No Age at The Pilot Light 1-23-11

Things are looking up for Knoxville's live music addicted, drunken lyric screaming, and overall irresponsible middle-of-the-week concert-going elite. We are the few, the proud, and the perpetually sleep-deprived.

The next few weeks are packed with so many awesome shows, that I'm starting to wonder whether or not my grades will take a hit (not that it's ever happened before...).And, perhaps as a preview of my commitment to academic diligence, last night's rock-neck inducing No Age show at the the Pilot Light was not very conducive to my 9 A.M. aerobic swimming class.

Armed with mediocre expectations and an overwhelming desire for pizza, WUTK's Music Director, Brittney B., and I headed to the Old City at around eleven to find that the first of the three groups on the night's bill hadn't even taken the stage. Not that the Pilot Light is known for their punctuality, but at the time, a 2 A.M. night seemed like some sort of magical quest involving dragons and several cans of Red Bull. A few beers in and two hours later, we headed into the venue just as No Age was warming-up. I should have know that our eerie punctuality was a preview of the night's eardrum-numbing outcome seeing as I am NEVER on-time for anything...ever, but my introduction to the band's live show a few years back really wasn't anything special. One mosh pit, a Black Flag request, and a few ruptured PBR's later the previous show seemed more like a strategically placed warm-up in comparison.

Besides surpassing my expectations and raging through tracks from 2008's Nouns as well as 2010's Everything in Between, the group played nearly every request that was drunkenly tossed their way. And by showcasing their bare-bones punk influenced sound much more prominently then on any of their recordings, the LA club staples managed to build the once stagnant crowd's subtle head-bobbing into a full-out explosion that wavered in-between a fairly tame mosh pit to looks of undiluted (besides the beer) awe within 10 minutes of starting their set. I've seen a handful of bands who's lead singer is stationed behind the drums, but I couldn't look away from No Age's Jeremy Villalobos. The drummer's technical skill, seemingly perfect posture, and ability to articulate the group's lyrics for the entirety of the set, all while rocking the fuck out, won me over after only a few songs. Overall, the show ruled.

Now...if only Smith Western's and Dr. Dog would hurry-up and wreck my already skewed sleep habits...

UPDATE! Here are the photos! No Age @ the Pilot Light, Courtesy of Brittney B

-Carey

I Miss Rocking Out.

Remember when washed out sounds were a novelty? When the wet-effects vocals and echo were a new thing? It felt like summer, the sound and lyrics sticky on your skin and in your ears.

Now, two years later, it's still there. It's the dub-step of indie and it won't go away. It feels as if we have hit the Horse Latitudes of Indie Rock.



"Horse Latitudes?"

Yes. Allow me to explain.




Let's look to our good friend Wikipedia ::
"One theory, of sufficient popularity as to be an example of folk etymology, is that the term horse latitudes originates from when the Spanish transported horses by ship to their colonies in the West Indies and Americas. Ships often became becalmed in mid-ocean in this latitude, thus severely prolonging the voyage; the resulting water shortages made it impossible for the crew to keep the horses alive, and they would throw the dead or dying animals overboard."

That, I feel, is where we currently are when it comes to the state of the Indie Rock genre. We are stuck in a place with low winds, balmy breezes, and no movement. We need to push some of the dead weight off of the ship to make progress. There is an addendum to the etymology of the word, though ::

"However this is extremely unlikely since horses would have been eaten and not thrown overboard."

That'll do fine, too. That is also how music has worked in the past. Once the pool becomes stagnant enough, the animals begin to cannibalize. Sounds, idea, concepts -- everyone works off of one another. In our current state of music, it seems as though in the process of eating one another -- some sickness has been transferred between the bands, keeping the symbiotic washed-out-effects trait dominant. We need this to be a recessive gene to get back to where we once were.



Even if the wet effects were just turned down 4 notches from "15" to "11" -- that'd be a start. Echo effects are not an excuse to play whatever you want and not worry about moving lyricism and technical ability with your instrumentation. But it sometimes feels like that's the direction we are heading towards.



I didn't get involved in music because I like feeling like I'm trapped in some dreamy soundscape 24/7 -- but Indie Rock is my genre. It's the genre that pulled me through many hard times. It's the genre that keeps my feet moving to a drum beat when I'm walking up hills on campus at 7am in the morning. It's what compliments my coffee and goes well with my cigarette. It's what I like. And to see that genre in this shape is a lot like seeing grandma sick in bed and knowing she hasn't got much time. I really want to enjoy our time together before it's over -- but she smells like tuna and coffee-breath.



I grew up to The Strokes, Sleater-Kinney, Sonic Youth, The Pixies, Bikini Kill, Interpol, McLusky, Built to Spill, Sad-Sappy-Sucker era Modest Mouse. And I'm not hearing anything that really reminds me of that kind of sound these days. I dare say that Indie Rock is getting fat. Getting obese on the sweet sugary sounds of dream-pop, echo, and wet effects. And that's no way to live as a genre. You'll have heart problems. That's no good.



What I propose is a diet for Indie Rock.
An exercise regiment for the genre to return it to the formerly noble status that it once held. For Indie Rock to once again be able to bench 400 lbs. of PBR. I want to see that day. I want to live for that day. I want to be part of the night where my feet start moving again to music that I can't stop from shaking me from the spine outward. And each night when I pray to Stephen Malkmus, I ask for the blessing of Elliott Smith - for Sleater-Kinney to reunite - and for Indie Rock to once again find it's spine. To once again be unafraid of being reckless, wild, and willing to shred a guitar. I also ask for the protection of JEFF the Brotherhood -- as they may be one of the last bastions of hope in this desolate Indie Rock atmosphere.



---
I said, "Kiss me, you're beautiful -
These are truly the last days"

You grabbed my hand
And we fell into it
Like a daydream
Or a fever
---

Let's jump into it.


- Matthew Smollon, Indie Rock Cynic

Are Cats Taking Over College Radio?

In some inexplicable wave of cat-nip induced psychosis, cats have been steadily purring their way past dogs as pop-culture's animals of choice (squirrels are in a close second). Could this surge in popularity be because of their irresistibly cuddly faces, their penchant for all things fuzzy, or their teeny little paws? Naw...it's all due to keyboard cat.

Cats of the moment include:

Snacks, who proudly owns Bethany Cosentino of Best Coast...

The cover-star of British band The Klaxons new album "Surfing the Void"...

And the model who inspired the cover of Wavves most recent album "King of the Beach"




Holy Fuck!

-Carey