PARACHUTE - 10.27 @ The Paradise

Tonight was a three hour lovesong about girls no where near the stage, but I'm pretty sure the crowd just brushed that fact off. With openers like Joe Brooks and Hot Chelle Rae, Parachute must have just gotten a marketing agent to calculate the band's target audience, and booked the openers accordingly.

Not to bash the openers, of course. When Joe Brooks, all the way from the UK, started singing about missing a faraway love, I was sold. From the first chord the John Mayer swagger is immediately obvious, with an attempt at Dave Matthews Band soul and a BBMak poster face (throwback). The kid had talent, though. His almost un-plugged set (althought I'm not sure how plugged-in you could have gotten with him) made girls fall in love, especially with a Maroon 5 cover snuck inbetween two verses of a song that you might not have caught, except that Brooks's voice couldn't have been a closer match at the higher notes.

Then out of no where, Hot Chelle Rae came bursting in like they didn't give a fuck. Picture a California garage band whose look was meticulously chosen and guided by their manager: Russel Brand hair, tattoos that probably don't really mean anything (angel wings and a cross? come on), and jeans so tight all the girls grabbing at the band could literally grab what they wanted. But after tearing them apart for the first two songs, they, too got me with their Yellowcard hooks and Cartel/The Academy Is... pop/punk. Love songs, love songs, love songs.

And then Parachute, a happy medium between the guitar-dependent and hipster. Frontman Will Anderson was so attached to his songs that his face was pained, unable to hold in the emotion dripping from each heartbroken verse. How can you deny a band who covers Springsteen's "I'm on Fire"? And besides all of the sensitivity, about two minutes into every song was so full of energy it sounded like an unplanned tangent more commonly heard during an encore (which never happened at this show, consequently).

Sure, the show was filled with 16-year-old girls who are just experiencing the pain of getting turned down by guys they think they're in love with and experimenting with anorexia because they hate themselves and want attention. I sound harsh, but every girl has been there at one point, so you just have to get over it. And sure, the bands thought they wer epic because there were camera flashes in their face every five seconds, even though the flashes only happen so frequently at a show only girls go to. But Parachute, and even their openers, deserve respect for going hard at a show that could have easily been performed by going through the motions. What a love song.

BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE - 9.17 @ House of Blues

You go into a performance of a band like Broken Social Scene knowing you’ll hear some great stuff, but realistically having a feeling that there will be some of your favorite songs that just simply cannot be performed, those instrumental pieces with obscure effects and distortions. But the decade-old band has figured some things out in its lifetime – most importantly, how to give a crowd what it wants.

The stage was not big enough for Broken Social Scene. Members ran from stage left to stage right, from percussion to synth to vocals, from a flute to a guitar to banjo. They were all over the place, just so their music could keep it together in the most beautiful fashion.


Everyone was captivated by the third song, “7/4 (Shoreline)”. BSS played out its set list pulsing feel-good jams from You Forgot it in People and their self-titled, a few oldies and a few ballads. Half way through their super-long-but-no-one-really-minds set, Broken Social Scene surprised all of their longtime followers with a performance of “Guilty Cubicles”, written in 1999, which flowed right into Superconnected to re-energize the crowd.

As the lights faded from red to blue, Kevin Drew had the crowd hold its breath with his ballad “Sweetest Kill”, of the band’s newest album Forgiveness Rock Record. It took a few minutes for everyone to shake off the melancholy, with the emotional air in the room so potent that a few people are inevitably forever changed by that song.

After playing for over 2 hours, and after 2 hours of girls in the crowd screaming, “Anthems!” Drew finally announced their next song, Anthems for a 17-year-old Girl. And still, they kept going. A quick trip to the crowd to surf from back to front and say “Hey” to the fans was another plus. This was the first show I’ve been to where the band just simply decided not to leave and come back for the encore, knowing inevitably that they would just come right back out anyways. Instead, BSS played straight through for almost 3 hours, finally closing with a chant of “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me” during “Ibi Dreams of Pavement (A Better Day)”, closing with the brass left to finish the chant.

BLUE SCHOLARS with MALKEMORE - 9.16 @ The Paradise

A room full of white college kids from Seattle can surprisingly be a refreshing environment for a hiphop performance. Malkemore was the big surprise of the night,
getting the crowd amped way before Blue Scholars even made an appearance. Lyrics about appreciating where you've come from, costume changes, making the crowd get their hands up and cheezy jokes about getting robbed of their CD cases make Malkemore an act to be enjoyed; you can't take your eyes off him.

As you start to sweat and your arms get tired of staying up and swaying from side to side for so long, you start to wonder how you'll survive the main act's performance. But as Blue Scholars jumped up on stage, everyone forgot how exhausted they already were and got their second wind for the Scholars' island beats and heavy-beated tracks over indie songs like Modest Mouse's "Float On."


Another breath of fresh air came after their performance when the guys stuck around to sign autographs and say hey to everyone who came out to the show. This appreciation is vital for up-and-coming hip hop artists (for anyone up-and-coming, really), and it payed off. There was not a single disappointed soul after that show.

Nor'easter

Reviews are hard. I'm not allowed to ask the band what a song means, what they were thinking as they wrote it. My words are all speculation. None-the-less, if a band that is first starting out actually deserves a chance to be heard, you gotta let people know.

Here is my review for Nor'easter's first EP:

White Noise of Nor’easter

Nor’easters are supposed to be chaotic. Out of hand. But the sound of Nor’easter the band is far from a New England whiteout. With an unexpected poise, a togetherness that one wouldn’t expect from the actual storm, or any college band for that matter, the music will speak for itself to any doubters.



“Statistics” starts the EP with a mesmerizing, desperate riff held under control with the lead-in of the drums and, eventually, the sweetness of another harmonizing guitar. If a quarter-life crisis were put to music, this is what it would sound like. While you knew from the start it was a song of melancholy, the lyrics grip even tighter to the mood with words like, “Frozen pieces of wedding cake/I think we made a big mistake.”

As the EP continues, Ben Krogh (vocals/lead guitar) presents a sound reminiscent of a calm Senses Fail, or a tense Sparta, take your pick – a comparison inescapable with “On Flattery and Frustration.” Impressive, but not a far cry from the first song. If you were to stop right there, the EP’s first impressions would fade, and the band would sink into the dead end label of generic, heavy-hearted rock band.

But it doesn’t stop there.

Instead, the EP continues, and somehow within an album that isn’t even whole, a new chapter emerges that distinguishes the band and creates a whole other plane, a new depth: maturity.

Rarely even found on an EP, this maturity is pressing and raw. There is an emotion within the all-around sound that slaps listeners awake even within one of the album’s softest songs. The teenage angst that no one seems to take seriously is nowhere to be found here with Nor’easter; taking its place are the genuine pain, insecurity and second-guessing that come with adulthood.

If anyone were unsure of this by the first few tracks, the ballad of “Suggestion Box” removes any doubt of immaturity. As the song lingers, harmonic vocals wail and lead the song out, leaving you with this peculiar sense of loss you never saw coming.

Enough with the pity party – “A Medal or a Chest to Pin it On” shakes the EP back to business, where the same theme of losing childhood steps up again, this time with more anger and vigor. An unexpected clash of assertion and tenderness catches the audience off guard with the lyrics, “Shut your mouth/The Lord will give you what to say.”

To round it off, the EP ends with the aptly named track “A Fortress.” A lullaby with the sound of an Irish folktale, the song seems a safe-haven for its writer, a post script that could act either as a hidden track for a full-length album or as a wedding waltz (strangely, the first comparison that came to mind was Explosions in the Sky’s “Your Hand in Mine”).

Nor’easter has used their first EP as a platform to successfully display their range with songs that dodge between fighting and surrendering to life. Inarguably, there is room – a need, even – to spread that range further. But the band has musically declared that they refuse to fall into a generic category of bands. Standards are set high for their first full-length; Nor’easter could harness their storm’s power, or just as easily let it swallow them whole. But if their EP is any prelude, they’ll not only sock you in the gut with their sound, they’ll stay there.

To learn more about Nor'easter, visit Nor'easter Music on Wordpress.

CASSAVETTES - 2.24 @ T.T. the Bear's

Like a garage band out of the 90s -- a good one -- Cassavettes takes the Gin Blossoms attitude with some Goo Goo Dolls sexual attraction, throws in some country nostalgia of past loves, and forces it all into an era that only allows this kind of music at a venue like T.T.'s.

The first half of their set was definitely the dusty country road type of music that you play with your friends when you live in the middle of no where and have nothing to do all summer but drink some beers and play songs. In other words, they threw in some country-juice. But hey, I didn't hate it.

The second half of the set, however, got into some pretty heavy jams from what I can remember (this was about a month ago, sorry for not updating). Not only jams, but jams between lovesongs. Cassavettes are the type of band that girls want to trust, to have them write a song about you -- the one who got away, the one they'll never forget.

Somehow they have the ability to make you take those country-cliche lyrics seriously, because you know Mike McCullagh (lead vocals/guitar) means it. But enough about the country. Indie guitar hooks and chord progressions turn their songs from superficial compositions into raw, sincere music. Listen to "The Devil's Arms," and you'll understand.

Bass beats and percussion two steps mimic Tokyo Police Club, the texture and spontaneity of vocals echo Brand New and the Format. Maybe I'm biased thanks to guitarist Glenn Yoder (guitar/vocals/piano/whatever)'s Epiphone electric in cherry red (just like mine), but his hooks are poignant and precise -- each motion has purpose.

Their performance was perfect for the lighthearted venue, but on record the music is much more clear: they're heartbreakers and heartbroken, blatent in "Carolyn, Don't Leave like This."

Don't worry guys, I'm not going anywhere. In fact, I'm picking up your album on Wednesday.

JOHN BROWN'S BODY - 2.5 @ House of Blues

Speaking of former JBB bandmembers in Rubblebucket, John Brown's Body wasn't half-bad.

Probably the longest show I've ever been to, the performance by John Brown's Body re-energized the crowd around midnight after four hours of opening acts Mighty Mystic and Giant Panda Guerilla Dub Squad. JBB is one of the few modern reggae acts that can hold even the highest of potheads' attentions. Current-lead vocalist Elliot Martin impresses not so much with his range in pitch, but his range in texture. His soft and sultry voice can change into a deep, hoarse timbre in an instant.

With dreadlocks down to the back of his knees, Martin is certainly a presence. But bassist Nate Edgar subtly chills in the background and once he catches your eye you can't look away. Besides the constant gulping of beer, Edgar has the most provoking facial expressions as he grooves out in his own world on his bass, bopping to the beat and blowing out the audience's ears with his bass-extension pedal that turns his sound into a physical force, hitting you in the gut.

RUBBLEBUCKET - 2.20 @ The Middle East, Upstairs

Broken Social Scene is a rarity in these parts, but Rubblebucket is an unexpected substitution. "Unexpected," I say, only because of their lack of fame -- for now. But this 8 to 9 member group easily matches the energy and communication of BSS the moment they walk on stage.

Members consist of percussionists, horns, guitarists, bassists, keyboardists and vocalists -- two were formerly part of reggae group John Brown's Body but a far cry from the sound. Kalma Traver (vocals) compares to Feist in her presence but Zooey Deschanel in her textured voice; Alex Toth (Trumpet/Vocals/Whatever he feels like) compares to Kevin Drew but still has his own thing going on (and may be the only person I've seen pull off a mullet).

A Rubblebucket show is an experience. It's not the crowd enjoying a band, it's the crowd and band enjoying each other in a unified moment that many compare to a religious experience, especially when some of the members decided to dance join the crowd below the completely shatter the Berlin Wall of performer/audience.




There's so much dancing and power happening at the show that you don't even pay attention to the lyrics, although you can still I.D. a lovesong hidden within the busy, yet somehow totally comprehensible, indie funk experience. Listen to Kalma sing "We all hold hands/And sing and dance/And it sounds like this" in the song Phillips Van on their self-titled and you'll know what I mean.

EDITORS - 2.18 @ House of Blues

I'm a fan of the radio, don't get me wrong, but sometimes you want the same sound that everyone happens to love without the hassle of a popular, impossible-to-get-overpriced-tickets band.

That's where Editors kicks in. With the sound of The Killers, The Strokes, The Hives, Editors fit right in (without the 'The'), yet haven't shamelessly promoted themselves on MTV in the States (yet).

The British indie band is lead by Tom Smith, who has the most badass mutton chops, but the band as a whole has a strong connection with each other to deliver punchy tunes with catchy guitar riffs. Their syncopated and fluid compo- sitions are spot-on, especially with the occasional measure-long silences strategically placed in the middle of a track.

Also note-worthy is The Dig (seen below), the band's first opening act who also fit nicely within the indie sound, though a bit more sweet.

ORCHARD LOUNGE - 2.11 @ The Middle East, Downstairs

Boston took a chance in hosting its first-ever Electronic Music Festival. It's not exactly the rave scene of Canada or Europe, let's be honest. But the city proved its danceparty potential, and Orchard Lounge at the Middle East really kept that party going.

Accompanied with openers BioDiesel (who consists of former world's-fastest drummer Johnny Rabb bassist Clay Parnell) and Auto Body, Orchard Lounge uses heart-heavy bass and scratches old-school style on vinyl.

The trio, made up of family relatives, has recently made a name for itself with downtempo house beats. Most intriguing is Bethany Lokken, the "Queen B" of the group who loves to fade the bass out then pump it back in to get everyone on their feet.

I know nothing about electronica, and the festival was not exactly the place to be sober, but an amazing performance just the same (even for those not too familiar with the genre).

THE INDOBOX - 2.6 @ Harper's Ferry

Harper's isn't exactly the first place to go for a mesmerizing music performance. But this particular Saturday the emo-teen Paper Thursdays crowd was absent and the bar-latchers upped from their stools for The Indobox, an electro-rock band with boppy upbeats and fierce drumbeats. You can't help but hear hints of the exploding Passion Pit (though a bit more subtle on the pop), a sound that seems to be getting more familiar and trendy by the day.

Two types of people made up the crowd that night: those who felt the music and let it out to make the show a dance party, and those who internalized the music, entranced by the small-scale lightshow (yeah, a lightshow at Harper's, I know) that inevitably pairs with any electronica performance.

Their newest release, Adventure Rock, is their first studio album and doesn't fail to impress, but if you really want to get a taste of their sound I suggest their first two albums, which were recorded live.