review: 06.07.01- Calexico, Kingsbury Manx, Carissa's Wierd at the Aladdin Theater
Last night was pretty laid back. A full night of music, which I predict will continue through Friday and become somewhat of a hallmark for June.
James and I went to see our friend, the very sweet Sam play at the Red and Black Cafe for a zine symposium fundraiser. He is a very skilled guitarist and has a real knack for pop melodies. I really enjoyed his show.
After Sam finished, we raced to the Aladdin Theater to see Calexico play with Kingsbury Manx and Carissa's Wierd. Actually, we mostly went to see Carissa's Wierd play. James and I are so absofreakinglutely nuts about Carissa's Wierd. In all, I think we've seen them live three or four times. I'm actually listening to their latest release, "You Should Be At Home Here," right now.
Anyway, we arrived late because I had mistakenly thought that the show started at 9, when it actually started at 8. We arrived in time for about four Carissa's Wierd songs. They played it intimately and subtly, as usual. Mat Brooke's voice is always hushed whispers, but he command full control over the notes, and it's always beautifully restrained. A big downside to their show was that the sound system was terrible. The normally richly toned violin sounded tinny and hollow- like it had been recorded and played back on a microcassette recorder. Miss Jenn Ghetto's (guitarist/vocalist) mic level was also too low, but that could have just been her singing like a sweet, meek mouse.
The Aladdin Theater is a new experience for me. I don't often see shows with seating and limited options for standing. The only shows I can recall being seated at were for Waxwing at the Paradox Theater in Seattle, and the Buena Vista Social Club's Compay Segundo at the Craterian Theater in Medford. Tonight, sitting was alternately uncomfortable (I couldn't shuffle about and sway freely with my arms wrapped my shoulders during Carissa's Wierd) and comfortable (I got to take a pause that refreshed during Kingsbury Manx's set).
I was anxious that we'd also missed Kingsbury Manx, a band whom I'd heard generally good things about. They played after Carissa's Wierd. The five-piece from Raleigh, N.C. played lush, sparkling tunes. Their songs were like bubbles floating in champaigne, all curious and pretty, without the oversentimentality or retro throwback of most indie pop. However, the melodies had an extremely loose, open framework that took a long time to come around. They weren't jammy, but their melodies weren't as tight as they could have been, also. It resulted in delicious background music, but nothing more. I took tiny, happy naps in between the verse and chorus'.
Between the Kingsbury Manx and Calexico set, I went to buy Jenn Ghetto's CD, "Sadstyle," which she released under the name S. Fielding through the crowd, I suddenly began recognizing people left and right. It was really bizarre. You know how embarassing it is when you recognize local musicians that you are fans of because you don't want to make a total arse out of yourself fawning over them (in fact, the opposite- you want to play it cool, like you're totally equal to them in worthiness of the cool factor). Well, that's how I felt last night. Shielding myself with my best "GOD, who are you???? Get outta my way" look, I secretly swooned over the bassist and violinist for the Swords Project, members of Tracker and Norfolk and Western, Corinna Repp, members of the Dickel Brothers, members of Boycrazy, Julianne Shephard (okay, she's not a musician, but recognizable and swoon-worthy), Sean Croghan, the adorable bespectacled guy who runs Jealous Butcher whose name escapes me, and a slew of other artists and musicians. It was pretty nutty, like the Oscars or something else big time, except for that it was only Portland, and it was like family, only a family with some really snotty members and some really sweet ones, all people you really never knew, but just heard about and passed judgement about on a regular basis.
Getting back to my seat, Calexico started their amazing performance. Armed to the nines with more instruments than an orchestra, the band consisted of a stand-up bass, a lead guitarist whose warm, commanding, full-bodied voice sat perfectly atop the songs, two skilled multi-instrumentalists who played trumpet, guitar, zylophone, and some weird contraption (a mini-keyboard with a tube sticking out of it as a mouthpiece) with expertise and flair, and man at the steel pedal. The show mixed up the grand story-telling of the mariachi with jazzy horn centerpieces, and curious, eerily pensive reflections brought out through zylophone and remarkable flexing of dynamics. It was amazing how talented all these guys were, to come together and write these majestic, complex, almost narrative songs that blew just about every other band-with-steel-pedal-and-blistering-desert-reflections out of the water. Their recorded work is beautiful and exciting, but nothing could have prepared me for them live.
Their show would have been just IT, except some of the songs were a teeny, tiny bit jammy. I drift off when the dynamics sink even a little, with an absence of infectious melody within the quiet spaces. So combined with me already being tired, it was bad for my staying awake for the entire show. Despite that, I felt that Calexico was a band I would love to see again, after a nap, and perhaps held outside in the hot summer night with a little Corona and lime in me.