‘S been a bit.

I first want to say that I’ve been delayed in contributing only by my vaulting ambition.  My Hamletian (a word?) efforts have striven toward completing the epic saga of R. Youfuckingkiddingme?: the R. Kelly Story.  It has proven a multitudinous (the right word?) task since I really hate watching the Trapped in a Closet videos and there are 22 of them. I’ve actually managed to watch zero so far.

As such, I’m clearly not ready to contribute the first of the saga yet.  Fortunately, I attended some concerts recently.  So we’ll (I’ll) talk about that.

First.  My boys.  Blink 182.

Understand, I am a child.  Mark Abigail Hoppus, Tom Lucinda Delonge, and Travis Saxon Wolfcock Barker are also children.  The 15ish some odd thousand people around me were children.  And those 20 thousand people love those three idiots with all of their hearts.  Regardless of how terrible Tom might have been live last time I saw them (which was heinous), this time he was still able to get 25,000 people singing “I Wanna Fuck a Dog in the Ass” a capella at him while he listened on stage.  When 35 thousand people can come together (and stay together, for the kids, lolololol) for anything at all, let alone a diddy about bestiality, it’s something special.

The show was held at Jiffy Lube Live in Bristow, VA.  We headed there late.  WE HAVE JOBS, SHUT UP.  All I had heard prior to the show were horror stories about the traffic to the venue, the parking situation, and the terror-drama of attempting to leave before the next day’s sunrise.

Let me back up.

My schedule for the weekend was thus:

• Friday: Blink 182 concert @ 7:00 pm in VA, ending @ 11:00 pm-ish
• 1.5 hour drive back home.
• Immediate 3 hour drive to go to my friend [redacted]‘s house in PA
• 4-ish hours of sleep
• Saturday: Wake at 8:30 am-ish
• Drive 6 hours to Toronto, ON, Canada
• Jeff Mangum show @ 6:30 pm
• Party Hard w/ Andrew W.K. (not really, but c’mon, it’d be so sweet OMG) in Toronto
• Sleep
• Sunday: Check Out at 12:00 noon
• Drive 6 hours to PA
• Weep n’ sleep

Fortunately, I didn’t have to do the 9.5 hour long-haul back to MD right away, so that was nice.

Anywho.

If you’re good with times, you can see that being stuck in Jiffy Lube traffic on Friday night would fuck my plans in their gay little mouths.  Just facts.

The opening acts for Blink were Manchester Orchestra (who I love) and My Chemical (B)Romance (who I like).  We got there in time to hear Manchester Orchestra’s last few songs while walking through the parking lot.  Fuckin [your least favorite group of people], I tell ya.  It sounded like I would have enjoyed it.

After making the 14 mile journey to the venue from the parking lot, we were able to treat ourselves to $15 worth of corn dogs (1) and steak sandwiches (1).  I’ve had better of both.  Especially corn dogs.  In fact, real quick: How does one fuck up a corn dog?  The fine folks of Bristow, VA managed to take an ostensibly impossible to ruin food item and demoralize it.  I wish I had a picture.

Following our paltry scraps, we took our empty pockets to our lawn seats for My Chemical (B)Romance’s set. They were good.  I hadn’t heard their new single, but it sounds a lot more electro-pop than their other offerings.  Not so much for me, but the 40,000 people in attendance seemed into it.  Their throwback numbers from Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge were nostalgia incarnate and I finally got to hear their Black Parade tunes.  Gerard Way dropped a few octaves here and there and avoided the highest of notes, but they still did a great job keeping the crowd of 45,000 strong going.

A few songs before their set finished, a stadium worker was passing out tickets for seats under the roof, so my roommate (life partner) grabbed two and we moved up to Section 301, Row something or other.  4 from the front of the section.  Sweet deal.

Soon thereafter, Blink came out to a deafening chorus of cheers from the 50,000 fans.  The last time I saw them perform, it was their first outing after reuniting last year.  Tom essentially ruined my childhood by botching both guitar riffs and lyrics throughout the entire set.  This time around, despite looking a bit like present-day Axl Rose, he was like Aerosmith: he didn’t miss a thing (Ehhhh?!)  But srsly, he even improvised, which ruins my theory that he never actually knew how to play an instrument.  They were excellent all around; their new songs were good and my upcoming new CD boner won’t be down until 9/27 when Neighborhoods drops (along with my boner).

As the encore was fading out, my roommate [redacted life partner] and I slowly meandered to the aisle.  We began creeping up the hill, then jogging.  Suddenly, running. Careening through the parking lot, some gaggles of kids following suit,  we crashed into our car seats,  peeled out on the gravel, through the cones, over some stragglers now lifeless bodies, and were car number 8 in line to leave. We beat nearly all of the 100,000 people out of the venue and waited for no one. I came buckets.

I made it home by midnight, left at 12:30, got to PA at 3:30.  Woke at 8:30.  Drove to Toronto.  Got in line at a local church at 5:30.  Then.  Jeff Mangum.

In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is probably my choice for Best Album Ever, once people are concerned with my opinion on that sort of thing (Christmas 2031. Look out.).  Jeff Mangum hasn’t played a tour in around 14 years, I’ve been told.  I was understandably excited.  If you don’t understand my excitement, I ask that you kindly get out of the car.  Go on.

GET OUT.

Now then. That bitch is gone. When we arrived at the venue an hour before doors, there was already a line around the building.  The crowd was ready to go.  Entering the church, which was a Unitarian church if that matters to anyone, it was, conservatively speaking, hot as balls.  We went for balcony seats, because everyone knows how heat sinks.  The only negative I can say about the entire concert experience was the 1.5 hour wait inside the church for the opening act to come on.  The church kept cranking through the same 3 non-denominational hymns while we waited.  Made up for all the years I’ve skipped going to church, I guess.

The opening act was a combination of Elephant 6 Collective members that people more versed in the Elephant 6 Collective’s history could tell you about more effectively than I.  By virtue of my travel (and other life) partner, I know the one gentleman was Scott Spillane and another was Andrew something.  There was also a woman who sounded like Kimya Dawson.  Their music was a lot like Daniel Johnston.  Very basic musically and very stream of consciousness lyrically, almost amateur in delivery, but enjoyable nonetheless and made more so by the fact that the crowd seemed to be very supportive of anything they were offered, which is always amazing.

Side note: Scott Spillane is the epitome of people who don’t care what other people think of them.  He’s in his early 40′s, but looks 65.  He has a white amish beard and a pepper grey bowl cut.  He is not a lightweight gentleman.  He wore shorts and high dad socks.  He bellows like a redneck Povarotti. I couldn’t find a picture that does him justice. I love him.

Following their set, the greatest Jeff Mangum of them all took the stage: Jeff Mangum.  He started with ‘Oh, Comely’ and ‘In the Aeroplane Over the Sea,’ so if you were there for the only 2 songs you know, you could have left right then.  The silence that overtook the room when he started ‘Oh, Comely’ was really intense.  Easily the most intense silence in human history cause I’ve, like, been there, man.  During his set he said something that actually made me think and took away the mythical mystique I’ve formed around him over the years.  It went: “There’s some bullshit rumor going around that people don’t sing my songs.  Why the fuck else would I write them?”

That’s the perfect sentiment.  He made us sing.  We sang.  It was the most tightly knit crowd of concert goers I’ve ever been among.  It was mostly indescribable, so I won’t try any more.  If you have the chance, see him.  Like his music or not, I don’t care.  It’s worth it.

It’s a shame that nothing really comical happened throughout that show.  So, I can’t really make anymore ha ha’s.

Just wait for the R. Kelly saga.  It’ll likely be too funny.  And very little of that will be because of me.

**EDIT: The day after I finished this, I saw Buckethead in Baltimore.

The briefest review I can come up with is this: Whoever your favorite musician is, it doesn’t matter.  Buckethead is better.

Neutral Milk Hotel – So Comely [YSI]

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Blink 182 – Fuck a Dog [YSI]

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**Editor’s Note: The latest installment from BTV’s monthly writer, Jon.TheYellowDart. This time we’re going back to his beginnings on BTV with another concert review. And yes, he’s right, I do feature Foxy Shazam a lot, but that’s because not enough people know about them who should. And to be fair, it was The Yellow Dart who got me into them in the first place about a year ago. Now on with his review.**

Good evening and salutations.  It is my sincerest pleasure to relay to thee the joys of my most recent tryst with the wonders of musical performance and entertainment: in poem form! While it hast perhaps become too common to hear this site speaketh the name ‘Foxy Shazam,’ it must be said: Mo’fuckers put on the best show ever.

‘Twas the night before Friday and all through the hood,
Most folks were snowed in, and snowed in quite good.
My roommate and I went out to my car,
A vehicle named Miles would take us afar.
Yonder to B-town, Baltimore as it were,
The snow and ice made it hard, to be sure.
Worth all the trouble it would prove to be,
For Foxy Shazam were in wait to be seen.
We wanted some Five Guys to have for some num-nums,
But they were closed for the weather, those dum-dums.
So Hooters it was, one of four taken tables,
We dined on as many wings as we were able.
We met a nice waitress who seemed pretty cool,
Until she revealed she is still in high school.
We left before we made an awful mistake,
And had to miss Foxy for statutory rape.
Back to the car to get my roommate’s ticket,
The snow falling faster, the wind whipping wicked.
I meant to tip Milton, who’d found us our parking,
But he wasn’t there, probably off smoking crack.
Four blocks to Ram’s Head where acts would be singing,
From cigarette smoke, our lungs would be stinging.
Into the warmth of the scene-kid-packed place,
Within seconds I’d see Eric Sean Nally’s face.
As if by fate, only seconds we waited,
We took out our business and prepared for batin.’
Cause that’s how you watch Foxy: penis out proud,
Just kidding. Or am I? You’ll never know now.
To stage the band poured out to kick off their set,
If I were a girl, at this point I’d be wet.
Drums, trumpets, keyboards, and soaring guitars,
Bass and some vocals, and Spiders from Mars.
Being an opener, they played only eight,
Or so tracks, but I’ll tell you, that each one was great.
Sky stood up tall on his keyboard’s pale keys,
And Daisy thumped bass like he had a disease.
Loren then took his guitar back to school.
And Alex threw his trumpet ’round like a fool.
Aaron’s drums felt like his wife when he struck her,
And Eric was gold as a crazed motherfucker.
He challenged ‘dumb white kids’ to meet him and thrill him,
And offered them 20 bucks if they could kill him.
Sky did some hand stands while still playing on,
And Eric asked if anyone hated their songs.
One girl said yes, and he said that’s okay,
He’d just tell Tony Green to fuck up her day.
He asked for some cigs, which, of course, scene kids had.
And put near a dozen into his mouth, then,
He lit them and puffed them like crews on a boat,
Then turned them and shoved them on right down his throat.
Still in the midst of his nicotine trick,
He managed some vocals that Queen fans think slick.
Then he hopped right on up to Loren’s shoulders,
And humped his neck while Loren drilled out a solo.
By the last song, things were quite out of hand,
I’ve never see so much life out of a band.
Eric had a cymbal on top his head,
While Aaron pounded, I thought Eric dead.
Sky was upside down, still slamming the board,
While Alex was, well, power fucking the floor.
Loren and Daisy were thrashing around,
And I wished that it was a thrice bigger crowd.
Not small, but I want to see them in a place,
Where every inch is covered by a face.
The best entertainers alive, I must say,
I’ll see them again, any time, any day.
We went to their merch booth to talk to the band,
Instead, bought a vinyl, then sat in the stands.
After a bit, out came Circa Survive,
Once on the stage, the crowd was revived.
We sat like old people way in the back,
Then left before Anberlin, cause who gives a fuck? I’ve seen them before and they’re okay, but really.  It was like, 10:00 and some of us have jobs.  Okay, Anberlin? SOME OF US HAVE JOBS.

Go see Foxy Shazam.

[end transmission]

Foxy Shazam – A Dangerous Man [YSI]

from Jeremy E. Jackson on Vimeo.

Foxy Shazam – Unstoppable [YSI]

from Jeremy E. Jackson on Vimeo.

By Jon.TheYellowDart (guest reviewer)

Let me begin at the beginning:

1) I do not count myself as a fan of M.I.A., though I like getting drunk and making up hand motions to the chorus of ‘Paper Planes’ as much as the next affluent, white, college kid.

2) Although the name of the event at which she was playing was ‘Virgin Mobile’s Freefest,’ I actually paid $33 to go because I chose to oversleep on ticket giveaway day, thanks to my previous night’s antics of getting drunk and making up hand motions to the chorus of ‘Paper Planes.’ This means I paid approximately $3 to see her when giving equal pay to all acts I witnessed.

3) I entered her set with no expectations.  Except to hear ‘Paper Planes.’

Yet here I sit.

As I crested the trash strewn hillside, riddled with jorts, flannels, weed, and unemployment, I caught sight of the gigantic video screens of the stage.  On them was not M.I.A.  It was footage of the ferris wheel residing in the field next door.  Little did I know that would be the most riveting part of the show.

20 minutes past her scheduled start time, she made her entrance, I guess.  First, she had the audacity to not even be pregnant.  I thought that was her thing.  Second, with what she was wearing, I thought she had been replaced by Jedi Mind Tricks or possibly Obi Wan Kenobi.  She looked like a Jedi is what I’m saying.

Upon realizing it was, in fact, M.I.A. the Star Wars induced half chub in my pants quickly headed south. Likely sensing this with her Peen-dar (it’s a thing, look it up), she spent the rest of her time attempting to excite me back to life.

She did this in two ways.  First, she gyrated like an epileptic in a strobe light factory.  Then she added the wails of a banshee being fed through a wood chipper.  My colleagues (or posse, if you’re a Juggalo) assured me she was speaking English and I gave her the benefit of the doubt.  She’s British and Indian, which makes her very confusing to me as an attendant of Freefest (read: white).

For a while, I dealt with this because I knew there would be payoff, despite my predispositions.  You see, to me, M.I.A. is the Lady Gaga of the East: she does gimmicky things to make people notice her forgettable music.  Except for that one song. How’d it go again? Ahh, the shotgun clicks between every one of her other ‘songs’ served to remind me: ‘Paper Planes’ was sure to light my sack on fire.

She next changed it up by continuing her caterwauling on top of some dance beats.  I imagine they were once used on an M.I.A. record, but I could find no evidence of M.I.A. having made a record because I didn’t try.  Therefore, I’ll assume she stole them.  Source notwithstanding, I instantly felt as if I was transported to a dance club, probably in Mumbai. I had not paid $3 for a dance club and certainly not one in India. Granted, I’ve never been to India, but I trust it’s awful.

Shortly after my second coma, they turned the lights off on stage so I was literally watching nothing.  I began to let my mind wander to all of the wrongs I must have committed to warrant such suffering.  In my searching, I slipped into a lucid daydream.  There in front of me was an army of dancing elephants, floating orbs of light, and Christopher ‘Ludacris’ Bridges. Luda looked at me with the wisest eyes since Morgan Freeman. And Luda leaned close and whispered in my ear. And suddenly I knew.

M.I.A. wasn’t going to play ‘Paper Planes.’

She was using the shotgun sound effects to keep me there to take active part in watching her body turn to meth.  The drug cocktail pumping through her veins, passing her worthless, baby-less uterus, was strong enough that she probably didn’t know that song was even hers.

A few more rousing generic beats with some cat-vomiting vocals passed as my ICP and I managed to rap at least a dozen complete songs over top of her nonsense, thus keeping our killing spree at bay.  Then, just to spit in the face of reason, it suddenly got more ridiculous.

M.I.A. first demanded that her drum loop (the one she came on stage to) was turned back on.  It was.  Next, she asked the crowd if we remembered something about ‘how it used to be’ and ‘moshing.’  At this point, I imagine the heroin-peyote-insecticide whippet she’d been secretly shoot-snorting had reached her heart, somehow rendering her brain inert.  She invited/demanded a handful of fans come on stage to relive the glory days of moshing that 1) I think she is too young to have lived through and 2) are hard to recreate to M.I.A. music.

Alas, against all hope, the stage was filled.  Some bullshit noise framed as music started and the most uncomfortable ‘mosh pit’ in history was had.  A few weak bumps and some awkward foot shuffling gave way to some hardcore standing.  And just like that, it was over.  M.I.A. yelled something (I believe racist) into the mic and disappeared in a puff of stupid.  The ‘music’ stopped. And then: silence.

You could hear crickets napping. If you listened hard enough, you could hear the last of the meth pass into M.I.A.’s cerebral cortex and out her eyes. After a few more ‘Daddy just hit Mommy’ seconds, everyone turned and left.

Soon, I was surrounded by an army of confused yet surprisingly unangered concertgoers. Amid mumblings of ‘The fuck was that?’ and ‘Great, now I’m gay,’ we made our way to the other side of the Merriweather Post Pavilion (ANIMAL COLLECTIVE OMG) to see LCD Soundsystem grow older.  Then in the distance, like a beacon of ambivalence, we heard it.  Deranged shouts and slurred syllables being pumped into the microphone at the other stage, greeted by the shouts of what must have been at least nine or ten fans: M.I.A. had returned!  I dropped to my knees, rent my clothes from my back, and praised his Holiness (Luda) for allowing such joy to re-enter my life.

JK, we left. ‘Paper Planes’ isn’t even that good sober.

To the inevitable outrages against my lambasting of such a beloved cultural icon, I offer this: I’m not saying M.I.A. is a terrible performer.  I am saying that on this night, she gave a terrible performance.  I’m also saying that I don’t care enough to ever give her another chance.  Suck a D.

Will M.I.A. hurt from the loss of my quarter-assed fandom?  Unlikely.  Will fewer people see her because I thought her performance would have been better without her?  Probably not.  But you know what will happen? I officially predict this now:

M.I.A.’s child will be the only Indian kid in history who doesn’t become a doctor.

So there, M.I.A.  Enjoy your ostracizing from the Indian people.  You’ve earned it.

To paraphrase Walter from The Big Lebowski (which I know all you hipsters reading this have seen, so don’t give me that) “You see what happens, M.I.A.? This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass.”

tl;dr M.I.A. is the brown devil.

***Editor’s Note: I agree with this experience. Fortunately, the rest of Freefest was very worthwhile. The song I chose to post with this is a remix of a remix of a newer MIA song. I think it’s more bearable that way…***

M​.​I​.​A.  - XXXO (ft. Jay Z)(Rieces Pieces Dirty Remix) [YSI]

All streaming media has been removed from Bridging The Verse due to server usage issues. Until resolved, stream this song on BTV’s Hype Machine page.

So this past Saturday I went to the Virgin Mobile Freefest and I have to say I had such a good time!!! I believe I’ll be writing a more in depth review later but here’s a quick bullet point review of my experience:

• It was free so that’s fantastic!
• The Merriweather Post Pavilion in Columbia, MD may be my new favorite venue
• There was too much! I never even made it to the dance stage and didn’t see many complete sets
• Festivals lend themselves to a ton of great music throughout the day without much visual spectacle
• Jimmy Eat World was not nearly as bad live as I have always heard they were
• I need to look further into Trombone Shorty. I liked what I heard
• Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros were ok. The crowd we were near kinda ruined for me.
• Of all the bands who I didn’t know too well before the show, Yeasayer was my favorite (hence today’s song post)
• Joan Jett’s getting old. But not terrible.
• For only being two people on stage, Matt and Kim have a solid stage presence and are fun.
• Thievery Corporation were just a good time. Period.
• A smile goes such a long way and Ludacris knows that. I felt like I could just be friends with Chris Bridges after that performance
• I could care less whether or not Pavement kept on their 11 year hiatus…
• I would NEVER EVER pay to see MIA. She was tripping balls and terrible.
• LCD Soundsystem was cool but by that time of the day, I had had enough so I saw very little of the set
• The festival wasn’t really missing much with T.I. not being there
• I seemed to be the counter culture and hipsters were the culture there. Kinda ironic…

Anyway, here’s Yeasayer for today’s song. Guess I’m gonna be listening to some more of them now.

Yeasayer – O.N.E. [YSI]

All streaming media has been removed from Bridging The Verse due to server usage issues. Until resolved, stream this song on BTV’s Hype Machine page.

If there is one band you must see live, it is Go Go Gadjet. I don’t usually go out of my way for cover bands but there is something so different about Gadjet. Their high energy performance, song selection, and love for making the crowd have a good time is something that goes unsurpassed on a weekend evening. If you are anywhere on the east coast, there is a good chance you will get the opportunity to see them this summer at a bar or club near you.

This past weekend they played two nights in a row close enough for me to attend both: one in Philly and one in Reading, PA. And just as GGG’s lead singer Jeff said to me in the crowd, “Two nights in a row. Stellar.” Stellar indeed. Gadjet is a 5 piece band with more than one multi-instrumentalist and they make every use of that to put on the show.

I guess the question is where I start about these guys. My first experience seeing Go Go Gadjet was actually at a charity event about 2-2.5 years ago where they played to nearly 15,000 people in an arena. I was immediately sold. They owned that stage and I have been going to see them live ever since.

One of my favorite parts of GGG is how they stay on top of the music scene. Just this weekend, they performed B.o.B.’s “Nothin’ On You” and Train’s “Hey Soul Sister,” relatively new songs that I would assume most bands aren’t covering yet.

Of course, it’s not only the modern music they play. Their sets consist of the newest as well as some of the party classics like Smash Mouth’s “All Star.” And yes I did say sets, plural. Gadjet plays somewhere between 3-4 hours every night they are on stage.

I feel as though words can’t quite describe the good time I have when I see them. I’d like to say I could choose my favorite part of the night but I can’t. Between Jeff, Tony, and Nate all doing leads vocals on different songs; Tony playing sax; Chris’ flawless guitar performance; Baldwin “playing more notes than humanly possible” on drums; the band’s Stomp-like routine with garbage cans; and the overall energy of the night makes for an awesome time. It always helps that Gadjet performs Ludacris’ “Whats Your Fantasy?” (one of my favorites) as well as a number of Lady Gaga songs to really get the crowd going.

On top of all that, they’re just great guys who are sociable and will always take time to talk to their fans. I’ve been fortunate enough to hold short conversations with Jeff and Nate, and Tony and Baldwin have been unfortunate enough to see me do the Stanky Leg between sets in Philly.

Overall, it was a great weekend and I plan on seeing them again next Saturday. And you should too. Their upcoming tour schedule is available here and posted below are two videos: one is their 2010 promotional video and the other is a live performance. Looking for something to do on weekend? Check em out. You won’t be disappointed.

Like I said to Jeff, “What’s better than drinking and Gadjet?”

“Nothin’ else I can think of.” – Jeff

Promo Video:

Live Performance at THON 2010

“All Star” at THON 2010

“Party in the USA BJC” at THON 2010



Crash Kings concert review
Date: April 15, 2010
Venue: The Note – West Chester, PA
Cost: $10 in advance, $12 at the door
Opening band(s): Blood Feathers

When everything falls into place, it makes for such a great night.

That’s exactly what happened this past Thursday when I went to go see Crash Kings. Then venue was relaxed. The crowd was there for a good time. And, of course, Crash Kings tore it up.

The Note is an interesting place to be for lack of a better descriptor, interesting in a good way though. For anyone unfamiliar with the venue, it’s owned by Bam Margera and he’s pretty much always there when a band is playing. I didn’t see him when I walked in (He got there later); however, it didn’t take long to notice Bam’s uncle, Don Vito, sitting at the bar next to us. All I could think was, “Yeah, this is gonna be a good night.” The inside of The Note looks like an old pub from years ago but, at the same time, it’s very modernized: full bar in back, stage up front, second bar upstairs and a great sound system throughout.

I got there with a friend when doors opened at 7PM just to go in and have a drink and chill till the bands came on. Apparently that’s what the bands did as well. On my one side was the entirety of the Blood Feathers, the opening band, having a couple beers, and on the other I noticed Mike Beliveau, Crash Kings bassist, milling about talking to people. As the minutes went by, the other two members of Crash Kings, lead singer/keyboardist Tony Beliveau and drummer Jason Morris, started making appearances downstairs near the crowd at the bar walking back and forth prepping the show. It’s these little details that can really enhance the evening.

As the Bloodfeathers took the stage around 8:30, there wasn’t a big crowd that moved down the stage area. However, I don’t think was because people didn’t like them. To be honest, I really dug them. I had never heard them before so I wasn’t familiar with their music but they were still really fun to listen to. They were folk sounding yet soul too. They played through their set switching lead vocalist now and then between songs and looked like they were enjoying it. After they ended their set and cleaned up, they were right back out to hang with the crowd by the bar.

Between sets, I had turned around and realized Bam has showed up and The Note itself was starting to fill. It wasn’t packed though and the crowd that was there was more than bearable. Having been a 21+ show, there were either people there just to drink and hear some live music or those that were big Crash Kings fans knowing more than just their single “Mountain Man.” As a little time went by, I still noticed Mike and Jason walking around but, this time, being stopped and noticed by more people. Obviously the Crash Kings fans have arrived excited for the show.

And there was no disappointment. When Tony, Mike, and Jason took the stage, I immediately moved down to the floor area. I ended up being about 18 inches away from the stage directly in front of Tony’s clavinet…

Sidebar: Clavi-what? Let’s put it this way. Have you ever seen a band rock hard without a guitar? No, Keane doesn’t count; I said rock hard. Tony plays keyboard and clavinet: the love child of a keyboard and guitar. With its keys, whammy bar, and 60+ internal guitar strings, the instrument is really quite something to watch being played.

Anyway, back to the show. I can easily say I have never been this close to the stage of a band. The intimacy of the venue enhanced their performance that much more. Crash Kings opened with some of their, dare I say, slower songs. They weren’t so much slower but just featured Tony more on keys than clavinet. Either way, they were still rocking out with very little banter between songs. It was clear they were here to play for the crowd.

And play they did. They played through their entire self-titled album including all my favorites: “It’s Only Wednesday,” “You Got Me,” and, of course the #1 alternative radio single, “Mountain Man.” Right before they played “Mountain Man,” Tony said, “We really appreciate you guys coming out tonight. We’ve got one more for you.” That meant this was the last song on the album to be played so in their encore they might be playing something new or doing their cover of “War Pigs.” This was not the case, however. “Mountain Man” actually was the last song of the evening. My only negative critique of the whole night was that there was no encore.

That alone definitely could not put a sour taste in my mouth especially when the announcement immediately after the song was that the Crash Kings would be out in a few minutes to talk to the crowd. Now I’ve heard announcements like that after shows before and as 1-2 hours pass, the band finally makes their way out to an autograph table with a line a mile long. This wasn’t the case, though. In under 10 minutes, Tony, Mike, and Jason were all out on the floor cleaning up their gear from the stage and there was only a few people down there who wanted to talk to them, myself being one of them. I told them I much I loved their live shows and I was fortunate enough to have this be the third time I have seen them live. They seemed truly grateful for the support and were willing to talk (and listen!) as long as I wanted. I kept it short because they were obviously busy packing and I bid them adieu and made my way out of The Note.

In the past 5-6 years, I have now seen somewhere in the area of 110 artists live. From the huge arena shows of Muse and Jay-Z to the smaller venue shows of Natasha Bedingfield and Saul Williams, I have seen my fair share. And, Crash Kings, you are in my top 10 live performances. If I were to consider a cost to performance ratio, you may even be in my top 3. I didn’t need the glitz and glam at the show. I felt the performance and the music. They were there to perform for the crowd selflessly. Great show, great night. I will be seeing you guys again.

Crash Kings – You Got Me [YSI]

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By DJ Echoes (guest reviewer)

First, I would like to thank Kris.G for offering me the chance to post on Bridging The Verse.  I only wish it didn’t have to be under such unfortunate terms.  (It’s kind of like meeting a hot girl at a funeral). Anyways, without further ado:

Racking up plays on last.fm.
Voting for their video at mtvU.
Promoting the concert on my radio show.
Sharing with my friends the joys of Chiddy Bang.

These are all activities I performed to help spread the word. Post-”concert”, I wish I could traverse time and space to take them all back (but at least I didn’t drive 4+ hours to see them.  Sorry, Kris…).

I recall seeing The Sounds in 2006 and realizing that there are certain obligations of which a performer should be aware for his/her/their audience. At the time, I considered wearing something slightly nicer than a wife-beater tank top to suffice that rule. Now, I’ll settle for showing up before the event ends.

I should have know that proper event planning was not a top priority when the official Facebook event had Chiddy Bang playing simultaneously at the local hip-hop/statutory rape club and the douchebag/statutory rape frat house. Ultimately, it was confirmed that we would be infiltrating fratland.

Upon arrival, we purchased our tickets. I bought two and had a sinking feeling that I just got swindled, hoodwinked, robbed. I thought ‘Perhaps my prejudices towards Greek Life culture are a bit harsh’ and again ignored my intuition. We walked into a pen oozing with shame and regret, evidenced by the loud, unfortunate-looking frat concubines. (Side note: there was an alarming percentage of gingers at this event. Should have been my last signal to turn back from whence we came.)

The stage was about 8-square feet in surface area, and before we knew it, the humble platform was graced by the opening performers, Ground Up. Or Ground Out. Or Ground Meat. Can’t remember. Don’t care.

They sucked. Granted, one of the performers had slightly more energy and interesting delivery, but the lyrics were laughably bad. We stood in amazement as we were confronted by couplets that would have Shakespeare slitting his wrists and stabbing his ears in the grave.  Thankfully, the sound system was so poorly engineered and utilized that most of the lyrics were indecipherable. They were on stage for 45 minutes. A long time. Or so I thought…

Because after their performance, we were gifted with a 2+ hour wait for the headliners to perform. During this time we watched as intoxicated females, wearing too little clothing to conceal rather undesirable bodily features, fell over males adorned with – you guessed it – Affliction t-shirts, cocked baseball hats, cans Natural Light, and parental disappointment. I truly doubt I ever resembled that in my freshmen heyday because I was at least mentally aware of how unintelligent the members of these scenes were.

After a little less than 2 hours, the lesser half of Chiddy Bang, Xaphoon, arrives. No one really cares. He’s white and he doesn’t rap. Granted, he’s a decent producer, but most producer’s don’t attach their faces to their clients for more exposure. Get off the stage and back to your Macbook, bro. His only saving grace was playing some Ol’ Dirty Bastard while we tapped our watches and toes, getting antsy for the Chiddiest one’s arrival.

As 9pm becomes 9:05, then 9:15, people start to wonder what will happen. Xaphoon occasionally provides traffic updates as to Chiddy’s location, but they curiously got farther and farther from the frat house. So it goes. A little short of 9:30, Sir Bang arrives. He declares that regardless of the noise ordinance, the concert will last as long as he decrees. Ha. HA! MUHAHAHAHAHA! …sure, Chid.

The first two songs are curiously softer than the opening act’s. Perhaps this is because we notified a frother (frat brother) that one of the loudspeakers are glowing hot orange and likely about to ignite. The young male (likely a Mensa-candidate) pointed at himself as we motioned him over, then turned around and walked away from us. Sir, we are doing this for your good. I would have no qualms about watching your house of white adolescent debauchery burn to Abercrombie-scented ashes. Go suck a d.

Oh wait, did I forget to mention that we were gifted with Xaphoon’s excellent percussion abilities? Perhaps they were fantastic, but the resident Live Audio Engineer/Audio Designer must have had some extra-nasty syphilis that day, because the rest of the brothers placed two vocal microphones haphazardly around the drums, likely looking like whatever ground of Neanderthals on the first attempts at the wheel. Thus, we never heard a single snare hit.

Anyways, after 2 songs, Chiddy declares that it is freestyle time, and requests rapping topics. Being a cynical, white crowd, patrons offered “Sodomy”, “Nuclear Proliferation”, “Groupies”, “Philly”, and “Stem Cells” as possible options. He went with the latter 3. I only heard one reference to stem cells, and that was him saying “stem cells”. Very clever, sir. Hats off to you.

(We’re almost there)

So, he dives into his next song. About 3/4′s of the way through, he suddenly turns his back on the audience and walks back into the area behind the stage. After a minute, he announced that the cops have arrived and the show must end. Apparently “rappin’ for ya’ll ALL NIGHT” actually means until 3 policewomen arrive on the scene. You’re very hood, dawg. Very hood.

As I shake my head in not-quite-disbelief (recall all of the negative foreshadowing earlier), Xaphoon announces that to make the night worthwhile, they will perform an acapella song before leaving. Oh, thank God, Buddha, Allah, and Richard Dawkins. Because the lyrics are why I listened to Chiddy Bang in the first place. Xaphoon takes a singular snare drum on stage while Chidderino raps sans microphone. I couldn’t hear a single word above the fraternity harlots shrieking with their 2-pack-a-day, lunchlady voices to “SHUT THE FUCK UP”. How much more persuasive can you get?

One of the best concerts I’ve ever seen was a rap concert, featuring Raekwon the Chef of the Wu-Tang Clan. So maybe I had some high hopes for this event. But they were crushed, aborted like the fetus of any unfortunate pairing at the fraternity that night, which surely happened after Chiddy Bang departed State College. So to the members of Sigma Chi and the collective of Chiddy Bang, I have two last words: fuck off.

(Chiddy Bang could possibly find redemption in offering a free concert at Penn State. Fratholes, not so much).

***Editor’s note: This was the song that no one could hear a cappella***

Chiddy Bang – All Things Go [YSI]

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Yep, it wasn’t even “Opposite of Adults” ….