“Is this weird for you? ‘Cause it’s weird for me,” said a grinning Kyp Malone at Wednesday’s Knitting Factory Brooklyn show. The falsetto-voiced, hirsute TV on the Radio singer was playing songs from his Rain Machine project, completely solo. The last time I saw Malone sing was at TVOTR’s huge Prospect Park show (video here), backed  by a band and a brass section—so it was kind of extraordinary to see what Malone brings to the band in such a stark manner, almost as if those elements had been plucked out of the mix. And what a contrast with singer Tunde Adebimpe’s gorgeous solo set at CMJ as Fake Male Voice; while Adebimpe backs his hot, breathy voice with clipped microbeats, Malone’s solo wanderings are far frillier; romantic, but all over the place, as much in thrall to sweetness as to dissonance. Check out Malone’s performance last night, and Adebimpe’s set after the jump, and see what you think.

Any more weirdness? Well, the show was in celebration of a film called Until the Light Takes Us, a black-metal documentary—but besides a few flyers lying around, the connection between the film and the artists was unclear. One sensed, however, that the distinctly male crowd that came to see Papa M (a.k.a. Slint cofounder Dave Pajo) would’ve braved an afternoon in Topshop to catch the guitar whiz in action. Bathed in blue light, Pajo performed flanked by a bass player and guitarist. The trio performed mainly instrumentals built around Pajo’s exquisitely looped phrases, while men (and it was all men at the front) gazed on, gently humping the side of the stage in rhythm. The set neared its close with the three musicians delivering ten or so minutes of heavy, brutal distortion; the supporting players left the stage, and the show ended with Pajo picking out a just-perfect “Northwest Passage.” After the jump: Videos of Kyp Malone and Tunde Adebimpe Read more »

“Here’s another one you may remember, New York,” Bob Dylan declared midway through his set full of hits so true to their iconic versions that, if not for the addition of two keyboardists, one could have sworn they were the original recordings. “I want to hear all the fellas in the audience singing along.”

But of course, this did not happen. As with all Dylan concerts, his Wednesday performance at United Palace—the second of three nights at the gaudy Washington Heights theater—steered clear of most classic-rock cliché. The artist does not encourage his audience to clap, bask in his accomplishments and dexterity, or recall a period of their own youth. That is, he does not pander to his patrons or submit to the base desires of mass-market rock & roll. Some find this position frustrating: Whenever he plays, a stream of baby boomers, having lumped Dylan on a shelf with the world’s Paul McCartneys and Billy Joels, trickle away. Younger fans—and in particular music nerds—tend to remain glued to their chairs. Long one of the most famous people in the world, the singer here becomes something more interesting: a cult artist.

The focus of a latter-day Dylan concert is not his legend, vocals or even songbook, but rather his band. Read more »

The Jesus Lizard, recently reunited after a decade-long hiatus, brought its pulverizing art blues to Fillmore New York at Irving Plaza last night. See above for photos from the gig by Laal Shams, and read on for a review by Hank Shteamer.

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Amid numerous layoffs, a plunge in donations and the cancellation of their 2009–2010 subscription series, it was heartening to see the Brooklyn Philharmonic—in the form of concertmaster Deborah Buck and guest pianist Molly Morkoski—take the stage at the Brooklyn Museum on Sunday (November 15). Anticipation ran high for the first of four concerts in the Phil’s Off the Walls series, which explored the phenomenon of synesthesia (when one sense stimulus excites an involuntary response in another sense) under the apt title “Hear Color, See Sound.” Unsurprisingly, many synesthetes have been musicians, including Leonard Bernstein, Tori Amos, Jean Sibelius and Stevie Wonder.

The afternoon got off to a rocky start when it was announced that the bright lighting of the museum’s Iris and B. Gerald Cantor Auditorium would prevent the audience from being able to fully see the projections that were set to run during the concert. However, Ms. Buck had chosen paintings within the Brooklyn Museum’s collection so that they could be viewed in all their glory postconcert. It also allowed the focus to be on the music, which is clearly what most people came to hear. Read more »

Shrinebuilder converged upon a packed house of metal-minded citizens at (Le) Poisson Rouge Sunday night, Rwake and Liturgy in tow. The new group is composed of indie-metal heavyweights Scott “Wino” Weinrich (the Hidden Hand, the Obsessed, Saint Vitus), Al Cisneros (Sleep, Om), Scott Kelly (Neurosis) and Dale Crover (Melvins), and made a number of mostly East Coast appearances earlier this week during its incipient mini tour.

First, a word on Liturgy, the evening’s opener. This visionary black-metal outfit could not have emerged at a better time. Its latest record, Renihilation, is precedent-setting in its rapturous din, and casts new light on the heretofore grim and hallowed landscape of its genre. Liturgy summoned it all for a chaotic set on Sunday, nicely augmented by (Le) Poisson Rouge’s excellent acoustics. Look for this band to build on its already swelling reputation as heavy hitters in Brooklyn’s metal scene.

Relapse Records sextet Rwake slowed things down a bit with a heady, polished doom set. Vocalist “C.T.” growled and hollered mighty verses that locked in nicely with the classically inflected, off-kilter ax work of the band’s two guitarists. How nice to see a band of this genre allowing itself to eschew the Black Sabbath worship and forge its own compositional steel. Brooding and forceful, yet in the pocket—and only a little shreddy.

A wise man once noted that doom metal relies on anticipation—of the downbeat, the resolution of the chord, often both. Brand-new doom fraternity Shrinebuilder capitalizes on this concept of delayed fulfillment. Of course, given the band’s ridiculously experienced lineup of players, it’s not surprising that these guys know their way around a sludgy tritone. Shrinebuilder’s sound is meaty, progressive and, in a live setting, nuanced in a way that doesn’t shine through on its recently released, self-titled studio effort. Guitars seemed to literally swarm around its rock-solid rhythm section, building up to crushing chorus licks played in unison. Four-way vocals (even drummer Dale Crover kicked in a few background croons) served to supplement the thick jamming.

With all the “supergroup” hype about these guys circulating in the underground metal scene, Shrinebuilder’s NYC debut was itself anticipated to an insane degree. The reality is that Sunday’s set probably produced mixed reactions from devoted attendees. The bottom line: It would be hard to say that the band brings anything truly fresh to the table, yet harder to argue that Shrinebuilder’s collaborative mastery of tried-and-true rock conventions isn’t still totally badass.—Luke Teegarden

After emerging triumphant from last month’s CMJ fest, London’s the xx has been touring nonstop around Europe and the U.S.—and its members are clearly feeling the pressure. Yesterday the band made an announcement that keyboardist-guitarist Baria Qureshi had quit the band for good; last night, the xx took the stage at the Bowery Ballroom as a trio, with interested parties in the crowd including Courtney Love, Emily Haines and SIA. So did the xx pull it off? Click past the jump for more.

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This past Friday, Bowery Ballroom featured Girls and Real Estate, two of 2009’s critical darlings, and both practitioners of the current psych-pop du jour. Here’s a report from the front lines.

Opener Tough Knuckles came off like a dollar-store version of the other acts. The singer hid a lack of any real melody or vocal skill behind a wall of reverb and name-dropped “the beach” between songs as if it were a celebrity. I’m still puzzled as to how sloppily played garage-rock tropes and meaningless lyrics about beaches are suddenly appealing to so many people.

Up next was Real Estate. These dudes actually have songs for miles and proved it with a bubbly selection of tracks from their upcoming debut. “Suburban Dogs” came off the best, mixing beautifully hazed guitar interplay with laid-back thudding rhythms. Other songs, like “Beach Comber” and “Green River,” ramped up the glistening psych-pop formula and made me nostalgic for Pavement. Basically, if you’ve ever spent an afternoon eating strawberries off your stomach while on mushrooms, you’ll enjoy the Real Estate live experience.

Around 11:15pm, Girls hit the stage to strong displays of fandom. Although it’s clear why people like this band, I still imagine that somebody somewhere paid someone to make them popular. There’s really nothing unique or notable going on with Girls besides a grabby backstory and the music video they made that fooled people into watching gay porn.

Nonetheless, Christopher Owen—the band’s singer and songwriter—captivated the sold-out crowd with a sound akin to an ideal Best of Baby Boomer Rock box set. Tracks like “Ghost Mouth” and “Laura” blended seamlessly together, an obvious pastiche of older pop-rock records (think Elvis Costello or Buddy Holly) that we’ve been pushed throughout our lives. The songs are pleasant enough, but were rendered lifeless on the Bowery’s stage when compared with Album, the band’s debut.—Carter Maness

On Friday, Halloween Eve, Yeasayer headlined the October installment of It Came from Brooklyn, the new music-comedy-reading series at the Guggenheim. As far as I could tell, nobody wore a costume, but it’s so hard to tell these days. For Yeasayer’s set, audience members donned cardboard ChromaDepth 3-D glasses. Of course, live rock bands—unlike, say, movie screens—tend to present themselves in 3-D without the benefit of cardboard glasses. But ChromaDepth seemed to have the reverse effect, turning the stage into a flat, blurry mishmash of colors. For safety reasons, guards confiscated the glasses of those concertgoers making their way up the museum’s ramp; staring down a Kandinsky through 3-D glasses seems dangerous indeed.

I had not seen Yeasayer play since 2007—not long ago, but a lifetime in indie-band-on-the-rise years. For much of its set on Friday, the group ignored its sole album, All Hour Cymbals, in favor of newer material. The songs sounded clangorous and grand in the vast museum. As the musicians neared the end of their set, they began performing songs from the LP; everybody cheered, as if they were witnessing a more storied band. The maneuver seemed nicely forward-thinking but also presumptuous—John Fogerty withholding Creedence Clearwater Revival hits makes sense; Yeasayer ignoring songs from its one album seems a little silly. (The band recently posted its new single, “Ambling Alp,” on its website.)

The neatest part of this series, of course, is not any particular band, but the setting: Frank Lloyd Wright’s famed rotunda. The stage sits at the museum’s base; concertgoers are allowed to wind their way through the first four floors, either looking at the performers from different vantage points or admiring the main room’s exhibition. At $45 per ticket, these shows do not come cheap—the Guggenheim would be wise to shave about $25 off that price tag—but they give the vibe of benefit events designed for far posher crowds. One caveat: For anybody with obsessive-compulsive tendencies, halting a museum exhibition midway through is a demonic teaser. (Naturally, I returned to the museum the following day.)

The DFA showcase last night was a scene, as expected. The line was long, the hip kids were clad in cool gear and then sweated right through it, dancing. Yacht (read more on the project here) was the de facto headliner and played to a crowd that, little by little, became captivated by its electro act. I say act because singers Jona Bechtolt and Claire L. Evans are a well-oiled machine, kicking out theatrical dance moves and background changes as well as any Broadway production. The last song of the night really got the audience jumping. Here’s live video of “Psychic City”:

After Yacht, DFA don James Murphy and Pat Mahoney spun some discs as Special Disco Version. The duo, typical of recent performances, spun a lot of classic soul and funk in the vein of their FabricLive.36 release. The cool kids…they dug it a lot.

Click through for a couple shots of the famous DJs…

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It was sometimes tough to spot Raekwon on the stage at B.B. King Blues Club & Grill, thanks to the approximately 347 photographers, videographers and hangers-on surrounding the Wu-Tang member during Better Recognize, a Wednesday night CMJ showcase presented by hip-hop blogs Nah Right and Onsmash. What you couldn’t miss, though, was the Chef’s hoarse croak as he fought through an undisclosed malady to present his set before a packed house. “Appreciate me cuz I appreciate y’all!” Raekwon shouted as he beat his retreat some 20 minutes after he started.

Not much of a set, maybe, but it was enough to turn the tide after the crowd had booed Atlanta rapper OJ da Juiceman off the stage following a three-song set stuffed with so many samples of his mentor Gucci Mane’s trademark yelp that Gooch might as well have been on stage himself. It was the only genuinely ugly moment during a fast-paced event with a handful of big surprises.

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Let’s just get this out of the way right now: Pete and the Pirates are poised to be the indie darlings of 2010: They’re young, they’re from the U.K., they play insanely catchy, angular pop tunes, they make really humble expressions while harmonizing, and they all have great hair. Maybe think along the lines of the the Futureheads’ still-so-awesome first album; just as much bite, but with a touch of sweetness. Regardless of what happens, Ground Control’s showcase at the Bell House last night belonged to them. Gowanus ain’t exactly a convenient trek for a lot of CMJ-ers, but a solid faction made the journey and remained, howling all the way through Pete and the Pirates’ headlining set. And wait: Were those people next to us singing along the entire time? Yep, they were. Never a bad sign. You’ve got no fewer than three more chances to see them this week before the Vampire Weekend–style backlash begins (we mean that in the best way possible): Tonight at Crash Mansion for the Beyond Race showcase, a daytime set at Pianos for Brooklyn Vegan’s party on Saturday or lastly, the 2am slot that night at the Pure Volume House. Don’t blow it, fools!

Click past the jump for Let’s Wrestle and Merge signees the Love Language.

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In 1996, while completing a semester abroad in London, I became unhealthily obsessed with the Birmingham band Broadcast. The group, then a quintet, had a sole seven-inch to its name, “Accidentals.” Though newly jelled, the band already was its own beast. The musicians turned not to the Kinks or the Velvet Underground but rather to the film scores of Krzysztof Komeda and records of the electronic-music pioneer Joseph Byrd and his short-lived ’60s group, the United States of America. Their concerts were low-budget yet thoroughly stylized, the five musicians appearing as shadows against black-and-white films. Before returning to the States, I went to one of the band members’ homes to interview Broadcast for Puncture magazine. I’m sure my parents appreciated their son using the money he was given to witness the glories of Europe to travel to Birmingham and ask questions to a gang of red-eyed British musicians. (In fairness, while in Birmingham, I also toured the Cadbury factory.)

In the ensuing years, the band—which I interviewed again, for Time Out, in 2003—has evolved in a manner that is radical but not surprising. The 2009 version of Broadcast that turned up at (Le) Poisson Rouge was not the quintet I remember from London, but a lonely duo: the core couple of Trish Keenan and James Cargill. Read more »

It’s no secret that we’ve been fans of Sian Alice Ahern and her band for some time. Jay Ruttenberg wrote a feature on the group early in 2008, and since then, the troupe has been on our top shows of the year list, had an album reviewed…

So you won’t be surprised to hear—from this source—that the Londoners killed it last night at the Knitting Factory Brooklyn. The Group headlined the Social Registry and No Quarter showcase (the rest of which was written about by Hank Shteamer here) and was just about perfect. The balance of Ahern’s sublime, otherworldly vocals with the stellar keyboard parts and subtle drumming was chillingly good, as were all of the accents. A trumpet piping in here, a backup singing bit there—it was all so well thought out and so well executed. Proving that what the members can accomplish on record they can do live, Sian Alice Group made a statement last night as one of the most underrated bands in the world.

Click past the jump for more fabulous photos from Kent Miller…

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Photographs by Diana Sonis

As we wrote about in our preview of the Sunset Rubdown show at the Grand Ballroom Friday, Spencer Krug and his group have taken a sharp turn toward the epic. The band’s live performance proved it, hinging on soaring, intertwining melodies full of layered instrumentation. Krug’s voice is an acquired taste, but much of the crowd in the large room were big fans of his croon—and Sunset Rubdown, in general—mouthing the odd lyrics along with the singer. One particular concertgoer was so excited, he ran across the stage, dropping his phone. Krug picked it up and the man came back on, grabbing the phone and giving the bandleader a tight hug.

Photographs: Bryce Ebel

To answer your first question: No, R. Kelly did not perform—or, for that matter even allude to—Trapped in the Closet, his rightly obsessed-over R&B opera, during his WaMu Theater at MSG concert last night. All the same, Kelly’s Ladies Make Some Noise! Tour, as the event was billed, offered a hell of a spectacle, complete with copious set changes, ADD-friendly medleys of the singer’s many hits (yes, including “Ignition (Remix),” but only about 90 seconds of it), meaningful nods to his R&B forebears, plenty of obligatory raunch, and believe it or not, a candid meditation on the star’s recent legal travails. The singer was abetted by a crack band, a few backup dancers and a hype man, but this was Kelly’s show all the way.

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Photos by Laal Shams

“You still with us?” asked Them Crooked Vultures frontman Josh Homme midway through the band’s impressive NYC debut at Roseland last night. “It’s a lot of new stuff.” He sounded genuinely concerned, as if he understood full well that he and his illustrious bandmates, bassist John Paul Jones and drummer Dave Grohl, were asking a lot of their audience. The three musicians each have a ton of history to trade on, but in their brief collective life span, the Vultures have forsaken nostalgia entirely. And so it was at Roseland, where the trio, along with partner-in-crime Alain Johannes, muscled through 90 minutes of yet-unreleased material. At times the songs blurred together, but overall the gig lived up to its supergroup billing.

Read on for a full review.

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Photos: Sophie Harris
And so finally the eagle has landed. Or rather, the diminutive lady riding on a massive plastic skull descending from the top of the stage has landed: Kylie Minogue played NYC last night as part of her first-ever USA tour. The show was as razzle-dazzle a spectacle as you could feasibly put on at Hammerstein Ballroom—and in fact, one wonders if it wouldn’t have been more sensible to play one big arena date, rather than three packed nights at this venue where sight lines are so limited. Still, such quibbles didn’t seem to bother the 2,500-strong crowd last night—and Minogue  knows her audience. In addition to the multiple costume changes and slick dance routines, her video screens beamed out images of naked hunks in the shower (while real ones faux-showered onstage) as well as Minogue in black-and-white 1940s-style homages to such classics as Now, Voyager. More details? Read on!

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Photographs by Taso Hountas

Kiss frontman Paul Stanley doth—didth?—protest too much. Twice during Nassau Coliseum’s Friday night show (a well-oiled rock spectacle), he insisted that his band wasn’t going to tell you how to live your life. He wasn’t going to tell you to become a vegetarian. He wasn’t going to tell you to save the whales or the baby seals. And still, for all of his nontelling—and green spurts of flame and confetti blizzards—Kiss was very much insisting on something. You could see it in the preponderance of adorable eight-year-olds in face paint. Or the fact that the band didn’t trot out its smutty classics “Cold Gin” or “Strutter.” This was Kiss as family entertainment. “Look at all the Kiss children!” enthused the singer, cameras swiveling on the crowd. There was no swearing. And if Daddy hoisted you up on his shoulders to observe the jackass sashaying on a platform singing “Love Gun”—well, that was what rock stars did, honey.

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Photographs by Sebastian Mlynarski

Virtuosic rock sextet The Mars Volta has come a long way since its inception following the demise of At the Drive-In (from which two of the members hail). From the angular, emotive force on which ATD-I built its name (notably 2000’s Relationship of Command), the Mars Volta dove headlong into the mouth of the prog beast with a sound that was true to its post-hardcore roots, and yet much more. Five studio albums and as many lineup changes later, the group doesn’t seem to be losing any steam: It rocked a nearly full Roseland Ballroom with an extended no-opener performance last night. Yet despite its incendiary energy, the show was a mixed bag.

Full show review by Luke Teegarden after the jump.

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In Born Standing Up, the memoir recounting his years as a white-suited stand-up comedian, Steve Martin writes about live performance as a painstaking craft. He built his act with precision and deliberateness; even at his professed wild and craziest, his massive stand-up audience was viewed almost as a patient, he a surgeon.

Martin retired from the stage years ago to become a movie star, screenwriter, playwright, novelist, New Yorker contributor, art collector, all-star Late Show guest—a Renaissance man in the mold of Leonardo da Vinci, or “Weird Al” Yankovic. Recently, Martin has devoted much of his public time to playing the banjo. His album The Crow is one of this year’s most surprising debuts, full of smart, original banjo songs that are wistful but rarely hokey. Last night, Martin headlined Carnegie Hall, sharing the bill with titanic Virginia singer Ralph Stanley. Read more »