.

This being said, the band has had a difficult time dodging their influences. Their concise debut EP, A Lesson in Crime, does sound like The Strokes, and for good reason. Monks cites Is This It as one of his top three albums, but he sees them a just one influence in a long line.

“Between 2002 and 2003 The Strokes, Interpol, Arcade Fire - Broken Social Scene came out with You Forgot it in People,” Monks says.“All those records came out - The White Stripes! Even the Vines and the Hives. All that shit came out over a couple of years. Those, those bands just hit us really hard,”

In concert Monks moves to and from the microphone with a focused zeal, while Hook shyly shouts chants between riffs. Graham Wright’s frantic gestures bring the keyboard to the front of the mix in live standouts Your English is Good and Citizens of Tomorrow. As Wright’s boxy glasses slip off his ash white face, his legs look as though they could cave at any second, but instead they continue to move him from one mechanized gesture to the next. Drummer Greg Alsop has a more refined approach, reminiscent of a boyish Fabrizio Moretti (of The Strokes), sitting coolly near the back of the stage, focused on the next cymbal smash.

At the end of July the band signed to Saddle Creek Records, the Omaha-based independent, home to Bright Eyes and Cursive. At their second consecutive performance at the Pop Montreal Festival in 2006, label head Rob Nansel happened across the band and the rest is history. With the label in tow they hope to release their full length debut next March.

“I’d like say it will come out sooner, but we really want to just take our time and get it right,” Monks explains. “With the first EP we knew exactly what we were going to record to a “t.” But with this one, you record something and then you kind of think about it. You write as you do it because touring really interrupts writing,”

As their set finishes in a whirlwind, Spoon’s Britt Daniels walks out from backstage. The next night at First Avenue, Daniels remarks that he is glad to be back in Minneapolis after playing 7th Street Entry and 400 Bar many times. Their record recently debuted at no. 10 on the Billboard charts after years of consistently great albums. The band has replaced the white van with a big bus. They also have something else they’ve been dying for: cool lights.

Sometimes we forget where our rock stars come from. With the instant success stories of MySpace, the Tokyo Police Clubs of the world look like giants to envious eyes. Reality is a bit grimmer, and a lot more fun. The fevered pitch of their live show isn’t fake; there is no room for posturing. When you’ve got forty minutes to impress, you’ve got to kill. Hopefully with that you can afford to buy a few coats. You know, if you forget them back in Toronto.

When it comes to the matter of evening date activities, is there any competition? The Varsity Theater, on any given night, can be your sure shot option. With its comfortable interior and diverse lineup of acts, you’re likely to find your night. Matt Pond PA’s performance on Oct. 8th exemplified this matter to perfection.

Hailing from New Hampshire, Matt Pond PA brought in a casual crowd with their edgy, but sensitive, appeal. The couches and sofa chairs formed a giant horse shoe around the stage and offered couples a chance to mingle. Kicking off at 9:00 O’clock, the stage front filled in, but many remained seated. The band played for a little over an hour. F several songs of their forthcoming album, Last Light, and the show closed with a few crowd favorites. What the group lacked in consistency and variety, they made up for in charming stage banter and the occasional nail on the head rocker. All in all, the performance provided another positively charming evening at 1308 4th street.

Throughout the show Deerhoof turned their audience on its ear with guitar dissonance and drum syncopation. Instead of making the music less coherent, they were able to play through all of their set as if it was an hour long medley. Deerhoof was one of the tightest (in a musical sense) bands I have ever seen. At times between Matsuzaki’s jumping jacks and Dieterich’s feedback screams (he actually bent down and vocally screamed at his amp, as if to say, “Come on bitch, bring it”), Saunier would conduct the band with a drumstick. The band came out for one encore including old Deerhoof favorites: “Our Angel’s Ululu” and “Milking”.

When the show was over I found myself doubting that McGuire Theater could properly serve as a rock concert venue. The plush seats, intimate stage setting, and mood lighting suited the Moss Piglets, (introduced as “regressive, hillbilly, alternative music,”) much better than Deerhoof. Bluegrass can be taken sitting down, but a Deerhoof show needs beer and standing room for a small moshpit.

Dance-rock group LCD Soundsystem opened with a solid, energizing set. Their catchy sound, characterized by pulsing beats and repetitive lyrics, pulled the crowd in and got everyone moving. Songs like “Yeah” and “North American Scum” pumped up the volume and the excitement, and the disco ball added to the dance-club atmosphere. Frontman James Murphy revealed his self-aware sense of humor with dry onstage banter, half-mocking and half-embracing rock show clichés like taking a moment to introduce the band members or encouraging louder cheering from the audience. A few members of Arcade Fire joined the band onstage through out the set. The last song in the band’s set, jazzy ballad “New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down,” proved that Murphy can croon as well as shout.

It’s easy to see why Arcade Fire’s show is supposed to be so amazing. Their orchestral sound, which adds strings, brass, and the occasional organ or hurdy-gurdy to the traditional guitars, drums, and keyboards, feels especially epic in an auditorium full of screaming fans. Their songs, with fairly simple lyrics and plenty of “oohs,” “heys,” and “ohs,” lend themselves well to singing (or roaring) along. It’s Arcade Fire’s infectious joy, though, their palpable passion and conviction that elevates their performance to greatness.

Many of the band members play multiple instruments, so they constantly move about the stage between and during songs. Even while attached to one instrument, the musicians are incredibly dynamic. Richard Reed Parry used drumsticks to pound on onstage motorcycle helmets during “Neighborhood 2 (Laika)” and at one point broke a cymbal; William Butler’s flailing throughout the show culminated in his running into the balcony and leaning over the railing to pound a drum during “Rebellion (Lies)”; and Régine Chassagne often sang as if shouting the lyrics angrily into the audience. While singing “Haiti,” a beautiful tribute to her war-torn homeland, Régine shimmied and swayed as if transported by the music beyond the auditorium.

Also notable about the band is their apparent humility. Although obviously assured in their music and certainly aware of their devotees’ adoration, the band members seemed very gracious. The smiles flitting regularly across frontman Win Butler’s face indicated that, despite the fact that he’s an indie icon whose fans nearly trample each other in an effort to touch him, he’s just glad to be doing what he loves for a living.

Arcade Fire’s set featured a mix of songs from their two full-length albums, 2004’s Funeral and 2007’s Neon Bible, slightly favoring the latter. They played one song from their 2003 self-titled EP, “Headlights Look Like Diamonds,” in their encore, which also delivered the jubilant signature piece “Wake Up” to eager fans.

Though the high-energy, charismatic band maintained a joyful rapport with the audience throughout the show, chatter between songs was kept to a minimum. Win Butler did offer a few quips to the Minnesota audience, introducing “Neighborhood 1 (Tunnels)” by joking, “This song is about a lot of fucking snow, so maybe you all can relate.”

The band’s social consciousness, especially regarding the country of Haiti, was apparent throughout the show. One dollar of every concert ticket for this tour goes to Partners in Health, which originated in Haiti and now works in impoverished nations worldwide. Partners in Health also accepted donations at the show and handed out material explaining Arcade Fire’s support for the organization. The band’s general concern for Haiti is also evident in the words on one of Win Butler’s guitars, “sak vide pa kanpe,” a proverb which in Creole means “that which is empty cannot stand up.”

Between their social awareness and their beguiling personas, their forceful stage presence and above all their absolutely magnificent music, Arcade Fire are clearly some of the beautiful people. Any chance to see them live should be taken at all costs.

Bright Eyes – Cassadaga

Child prodigy-turned-tortured teen pinup/proclaimed voice of a generation, Conor Oberst, is no stranger to overblown titles, hype and pigeon-holing expectations. At 27 years of age, he’s already been a traveling 12 or 13 years. On his newest release, titled Cassadaga after a spiritual-minded community in Florida, Oberst turns his pen on politics and religion while the band turns up the twang.

Cassadaga that speaks to idealists about drastic measures. It does so with songs like “Hot Knives,” bearing the lyric, “Out the window, as the car rolled away./She just vanished, into a thick mist… of change,” and the free-wheelin’ anthem, “If the Brakeman Turns My Way,” with its call to action, “I never thought of runnin’, my feet just led the way,” while the back up singers cry, “Movin’ Out!” There were several other songs brandishing similar sentiments, including the beautiful, flute-laden love ballad “Make a Plan To Love You.”

The see-sawing violin and rollicking, down home feel on “Four Winds” create an overwhelming irony when meshed with Oberst’s biting lyrics. His songs condemn blind-faith religion and the traditional approach to politics which have landed the United States in our current perils. “No One Would Riot for Less” employs the eerie coo of a female backing vocalist while Oberst pleads for the support of rational thinking in the face of a unexplainable war, “Little soldier, little insect. You know war it has no heart/it will kill you in the sunshine, or happily in the dark.” Musically, Cassadaga has Bright Eyes at their most atmospheric and full. Tracks like “Cleanse Song” and “Coat Check Dream Song” try out new instruments and clutter things pleasantly in the perspective of Bright Eye’s often stripped down, acoustic guitar tendencies. “I Must Belong Somewhere” allows Oberst to flex his lyrical prowess, reeling off short, intricately descriptive lines which ultimately form a greater picture. Some question the rationale behind such frequent production, but assuming he keeps them this good, there’s really nothing to argue.

I give this album an 8.8 out of 10 on Carl’s less callous than Pitchfork but more consistent than Rolling Stone scale of review

Arctic Monkeys – Your Favourite Worst Nightmare

Following up a popular and acclaimed debut album is a notoriously taxing affair. Many bright and promising bands have crumbled beneath such pressures. For the Arctic Monkeys, it’s even trickier. Their 2004 release, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, was the fastest-selling debut album in the illustrious history of British music. Whether you find it a surprise or not, these lads from Sheffield, England have achieved the impossible, creating an album sure to please current fans and make believers out of skeptics.

Nightmare carries on the tradition started on their debut. The group’s song writer and frontman, Alex Turner stuck his claim by spinning tales of life in working class England. He carried on in this vein, creating characters, situations, and feelings we’ve all met, experienced, and felt. Listeneres get a hometown feel on tracks like “Brainstorm” about the kid you grew up with and never liked, and “Fluorescent Adolescent” about the unavoidable personal crisis sure to come about with age. The album is comparable to earlier works in its youthful accounts of skirt chasing and the interesting effects which follow, (ex. “Leave Before the Lights Come On,” a single released between albums, and “D Is For Dangerous” and “The Bad Thing” off Nightmare).

The sound is consistently more aggressive, darker, and paranoid, accompanying Turner’s weariness of fame and his pondering of the changing of his friends and fans. The Acrtic Monkey’s patented stops, stLiterary and building guitar attacks continue to evolve and impress. Lead guitarist Jamie Cook whips up some monster riffs and churning solos, recreating a unique blend of guitar sounds from classic surf to modern staccato, though this time with a harsher edge. The band embarks upon their first pair of true slow songs to the tune of smashing success. As “Only One Who Knows,” and the organ driven “505,” drift and waver peacefully, you’ll find yourself thinking about many a former sweetheart or opportunity missed.

I give this album a 9.2 out of 10 on Carl’s less condescending than Pitchfork and less contradicting than Rolling Stone scale of review.

As they played the majority of their catalog, every expectation was fulfilled and surpassed The crowd became a chorus of slurred syllables and drunken chants as they sang along with every word The large rugby players pushed their way about, making frequent trips to the bar for more beer. The show continually pushed the boundaries of control. Things were often thrown on stage and people were thrown from their spots as songs marched and flurried to their charging conclusions. First Avenue security was attempting to make their presence known, but showed clear apprehension considering the plethora of sizable Brits. At one point, one of the fatter rugby players found himself on stage. No real effort was made to stop him while he danced a bit before face planting out of sheer drunkenness. He culminated his trip to the stage with a running dive that took down a good number people. The stage banter was witty and the band exuded with due confidence. Turner leaned over his microphone, spilling word after word, leading the crowd as they chanted along with him. Lead guitarist Cook forced each riff out with quick strikes of hand, his face contorted in a Keith Richards-esque disconcerted cool. Drummer Matt Helders was treated to a rousing rendition of happy birthday, as it was his 21st. He played furiously while adding his backing vocals along with bassist Nick O’Malley. Maybe it was the fact that Arctic Monkeys shows sell out instantly in the U.K, or that they were playing so few dates in the U.S., but it was one of the most action packed shows played for an incredibly responsive audience—one for the ages by all accounts.

To much dismay, the scheduled opener for the evening had been canceled. Tokyo Police Club, a new group from Canada, found themselves in the midst of the snow storm and out of a gig. Fortunately, the evening’s headliner came prepared with one of the best shows in Minneapolis’s this year, and all were left satisfied.

As their name suggests, Delta Spirit share a quality or two with the Cold War Kids. They play a similar brand of old country blues, though frequently more subdued and with a touch more like Ryan Adams. The most definitive external characteristic of Delta Spirit is that the lead singer bears an uncanny resemblance to Fez from That 70s Show. At the March 7th performance, he sported a long sleeve plaid button up tucked into a pair of tight jeans with short black hair parted to on side. The rest of the group members were oddly dressed in black tops of different varieties. The David Gilmour look-a-like bassist wore a tight v-neck t-shirt, the drummer a v-neck sweater, the guitarist a plain black under shirt, and the 5th member a plain black t-shirt. This 5th member was in notable in serving as quite the utility man, a Denny Hocking of sorts. His instrument of choice ranged from the keyboard to a sleigh bell to a pair of maracas. The majority of Delta Spirit’s songs had the feel of a front porch sing-a-long; ballads which would flare out in the end.

It took a while for Cold War Kids to take the stage, but their take-off made it worth the audience’s wait. The lead singer, something of a Tarantino look alike, took a seat at the piano and pounded out the opening chords of, “We Used To Vacation.” A stumbling, saloon piano kick off, it featured a sporadic solo from their grizzled guitarist. The guitarist, along with the old time punk bassist, provided the better part of the group’s onstage movement. Though I’m generally not certain of ages, the bassist could have fallen anywhere from late 20s to mid 40s. His appearance and attitude suggested him to have been the brunt of many a bar house brawl. Onstage he kept busy, making his way from side to side, at one point kicking the front man in the ass as he spun by.

All band members partook in similar antics, except for the drummer. By placing a simple hand on the shoulder of the guitarist, or a soft jab to the back as the singer tickled the ivories, they exuded a genuine sense of camaraderie which helped to strengthen their overall effect.

The second song was “Passing the Hat,” which drew their front man out from under his piano to the front of the stage: microphone at his lips, guitar strapped firmly round his shoulder. This song was heavy on the tom (yes, singular, as the kit had only one) and featured some audaciously arranged piano/ guitar interplay. Two songs later arrived a clear evening highlight — the cover of John Lennon’s, “Well, Well, Well”. This was a wise selection given the lead singer’s natural vocal similarity to Lennon.

In spite of this seamlessly covered, up-tempo Lennon gem, it was two songs’ later that feet finally started to shuffle. Their rendition of, “St. John,” is one of the most inspired performances to date. For this song, the guitarist took a seat at the piano and Delta Spirit joined Cold War Kids onstage. Everyone was playing some sort of drum and the backing vocals, handled by the spastic guitarist and Fez, were possessed. Symbols resting atop stools were punched as bass drums were slapped and kicked. Tambourines were beaten to a pulp as the maracas were shaken without mercy. This double-barreled blues number was shot from the hip and left all floored.

The last song of the evening, following a sensational rendition of, “Hang Me Up to Dry,” was by far their longest. The group dedicated the song to former tour mates, Tapes ‘n Tapes, who were at the show. Originally Cold War Kids’ opening act, they are now of at least equal status. After seeing their show, I can attest that such a dedication is truly an honor.

It at happened on that night that it began to snow. It snowed with such vigor and consistency that much of Minnesota would be shut down the next day. Thankfully the show was not cancelled, as many a Minnesotan would have been worse off for it. The fans were out in force, braving the elements as they stood in line, acting a fool in their intoxicated state. The Myth Nightclub claims little of the history and mystique of other area venues. It’s a 25 minute drive from campus and shares a parking lot with a Toys R’ Us. There are roped of VIP areas with plush couches and coasters. Security guards pat you down at the door, and monitor the venue throughout the evening. It was in spite of this, and homage to their era conjuring sound, that Wolfmother allowed the crowd to escape these corporate venue shackles and drift into a world entirely their own.

Opening act, the Icarus Line, borrowed heavily from many of the same acts you can feel in Wolfmother’s sound, though to a far less absorbing effect. From song to song, their arena ready riffs became tough to differentiate. Their long guitar solos grew tedious and their front man, who can be summed up as an epileptic Mick Jagger knock off with no sense of timing or rhythm, began to tire. Aside from their first rate roadie crew providing a spectacular light show, there wasn’t much going on at all. They strained desperately to exude a sense of effortless cool. A song titled, “She Gets Paid Through the Nose,” was a clear attempt to inform the crowd of their Mötley Crüe like day growing up in Los Angeles. Few aside from the middle finger flashing, devil horn touting attendees to my right were impressed. As we waited for Wolfmother to take the stage, these gents grew unbearable. A 5 dollar plastic cup of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, they began to amuse themselves in a manner you’d expect from someone wearing a “full tilt poker” visor in the midst of snow storm (or at any time for that matter). “Hey, get on his shoulders and show everyone your tits,” they prompted all the lucky ladies in their presence.

Fortunately, Wolfmother was quick to take the stage. Walking out to the enduring provocation of Keith Richard’s guitar on, “Satisfaction,” the crowd surged forward. Lead singer Andrew Stockdale wore a suit vest over a rolled up, tight fitting dress shirt and pants combo. His afro was as shapely as ever and everyone in the group was unshaven. Bassist Chris Ross and Drummer Myles Heskett wore tight jeans and t-shirts, looking equally as unkempt. Starting with a few moments of suspenseful buildup, Stockdale’s possessed yowl sent us all into another, “Dimension.” With a perfect combination of lingering riffs, winding bass, John Bonham drums, and mystical lyrics, this opening track speeds up, quiets down, and then powers out. Stockdale stepped to the microphone at the song’s conclusion. “We will now snow ourselves into the cave of the ‘White Unicorn’,” he quipped wryly in his inviting Australian accent. Consensus jubilation was to follow. The song clocks in at 5:00 minutes on record, but easily exceeded 8 or 9. Starting off with some playfully strummed guitar and a driving bass drum, Stockdale spun a tale of a seductive temptress and her wine, which was drunk from a, “serpent’s vine.” It built to a “Riders on the Storm” like interlude of pattering symbol and shimmering keys and chimes. A jagged guitar and mounting snares sprung into a monster riff blowout complete with drum solo and Robert Plant like falsetto.

Ever the stage performer, Stockdale kicked his leg high over his head to accent the peak of his mounting riffs on “Woman”. Ross turned his keyboard on its side and pounded away a jitterey solo while Heskett crashed each symbol as though it were his last. A large disco ball was lowered down and purple lights flooded the room on, “Where Eagles Have Been.” Undertone bass adhered smoothly to Stockdale’s nondescript visions of flowing water and ideological worlds. “Show me the land, where people live together,” he beseeched in his grandiose falsetto. A high arching keyboard line with swirling wind effects were swept up by Stockdale’s breakneck solo. A “mystic haze” swirled overhead as the smell of sweet ganja overtook the Myth. “Time to start a love fest here in Minnesota,” provoked Stockdale before we all took our collective ride on the, “Love Train,” Wolfmother’s sexiest effort. “Apple Tree” kicked off like a blues punk, early White Stripes tune before thundering toms from Keskett replaced Meg White’s snares and Stockdale’s Jack White shout turned to a skyscraping bellow. The closest semblance to a ballad was, “Mind’s Eye.” Contemplatively played bass and drums matched Stockdale’s whimsical queries. The song flared into a hail storm of fire-handed keyboard and the soaring invitation to, “Come and see the mind’s eye, we can find if we try.” Playing tirelessly throughout the set, the band refused to slow down, even for a second. Their deservedly confident rock attitudes failed to relent. They had the crowd eating from the palm of their epic hands. Though likely aided by the inevitably incurred contact high, I would like nothing more than for all of you to experience the euphoric trance of a Wolfmother show in the flesh.

Sunday, February 11 the Twin Cities Theater Company presented the last of eight performances of The Shape of Things at the Old Arizona Theater. Local acting teacher and consultant Randy Reyes directed the play, written by Neil Labute in 2001.

Buddy Haardt, a University of Minnesota Guthrie Theater Professional Actor Training Program student, stars as Adam, a somewhat nerdy and socially awkward undergrad at a small university. While working as a guard at the local art museum Adam runs into Evelyn (Kate Lawrey), a rebellious art student working on her masters thesis. Adam, who has hardly even talked to a woman since he came to college, is immediately flattered by the attention Evelyn gives him. After the two begin dating he starts to change, responding to some gentle prodding from his new girlfriend. He ditches his prescription glasses in favor of contacts, begins styling his hair, and throws out his favorite jacket, which he wore everywhere before Evelyn came along.

Julliard-trained director Randy Reyes leads a stellar cast through this exploration of the concepts of art and truth. Haardt steals the show with his completely honest and down-to-earth portrayal of Adam. He manages to throw Adam’s smallest mannerisms into every scene, from his nervous laugh to his self-conscious posture and facial expressions. Lawrey also shines as the pretentious and manipulative Evelyn. The Guthrie Theater Actor Training Program senior captures Evelyn’s sexy, over-confident attitude, and makes it easy to see how the gullible Adam would fall for her ruse.

Supporting actors Melissa Anne Murray and Andrew Hovelson (a co-founder of TCTC), both graduates of the Guthrie Actor Training Program, give solid performances as an engaged couple who are dragged into Evelyn’s conniving game. Murray, a veteran of the Minneapolis theater scene, is quiet and reserved. Her character Jenny once had a crush on Adam, and it becomes obvious that she is the right girl for him. Hovelson received the most laughs from the small crowd at the Old Arizona, playing Adam’s former roommate, the overbearing, macho Phillip. One of the most compelling scenes of the play features a bitter argument between Hovelson and Lawrey that helps lead to the disintegration of Adam and Phillip’s relationship.

The sparse set, which sits on Old Arizona’s ground-level stage, features only a couple of props: a couch to represent an apartment, a table for the coffee shop, a futon for the bedroom. Video projections accompanying these objects onto a large screen behind the stage. Here we see the intended backdrop for the scenes. When Adam and Evelyn meet at the art museum, a shot of people mingling at an art exhibit shows on the screen. During a moment at Phillip’s apartment, the accompanying video features a small fish tank in front of window overlooking a small city. Between scenes the actors and two assistants quickly maneuvere the props into place, while music from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs plays. The music blends seamlessly with the sparse set and small cast, assisting in the transition from scene-to-scene.

“Exploring art through the performing art of theater was something that really intrigued me and I encouraged the designers to use the stage as a canvas and the actors as raw material,” Reyes continues.

When the semester is over Adam is invited to view the unveiling of Evelyn’s thesis project. The last few months have seen his relationship with Evelyn escalate to the point where he has asked for her hand in marriage. He arrives at the presentation to find that he has been the subject of her project the entire semester. Evelyn presents her thesis, her “sculpture” of a human being, to a large crowd of professors, students and townspeople, detailing how she manipulated her subject, Adam, into changing into an almost entirely different person. She also reveals that she had never held any true feelings for him, that the entire relationship was just a part of her thesis, the whole experience a lie. In the final scene Adam confronts Evelyn and is forced to finally stand up for himself.

“Put college-aged students into a room in pursuit of ‘art’ and ‘truth’, then have them struggle with their personal morality, and you have The Shape of Things,” says Reyes in his Director’s Notes.

I have to admit that for me visually, Carlos D. is the most exciting member on stage and I can’t get enough. Plus, who else could pull off a gun holster as a fashion statement and get away with it so easily? It has to be said that these guys can dress. I was, however, a little disappointed that Paul didn’t wear his “Harry Caray”
glasses that he has been seen sporting.

In summation, Interpol is one of my favorite bands and to use an over used-phrase, not to be missed.

In a small and dingy dressing room, Motion City Soundtrack are awaiting their turn to go onstage. Flanked by empty pizza boxes, bottles of Newcastle and the nuclear-bomb-blast beats of the opening band, the guys in M.C.S. shuffle around, darting in and out of the stage doors like waiters in a cramped downtown-diner.

It’s a scene of sustained chaotic calm.

Jesse Johnson, keyboardist for the Minneapolis quintet, is quietly patching up his Moog-synthesizer with neon-green electrical tape. Bassist Matt Taylor is greeting various people backstage; only handshakes here though: the noise of the nearby stage drowns out virtually everything else.

The atmosphere backstage permeates with anxious anticipation. The band has seen the crowd, and they know it’s a big show.

“This room is bigger than the ones we’re used to playing,” says guitarist Josh Cain. “But we’re starting to book bigger shows with more and more people.”

Indeed. After a UK-stint with Blink-182 and a lengthy U.S. tour, the band has been experiencing a fast-paced popularity ride that has shot them straight-up to the precipice of pop-rock fame.

Tonight, however, the band just got plain lucky. Filling-in for cancelled headliner Sugarcult, Motion City Soundtrack has been catapulted to the evening’s main event. The Quest is packed to capacity. Hordes of jr. high and high-school kids - many of whom are clad Casablancas-style in mop-tops, too-tight t-shirts and tapered jeans - have turned the place into a pissed-off sardine-can.

These kids are Generation-Next, and they all seem to be angry and emotionally unstable. They’re the core of Motion City’s growing fan-base. For them – the die-hard fanatics, an angst-ridden army of emotion-slaves – Motion City Soundtrack literally is the musical score to their whirlwind lives.

“I love Motion City,” some local girl sitting with her dad tells me.

She’s part of the sugar-spiked emo-crowd that has invaded The Quest this evening.

“It’s like… they know what I’m feeling emotionally,” she says.

Her sentiment echoes that of the throngs of teenagers thrashing around in the mainroom-mosh-pit. Although the guys in the band deny being emo — “I don’t even know what ‘emo’ is,” says Cain — the raw passion in their performance justifies the fans’ mischaracterizations.

Like soul-saviors soaring through a rhythmic artillery barrage, the band seems to thrive on evoking the kind of organic gut-reaction that brought bands like Guided by Voices to their grief-glazed glory. Tonight, they’ve transformed the Quest into an emotive-combustion oven.

In the span of their hour-long set, the band emits unparalleled emotional-energy. Johnson, the calm, collected keyboard mechanic backstage now performs handplants on his synth while Cain, the cheerful, cherubic spokesman for the group, convulses in epileptic fury. It’s as though someone slipped these guys adrenochrome between set-breaks.

It’s a display in everything rock should be. It’s bratty. It’s loud. It’s fuck-you-but-your-mom-is-cool. And whether or not Motion City Soundtrack is emo, the fact remains: they’re the best rock group to come out of the Twin Town in a long, long, long time.