Ghosts - Donkey Boy U.S.A

With the new Donkey Boy (USA) EP, “A Song for ‘Last Rights,” Dave Decastris delivers a rumination on his favorite theme. The pain and degradation of low class Rockfordians. Those people whose hopes have long since died and for whom pleasure can only be found in the further destruction of their fragile ability to love.

Are you sure?

Yeah, mostly.

“There are ghosts everywhere that I go in this town. There are ghosts everywhere I lay my head down. You could be my only friend. Take my hand, take my hand, take my hand.”

It’s the long story of still born dreams and the ways in which we desperately cling to each other in a desperate attempt to hide the sound of every creeping death. Or something like that.

With the help of a few Anthony Graigs, DBUSA offers us three versions of the song Ghosts. On a sheer economics level, it’s a great deal. For the price of one song (free) we get the final product, the demo, and the bangin club remix (look for that one on the Edmundo Graig 7”). It’s like the Stimulate This tour where all of those Republican bands played for really cheap to stick it to Obama, or something. Like that, but awesome.

The final version of Ghosts came out jagged and haunting with a surprisingly sexy blues undercurrent. It reminds one of the darker side of Gnarls Barkley, or the Black Keys album that Dangermouse produced (which is really redundant, if you think about it) and also very much of Beck; especially some of the more mechanical songs on Charlotte Gainsbourg’s IRM. I’m not positive, but the Ghosts demo might be my favorite mix of the song. Where the single version is sprawling, the demo holds itself close to your ear, feeling intimate and all the more damaged. Like the laptop ruminations of a man on his last legs. A man who has long since run out of friends who don’t come with screw tops. The Emundo Graig remix is pure sugar. A straight up flash of New Order, cocaine, and hair gel. It’s perfect for a quick desk chair salsa.

So I guess the question is: How do you feel? Sexy? Depressed and alone? Piquant? The “A Song for Last Rights” EP has a flavor for each.

Download the EP for free at http://www.donkeyboyusa.com/

Donkey Boy has submitted Ghosts for the soundtrack of a film. Go vote for it here http://www.lastritesfilm.com/friends.html

St. Vincent

What: St. Vincent w/ Wildbirds and Peacedrums

Where: The Metro, Chicago, IL

When: 9pm, February 18, 2010

Who: Myself, the bands, that Andrew fellow, this girl named Matti, I think Greg was there, hundreds of others

How Much Did it Cost? $21 cause I was a rube and bought my tickets online instead of going to the box office

“You guys only like her so much because she’s a girl.”

A friend recently threw this barb at a group of fellows who were ganging up on her because she wasn’t as completely enamored with the music of St. Vincent as the rest of us. She said it jokingly but I’m going to pretend it wasn’t. Indie pop is serious business. That said, I completely reject the notion that I only enjoy St. Vincent to the extent that I do because Annie Clark is a (beautiful) lady. Sure, I’d love to have her appear on my upcoming reality TV show Let Me Take You out to Dinner. Continue Reading

by Alex Danger Stewart
What: The Clams, Abbot Smile, Woo-Man and the Banana, KAM!

When: January 28

Where: Subterranean, Bucktown, Wicker Park, Chicago, IL

Why are you so damn slow? It’s a complicated answer. Also I had school work and a surprisingly socially active weekend. Get off my back.

I’m not entirely sure of what today’s date (The 5th maybe) is but I went to a very good show last week. Desperate to avoid my RA’s attempts to force socializations, I made my way up to the scenic Wicker Park neighborhood for a night of local rock. I didn’t go completely blank and uninformed. I’ve seen the Clams once before at CJ’s Lounge in Rockford and I’ve enjoyed Clams guitarist/bassist Brett Daniels many times in his other (ed note: former band) band, White Moose. Once I arrived I was slightly disappointed to find that the Clams were headlining. It’s not that I don’t like hearing new bands or wasn’t willing to wait around for the Clams to play (I had already shelled out $8 at the door. Get it? Shelled? Clams? Oh my). But I don’t really like new things. If I could, I would see the bands that I like play exclusively with each other all of the time. Plus I wasn’t really in the mood for Psych-Pop. Since I started going to school here last August almost every new Chicago band I’ve seen has drawn from the same tradition of garagey, reverb drenched, fuzzed out, shoe gazey pop. It’s as if a whole generation of bands (and by that I mean like 20 people) all bought the Jesus and Mary Chain’s Psychocandy and the Nuggets box set and decided to start bands. Not that I’m complaining. I love both of those releases and prefer the previous adjectives to most others. But sometimes I’d like to hear some variety. Continue Reading

What: Joie De Vivre, Empire Empire, etc etc etc

Where: The Beat Kitchen, Chicago, IL

When: January 16, 2010

Why is this Significant? Joie Motherfucking Headlined The Beat Kitchen!

So last weekend I made my way up to the Beat Kitchen on the scenic north side of Chicago. Yes, last week. I don’t work fast, I work smart. Ok, I don’t work very smart either. And to be honest, someone beat me to posting a review. She had that shit up before I even woke up on Sunday. You should go read it here (http://reviewsic.com/2010/01/17/in-review-the-beat-kitchen-116/). It’s pretty good, save one glaring disagreement (more on that later). Since the other writer covered most of what I have to say about music, I’m gonna ramble a bit.

If anyone has ever encountered me at a Chicago show, they’ve probably had a conversation that went something like this, Continue Reading

by Alex Danger Stewart

The Danger Zone

What: Marc Burger
Where: The giant Macy’s on State and Washington, Chicago, IL
Be More Specific: The food court on the 7th floor.

I’m sure you’re all familiar with Macy’s. The worldwide Thanksgiving Parade department store that most of you probably never shop at because you’re much more reasonable about clothing than I am. The downtown Macy’s is especially unbearable around this time of year. After the entire backlash for buying out and then renaming the flagship Marshall Fields.

- Just a tangent here for everyone who got all uppity and bitched about that. Marshall Fields went under because no one shopped there. No one shopped there because it sucked and was dirty and not very nice. If you loved it as much as you claim, why didn’t you shop there more often? Because it sucked and was dirty and not very nice. Macy’s is way better -

Macy’s has felt compelled to go to obscene lengths to remind everyone that Christmas is almost happening. Because of all this tackiness, one wouldn’t assume that such a store would be a good place to eat. They would be wrong. Dead wrong. As one makes their way through the labyrinth of garishness up to the 7th floor food court, they’re met with a great surprise. Sitting next to a Frontera Fresco (very good fast Mexican food in it’s own right, although it’s slightly redundant since Rick Bayless’s far superior fast service restaurant Xoco is just across the river on Clark) is Marc Burger. I have no idea why, but world renowned chef Marcus Samuelsson has launched a fast food burger restaurant in the food court of Macy’s. You may know Samuelsson as the youngest chef ever to receive a 3 star review from the New York Times and a former recipient of the designation, “Best Chef in New York City,” by the James Beard Foundation. He most recently catered the Obama Administration’s first state dinner (You know, the one with those crazy party crashers). Apparently he is also dedicated to serving random people truly amazing hamburgers.

What I Ate: Cheeseburger with white cheddar and thick cut bacon.
Was it Amazing?: Yes!

I should give you some background. Hamburgers are one of my favorite things ever. No hyperbole. They are literally my 4th favorite thing in existence on this planet. I have my moments of McDonald’s gratuity, but I actually have a pretty discerning palate. Given my druthers, I would always prefer a tremendous piece of meat on a quality bun with a tomato, small amount of butter or mayonnaise, and no other condiments. That’s what is so remarkable about these burgers. The meat comes from antibiotic free, grass fed, American cattle and is fresh lean and succulent. The grill jockey has shockingly high standards and cooks the meat to just the right temperature; leaving a flavor filled juicy extravaganza. Slapped onto a potato roll and topped with white cheddar, and smoky delicious thick cut bacon, I am left muttering obscene exclamations as I sit next to a table full of worried old women. No seriously, today was my 2nd visit and I (who have an admittedly sizable vocabulary) was reduced to random whispers of, “God damn,” through bites of burger. The sandwich also comes with very good seasoned fries, very mild pickles, and a notable slaw, but it doesn’t matter. Eating this burger is like the first time you hear Coltrane’s ‘A Love Supreme’, eat foie gras, or see a woman’s breasts. Your life is just not the same. Ever.

Alex Danger Stewart is a contributing writer to Sock Monkey Sound and once dressed as The Hamburgler for Halloween when he was 7 years old. Granted, I have no proof of this. But I’m sure he’ll let this moment of revisionist history slide.

by Alex Danger Stewart

What: A review of Warren Franklin’s album ‘Stray’

Why: Because he asked me to.

Is it Available Now? Yes

*Note: I listened to this on computer speakers because I don’t have room in my apartment for a stereo. Because of this, I refrained from saying much about the sound quality *

Album reviews are an odd thing. Or at least they often seem that way. Film has some nearly objective ideas from which one can judge the merits of storytelling, shot composition, etc on a more academic level. Even the quality of live shows is somewhat dependent on the reaction of the crowd. A performer garnering their praise or alienation can, in turn, be used as a foundation for a positive review. But reviewing an album is a different beast. Ideally, I suppose that one is supposed to give an impression or preview of what the album has in store for potential listeners and shoot for some sense of object definition in regards to quality-despite the fact that contemporary criticism is clearly entirely subjective, one still wants to be decisive in their style. Halfhearted statements prefaced with the phrase, “in my opinion,” are just bad writing. The downfall can come at the hands of alternately falling too far towards feigned objectivity or being unable to escape the hugely personal nature of music listening. I’ve maneuvered around this issue in different ways throughout the year. In high school I copied reviews from Entertainment Weekly and Spin (two magazines that I was sure my elderly journalism teacher didn’t read). Later when writing practice reviews and personal blogs, I only reviewed those albums of which I knew inside out and could explicate in any number of different ways. Now I just hijack another man’s review for my own individual musings. It works in some ways, it’s clearly better than indefinite, halfheartedness.

No one would accuse Warren Franklin of being halfhearted (nice segue!). His debut album, Stray, falls solidly into the category of uber earnest acoustic guitar fellow. This earnestness is both commendable and risky. As an often glib fellow who takes time to point out his own clever writing, I find the sincerity to be quite notable. This guy clearly cares. Songwriters can rarely go wrong with writing honestly from the heart (the quote at the top of the page is one of my favorite non sequitur lines in recent memory). One of the most commendable facets of his album is the restraint shown in its production. Apart from scattered organ, cello, and tambourine, most songs consist only of Franklin’s voice and guitars. The lushly arranged moments come at times that feel natural and rarely dishonest. The album also makes strengths of two of Franklin’s more prominent drawbacks. The harshness of his yell and his sometimes overly strong attack on the guitar can be off-putting live but they are put to good use. In lieu of drums, an acoustic guitar lays down a solid rhythmic base, especially on a song like, “Damned.” Franklin finds a fine platform for bellowing like a psychopath in songs like, “Asleep” in which he brings to mind Isaac Brock’s more unhinged moments and, “Stray” which one could understandably mistake for a cut off of the quieter half of the Foo Fighters’ In Your Honor. It finds less success in, “God Given Right” and “You Spoke of the Lord,” where the harshness feels out of place next to smoother vocal elements.

Franklin should get special praise for thanking himself in the liner notes of the album as well as getting Brandon Lutmer to sing, “Whoa oh ohhhh,” on “You Spoke of the Lord.” I’m sure it was a moment that few other people other than me will laugh at.

Conclusion: If you see Warren perform somewhere, buy this album. Or buy me a drink. I’m sure I’ll be there.

Contact Warren Franklin at myspace.com/warrenfranklin

Alex Danger Stewart is a contributing writer to Sock Monkey Sound. Email him at thedangerzone@sockmonkeysound.com

by Alex Danger Stewart

Who: The Braves, Joie De Vivre, Heather Perry & The ____’s, Warren Franklin

When: 11/14/09, Night time

Where: CJ’s in Rockford, IL

When it comes to Rockford music, the Braves are one of those bands. Everyone in the Rockford music scene (and for all intents and purposes, the Rockford scene means the Downtown scene. I know there are bands playing original music at Oscar’s or Cousins, but c’mon. Eww!) has either spent many, many nights playing with the Braves, or came up watching them.

As a Byronite I’m probably much newer to local music than most. I completely missed the entire Divine Cup era that all of my peers speak so highly of (I swear it wasn’t my fault. None of my friends had cars until like 2004 and we weren’t cool enough to know anything was happening). My local music intake at the time was from whenever a Rockford band would take the hit to play for free at Byron’s only all ages venue, The Friday Night Club (gotta love church youth groups) and whatever music my high school friends were playing. My interest was certainly raised when Nate Kirschmann started teaching at Byron, but the largest crowds were still assembled for Killing Abraham and that time Patty D was in an emo parody band (they played Story of the Year and Thursday covers because none of them had a clue about who the fuck The Promise Ring or Mineral were). Where am I going with this? Oh yeah, the Braves. I wasn’t around for shows at the Divine Cup or the Pit, but I began to take a strong interest soon after and I can remember many weekends where one could go to Minglewood or the ELB and see The Moment, This is The End, and the Braves on the same bill. As awesome as it was to fill 250 people into the tiny Minglewood space for the Felix Culpa and Colossal (I swear the Braves played that night too), there were so many nights (and by that I mean at least 6) when they would stumble back from whatever bar was closest to the all ages venue and play for 12 people. Those shows, when half of the people watching were in other bands and I was too naïve to figure out that Joe and Phil were flailing around onstage because they were mostly drunk, were some of my favorites. As fantastic as the later, janglier, Teenage Fanclub era of the Braves was, this was the period of the band that most people remember.

Which brings me to the end of the longest disclaimer I have ever written. Anyone who was at CJ’s on Saturday night to see The Braves was viewing the events through a veil of nostalgia, myself included. Whether the objective quality of the performance was equal to our impression is debatable. That’s totally ok. It’s kind of how all reunion shows work. As I write this, a few thousand Pixies fans are at the Aragon Ballroom thinking about how they got a squeezer while listening to Doolittle instead of actually listening to the band play an album blunted by 20 years of life. I was never cool enough to have Love & Mercy soundtrack a BJ. I did, however, spend some of the set thinking about a time when I was lucky that my dad worked downtown so I didn’t have a mom who wouldn’t let me go there at night because it was too dangerous (unlike many other Byron kids).

I suppose we’re getting ahead of ourselves, chronologically speaking. Back to the beginning. All around sweetheart, Warren Franklin was the first to play. I’ll be reviewing his brand spankin’ new album, Stray, in the next couple of days, so I’m going to save most of my music related comments for that. Instead I’m just going to talk some smack. Warren’s girlfriend is substantially cuter than he is. What’s up with that? It’s probably because he’s a super nice guy.

Joie De Vivre played 2nd for the first time in quite a while. I was caught off guard because I’m accustomed to being more intoxicated while listening to them. JDV is usually like, “Ooh look at us, we play later because you can get our CD in Japan,” but apparently this hadn’t been the case. Regardless of my lack of preparedness, Joie De Vivre did something that was slightly shocking. This rag-tag bunch of scruffy looking misfits has turned into a tight, well oiled emo machine. Playing with their infrequently appearing one man horn section, Paul Karnatz, they built songs around easy grooves and open emotions; letting tension explode into anthems at just the right time. It was disconcerting. Most disconcerting indeed.

Soon after Joie finished their set, I went down the street to the Carlyle Brewing Company. They have very good beer. And it was only $4 a pint, which is surprisingly low for a microbrew. Good times. Because of this detour, I missed Heather Perry and the ___s’ set. Lots of their relatives came to see them so I’m sure they had fun.

At long last, the Braves took the stage. What can I say? To quote one Brandon Lutmer, “It was the Braves of my high school years.” Drawing mostly from their second album, Love & Mercy, the classic five piece lineup of the Braves threw down. In retrospect, there was no reason to think that it would somehow feel different now than 4 or 5 years ago (these guys mostly still play in bands with one another. See Crankupmadonna and the recently defunct Table and Chairs), but it was a most pleasant surprise. I just kept smiling because that’s what the Braves do. They make me feel good inside. I initially felt some need to give a more in depth analysis of the music and compare them to Wire and Sebadoh and whatever past indie icon you wanna throw in, but it seems unnecessary. If you like the Braves already, you get it. If you don’t, you don’t. I do, I do.

Alex Danger Stewart is a contributing writer to Sock Monkey Sound and will be appearing on Episode 17. Please, no flash photography allowed.

aka: This Punk Read Kerouac
by Alex Danger Stewart

So there’s this band called The Moment. Grr, never start a sentence with a preposition. As you may know, there’s a Rockford band called The Moment. They consist of two guys playing screamy dance music. Many people compare them to the Faint, who used to be more famous amongst people with tattoos than they are now. This is common knowledge. They’ve been featured on this very website. Less universally known, but still pretty widely understood, is that The Moment used to sound a whole lot different. During my early high school years, they were mainly a Gods Reflex spin-off group (which was awesome because GR totally rules). Current drummer, Elliott Porter, was joined by guitarist Nate Kirschmann and former Reflex front man/bassist Zach Newman. Not long after the release of their debut EP, “This is the Moment,” The Moment welcomed guitarist PJ (possibly short for Polly Jane) Heckinger into the fold. The Moment’s sound began to incorporate more electronics and a slightly harder edge. This is largely attributed to the fact that PJ is metal as shit. I’ve always considered this time period (circa 2004-2005) to be the golden era of The Moment. Newman is mostly a fantastic lyricist and they rocked balls (as was the style of the times). It is only represented on record by the three song James Dean single, a recording of an acoustic show that only a handful of people (including me) have, and a mostly completed album that has never seen the light of day. In May of 2005, on the eve of their first tour, Zach fucking quit the band. Left scrambling, the other three members hurriedly figured out how to include Newman’s bass parts into the existing programming and Heckinger moved over to vocals. This obviously led to a pretty drastic change in sound and direction. Then something interesting happened. One of the first post Zach songs was the Kirschmann penned, “Are You Out There.”

Sample lyrics include:

Well it might not make you a saint, sir, but it just might save you from Hell.
Well are you out there? Are you out there? Living your life as a liar.
Give it up, son. Give it up, son. I know that you’re celebrating (unintelligible)

Give in, give up, get out, right out
Cause I know that you won’t notice
Give in, give up, get out, right out
Cause I know that you won’t care.

This ending has a proceed
Take the pictures from the rents (possibly rest or parrots)
Well you’ve got me as your victim (or Well you can’t play as the victim)
At least you’ve got your crucifix.

We’re all just waiting for you
They always told you something
There’s no more asking for you
We’ll pick it up and carry on

The three and a half minute screed paints someone close to the protagonist (more on that in the next paragraph) as a lousy self obsessed hypocrite, who has left them when they were most in need. The lyrics went largely unnoticed on the post Newman album, Showdown At The Discoteque, because every song was mostly angry sounding. Until someone cracked the code. This kid named Evan Michel first figured out the big picture idea of the song when he announced to me, “Holy Shit Danger! That song is about Zach!” The theory was confirmed one time when I asked Kirschmann when he was drunk and he admitted that he had written it about Zach quitting the band. Even without that confirmation, the subtext is clear. With direct references to past Newman lyrics (“I’m gonna fake my way into sainthood,” on “Who’s Afraid of Hunter S Thompson,” and the attack on mainstream emo singers, “That Crucifix/goes really well with your cut wrists.”) and more oblique nods to his future near abandonment of music making in favor of teaching and being with his family. Kirschmann’s lyrics essentially accuse Newman of being a liar and a thief. In all fairness, Zach quit the fucking band.

For a while, that seemed like the end of it. The Moment soldiered on and Zach kept promising an acoustic EP that never happened. But then something interesting happened. Zach reemerged in late 2007/early 2008 with a new Gods Reflex album. The title track, “When It’s Down to This,” had a strong rebuke to an unnamed party

Sample Lyrics:

We must move on
But we always wind up the same
in each other’s songs

Assign the blame
but don’t speak in tongues
I know my name
and I’m not ashamed

I guess everybody lies
everybody has two sides
despite the words you sing
I’m doing fine

When it’s down to this
I’ll be stronger than you ever thought that I could be
I’m not waiting for your call
When you think you’re missed
Think as not the one that I thought was in front of me
They’ve been dead for oh so long.

I passed the baton, knowing it would be better off
In someone else’s hands
And hoped you’d understand
If this is my cross
Then I’ll carry on despite the cost
It’s not as grand as you thought

The gloves were fucking off! Newman shot back with a god damned laser. In the space of 4 minutes he lets the Moment know that he is aware that “Are You Out There,” is about him, and that he doesn’t give a fuck. All things being equal, Newman is a much stronger songwriter. To this day, he remains flaky as all get out, but his ability as a lyricist and singer continue to keep me (and others) listening. Despite the fact that the splintering of the original Moment is most definitely his fault, Zach deftly handles the accusations and tells his side of the story. Even in directly references the prior song, “If this is my cross, then I’ll carry on despite the cost. It’s not as grand as you thought,” his lyrics are clever and stinging. I first figured out the meaning of the song last spring while driving home from school. It was such a surprising realization that I shouted it out to my passengerless car, “Holy Shit! This song is about The Moment!” I’ve never talked about it with other people because it seems super lame to study the lyrics of a Rockford band so closely. But there you have it. Feud over.

Victory: Zach Newman
Spoils of War: The Moment

Alex Danger Stewart is an opinionated guy. At first I was worried about pissing someone off by posting this. Then I thought to myself, “Screw It!”. If this does piss anyone off you can email Danger at thedangerzone@sockmonkeysound.com and bitch at him.

by Alex Danger Stewart

Who: Wilco with special guest, Tortoise

What: A concert. Duh

Where: The UIC Pavilion

When: October 19th

I’m often prone to beginning reviews and essays and such with one of several reassurances. Either that (despite possibly nebulous evidence to the contrary) I am actually well informed enough to provide a quality review of the topic at hand, or that in declaring my personal biases I am freeing the reader to discount my opinion for clearly shallow reasons even though I think they should place trust in what I have to say. It’s a self reflexive, vaguely post modern ploy meant to distract from the fact that I didn’t take any notes or do any actual journalistic work. Fuck it. I think it works.

Here’s the part where I confess my bias. I love Wilco. I hear accusations of dad rock and I don’t really care. That’s not even a real term. A lot of dads like Sonic Youth. Would anyone accuse them of being bland, or passé, or people who wear high waisted jeans, or any other of the more derogatory adjectives associated with being a dad? The Wilco of late is not any more retro sounding than any one of a slew of roots rock bands. The accusations most likely stem from the fact that the band has been in existence for a good 15 years and has (seemingly) left behind the noisier, avant leaning aspects of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and A Ghost Is Born to return to more conventional stylings. Although that criticism is valid on some levels, it shows a lack of deeper listening to the more recent releases. In the end, no matter the dressing, you can’t beat a folk song that grabs your heart and squeezes your mind grapes. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I love Wilco. I find them to be one of the more perfect internalizations of American music in the last 50 years. I would even go as far as to argue that (my love for Jay Bennett not withstanding) the current line up is Wilco’s most accomplished. These guys are a god damned mechanized assault squad. These songs sound like they do on the record and, in many cases, are bigger, louder, and more dynamic. This becomes even more evident when they play Via Chicago.

Quick! What’s your favorite Wilco song? Poor Places? They played it and it sounds the way you remember it. Except now Nels Cline is in the band. He’s a crazy free jazz nutjob (the man once covered the entirety of John Coltrane’s Interstellar Space on guitar!) so the chattering, dissonant, electronic burbles in the latter half of the song become more swirling and encompassing. Name another song! Passenger Side? Really? Ok well they didn’t play that. But they did play Casino Queen. They played for more than 2 ½ hours. During that time, with nods to George Harrison jammed up against krautrocking epics, in between lushly orchestrated chamber pop, one begins to realize that this is a band that defies any easy categorization beyond American Rock and Roll. It becomes entirely ok for Wilco to record an easy going love song like You and I instead of something as damaged as She’s a Jar (neither of which were played, by the way. That’s ok because they opened with Via Chicago and threw down a stellar Shot in The Arm because America is nothing if not society’s great melting pot. A place where any myriad of influences can fit comfortably next to one another as long as you cushion them with fantastic melodies (luckily this shallow metaphor is able to ignore America’s rich history of bigotry that goes along with the cultural diversity). And like Wilco, America isn’t just for dads. Despite those Steely Dan comparisons (yuck!), America is for everyone.

Oh wait. Quick PS: Tortoise was reliably entertaining in the opening slot. They sounded great, although I find them slightly boring in long stretches. Tortoise should open for all of my favorite bands.

Final Verdict: 5 out of 5 Kiss Covers.

Alex Danger Stewart will be eating those negative words about Steely Dan someday.