"I'll Be Laughing with Everyone I'll See"- Neutral Milk Hotel Live at Liberty Hall

I was worried going into Neutral Milk Hotel's set at Liberty Hall last night. Not for anything relating to the band mind you. I've seen them twice before, lead-singer Jeff Mangum once, and instinctively knew it would be an all-encompassing emotional event. There would be the sparse howling of "Oh Comely," the galloping "Song Against Sex" and the heavenly death mediation of "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea." Everything would A-Okay in that regard.

I was worried because I was going to the show solo. Even when I'm covering an event, I generally hate going solo because I love talking music with people. I run this blog to share and rhapsodize about music. So being "stuck" at a show is worrisome because all of that enthusiasm is bottled up. That's incredibly true of an NMH show where five different nerves can be struck on the same song. When those nerves are blocked, when you don't have anyone to connect with, it can be crippling.

Those concerns were ultimately unfounded though because it was Neutral Milk Hotel I was seeing. If there are more inclusive fan-bases in music, I’ve yet to find them. NMH is one of those bands where if you look around at the crowd you know you’re on the same sonic wavelength. It takes a particular sort of person to hear earnest poetry in lyrics about Anne Frank and "placing fingers through the notches in your spine." It’s incredibly strange because Mangum’s lyrics are so intentionally cryptic that rallying around them shouldn’t be possible. They’re so tightly coiled, and he so personally reserved with his wild tangles of hair, that getting into the band’s world is an uphill slog on the level of Micky Ward trying to win in The Fighter.

But once you’re in, you’ll "wait for the rest of your life" as the line in "Two-Headed Boy Pt. 2" goes. The crowd at Liberty Hall was in before Magnum even took the stage to hammer away on the chords of Ferris Wheel on Fire cut "I Will Bury You in Time." Everyone around me lost their shit when the similarly bearded Scott Spillane came out to tune up his trombone. In all deference to Spillane, who is so splendidly puckish in the way he sings along to the lyrics when he’s not playing, a crowd that’s enthralled by the mere presence of a trombone player is one that will eat up anything.

And for the span of an hour-and-a-half, the sold-out crowd did just that. They head-banged to "Holland, 1945." They went silent for severely underrated On Avery Island tracks "Baby for Pree" and "Gardenhead." Mass hypnosis happened during the acid-folk/baroque march of "The Fool" where Spillane’s horns cried and Julian Koster’s accordion wearily exhaled. The roof could’ve caved-in at that moment and no one would’ve noticed for what was happening on stage. We all did our best warbly Mangum impersonation when he creakily declared "There is no reason to grieve" in "Two-Headed Boy."

Realistically, the line is one of the best pieces of advice you could offer to anyone worrying about the future of the band. This will be their last tour for a while, and considering they previously went dormant for a decade, things look pretty dim. The notion was reinforced by Mangum who was uncharacteristically warm at times when he would put his hands over his heart in gratitude to the fervent crowd. 

But like my fear of going alone, the band’s absence doesn’t matter. People who weren’t even alive when either of their albums dropped in the mid-90s continue to find them. There will always be a community around this band. Even when they go away their music will be around. It’ll be around to cry over, to laugh with and to giddily rock out to. There’s no reason to grieve.  

"Blow that s*** away"- Future Islands Live at LouFest

"Sometimes you just gotta blow that s*** away man," Samuel T. Herring, Future Islands' powerhouse vocalist joked to a Sun soaked LouFest crowd Saturday afternoon. As the last notes of "Before the Bridge," a cut from the Baltimore synthpop group's last LP On the Water wafted into the sweat heavy summer air, Herring was blowing some invisible entity out of his hand. With the sheer force he put into puffing out his cheeks, then exhaling, you'd think he was an exorcist trying to cast out a demon.

But that's the intensity the group, particularly Herring approaches all of their material with. During indie song of the year contender "Seasons (Waiting On You)" William Cashion's thick running bass notes created a feeling of a dam bursting fourth; and Herring's "as it breaks" was the first gush of water through the concrete. The song's key line "I've grown tired trying to change for you," affects anyone who's ever lost too much of themselves in another person. And live the emotional relevancy Herring gave the confession was overwhelming.

The Singles lead track was one of several cuts from the 2014 record littering the group's 50 minute set. Gerrit Welmers' tidal synthesizer of "A Song for Our Grandfathers" found Herring looking up to a celestial plateau after each line about "grandfather watching over me." "This song's about burned out tobacco fields and those trying to be free and those that deserve to be," Herring informed the howling, clapping crowd. Whether freedom was ever attained, he never said.

"Light House" considerably picked up the synth pace and offered a shred of life saving hope once imparted on Herring. Though the words "this is not you," and "what you know is better, is brighter" were partially obscured by Herring's black metal shrieking, they still offered inspiration. Sometimes when you're trapped in the shadows all you need is assurance that light is out there somewhere.

Set closer "Spirit" continued the uplifting act. Herring giddily bounced up and down, while the rest of the group gelled into a robotic techno/funk groove. The song's all about finding that aforementioned light inside of yourself and near the end, I spotted a young red-headed child sitting on top of his father's shoulders beaming from ear-to-ear. So as "hokey" a challenge as "sharing" and "baring" the light sounds, when you see the joy of a small child, it's abundantly clear that radiant light exists.

As theatrical as all of the wailing, backwards dancing and pogoing that Herring did was, the most stirring moment came during Singles closer "A Dream of You and Me." Herring begged for peace, but was overcome with violence. He bizarrely contorted across the main stage and pulled at his face like he was trying to rip off a mask. When you're band that thrives on physicality, finding even a shard of peace isn't an easy task. 

Angel Olsen Live at the Riot Room

Angel Olsen's set at Kansas City's Riot Room in Westport was one of blissful contradictions. Before the show even began, Olsen asked for "a little more vocals," as if her spring-loaded cannon of a voice needs extra amplification. In between tales of lost time and vacant lovers, she warmly asked for a beer with an "appreciate ya" attached to the end. Fuzzed-out brawlers and barely strummed wailers managed to coexist in the same intimate space. Similar to her terrific second LP Burn Your Fire For No Witness, Olsen's set was both bristly and tender.

It was the tenderness that captivated the crowd first. Soft splashes of tambourine accompanied opener "Free", which found Olsen keep her fingers tightly crossed for "pure love." While "Hi-Five"'s rural trod picked up a few paces, Olsen continued to ruminate on making a lasting connection. "All I ever need is someone out there to believe," she lonesomely sang as the tightly packed crowd nodded along. Whatever dark alley she wandered down, the audience was eager to follow. And few roads were as pitch-black or rocky early on as "Drunk And With Dreams." Olsen nearly shred her voice to promise "I'll be the one, I'll be the one," each facial shiver making the promise seem more real.

For someone so frequently guarded in song, Olsen's on-stage presence was remarkably candid. She gave tips on fiscal beer drinking: the higher the alcohol content the less you have to drink and offered Duchess Sour is "how I feel about myself some time." As the night continued, that openness spilled over into the band's songs. Rather than whisper what song should come next, Olsen half-yelled "you wanna do "Forgiven/Forgotten"?" to her guitarist. Even with the cat out of the bag, the Burn Your Fire For No Witness-highlight still bulldozed the enthusiastic crowd and wracked Olsen's voice as she screamed "I don't know anything, but I love you." 

Such transparency is what allows for a song like "Miranda" to exist. Whether or not it's an autobiographical tale is irrelevant, constructing a song around a partner's knowledge their other half is with another is devastating enough. Throughout the course of the entire night, the 2012 track came closest to pure country. When Olsen asks "what lover is waiting up for you tonight," the question keeps up the embattled tradition of Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynn. Further clawing, she slowly realizes every nice thing that was said may have been a white lie.

Songs such as foot-stamper "High And Wild" and "Sweet Dreams" helped to temporarily ease these sobering realizations. The latter stole into a world of reverie, a world where warped, flanging guitar was more mushroom-fed than whiskey gulping. In "Tiniest Seed", brushed drums painted Olsen's tortured references to time in a warmer light. 

But some things can only be avoided for so long and by the time her band left her alone on the dark stage, it was becoming clear which half of the contradiction had won out. Save for one lone wolf, everyone in the audience looked dead ahead as Olsen delivered an astounding version of "Unf***theworld". When she warbles "I wanted nothing but for this to be the end," it’s one of the most arresting musical moments of the year. An old manner insists "begging is undignified," though Olsen imbues the indignity with tremendous courage. In that instance, the breathless crowd wasn't intently focused on Olsen because she was the last one standing. Like Olsen, they were praying for peace of mind.

Setlist:
1. "Free"
2. "Hi-Five"
3. "Lights Out" 
4. "Tiniest Seed"
5. "Stars"
6. "Forgiven/Forgotten"
7. "Miranda"
8. "Sweet Dreams"
9. "High and Wild"

(solo)
10. "Iota"
11. "Some Things Cosmic"
12. "Unf***theworld"
13. "May As Well" 

Not Another Tom Thumb XVIII (Saturday Night)

(Goldiloxx/Tom Thumb)

Odds are if I told that you could see an established art/music festival featuring indelible songs, meticulously crafted slacker jokes, and enigmatic pieces of art for free, you'd either laugh and walk away (the polite pathway) or prescribe me an anti-psychotic before I'd even finished my train of thought. We live in 2014. A time when festivals sell out in record time with tickets often starting at a low of a hundred dollars. An epoch which we justify with "out-of-nowhere" reunions, oddball pairings (I see you with my suspicious gaze Chance the Rapper and Justin Bieber), and the occasional hologram just to justify use of the term "spectacle." "People who aren't passionate about music are going to festivals nowadays," Drowned in Sound-user "buzzard 55" wrote on a board back in 2011. And before the waves had even fully crested with said holograms, an individual like "buzzard 55" was a virtually anonymous Noah warning music lovers everywhere that a flood was coming. They were right.

And that type of laptop hypothesizing would be unimpeachable law if not for festivals like Kirksville, MO's Tom Thumb Art Festival. Now finished with its 18th incarnation, Tom Thumb survives on: the backs of students from Truman State University, residents of the town at-large, and the support of local business. To say it operates on a "micro-budget" would be a financial over-exaggeration. Every fiber of the event is thread by donations. Venues are found through mutual friends; this year the smoke-stained Djinn Hookah Lounge. The labor required to display 50-plus pieces of art comes from volunteers who will work for 9 hours if it means getting the job done right. If there's a profit scheme, it'd be the sale of festival shirts. Though even those are priced at a modest $5. Rid of a corrosive element like cash, Tom Thumb is still rich.

Almost paradoxically, because you don't have to cough up a single cent every note you hear or brushstroke you see is more valuable. All too often how much you spent on a ticket informs your experience. Few want to freely admit they saw a piss-poor show. And if they're able to, odds are that admittance will be couched in qualifiers. "It was off night for them" or "they have a million other projects they're working on" are two justifications I've frequently heard for a bad show. By subtracting money from the primary equation, the Tom Thumb Art Festival can also nix those ill-concocted justifications. 

I can laugh about a joke concerning Domino's Pizza's vastly superior tracking skills to MH-370 search efforts, told during a layabout performance by comic Kenny Warner, without my wallet commanding me. Each craggy guitar-string picked throughout Daniel Gillette's ghost-ridden folk set stings on its own accord. On an immensely personal level, my jumping up-and-down and tweeting about Big Fig's take on Nirvana's cover of "Love Buzz" wasn't caused by fiscal concerns, but by an admiration of rock-badassery. The reward comes without the slightest string attached.

And as a meteorologically-cooperative Saturday night in Missouri's North Star carried on, that reward grew. Senior Truman-student Sarah Downen's electronic-laden set as Goldiloxx was a true tour-de-force. Coaxing warm instrumentals out of a cold computer, Downen's music made me think of songs from 2am TV-ads that Neon Indian would nod along to. Though I was committed to door-duty at the time, I found myself getting up to draw as close as possible to the magnetic eye of the storm. It was oddly appropriate that a hand-drawn picture of rapper A$AP Rocky hung close to the stage as Goldiloxx played. The beats Rocky clings to are cloudy things and Goldiloxx's set put out more than a few vibrant puffs.

But Tom Thumb isn't worth the "price of admission" simply for vibrant music. The pieces of art students bring in are equally appealing. From ceiling to floor they lined an entire wall of the hookah bar, and few if any deserved to be passed over. One work that immediately caught my eye was "Kickstart Your Night" by Alex Wennerberg, which featured a white display column with a small drizzling of red down the side and a Mountain Kickstart can delicately perched on top. Having had a recent, less than stellar experience sampling the morning-geared energy drink I was repulsed at the sight of the product, but someone with a more favorable view might've seen the intended spill as a great tragedy. An installation with varying degrees of weathered screws attached to crisp white paper elicited a similar muddled reaction. I wanted to immediately hate it because my past with screws and nails has been tenuous at best. But I couldn't bring myself to because of the alluring pattern they were laid out in. Each served a specific function in the piece, just as they would in an actual building project. Being a partisan rap fan though, my personal favorite was a blissfully goofy series of photo clippings of Drake fitted into ornate gold frames. Considering how frequently he shifts between unrelatable opulence and brokenhearted guy next door, the series was a masterful representation of that strained dichotomy. 

If Saturday night closers Chill Jackson occupied a half of the Drake dichotomy, it'd easily be the dude next door realm. Granted, the house they reside in is beer-stained, sweat-soaked, and has No Age and White Stripes records battling at full-volume for ultimate supremacy. Midway through their set, someone in the crowd begged for a cover of the White Stripes "Hotel Yorba", a request which went unfulfilled. Without the bouncy White Blood Cells track, they still managed to win over the now small, but fervent crowd who had been hanging around for six hours by the time the band wrapped up at 12:30. Had they gone until 3am, no one would've batted a sleep-heavy eye.

Quite honestly, a review of this year's Tom Thumb could contain any number of band/artist anecdotes and the tone wouldn't change one iota. That's the uniform air the festival cultivates for itself. It's an air that seems strange at first to interlopers, but starts to make sense as soon as you take your first breath. It's a community event that resists being insular or self-inclusive. You don't need to be a die-hard music fan to attend, you'll be welcome either way. Attendees don't need to be in possession of art degree to relate to the work on display. And they certainly shouldn't worry about bringing a wallet, it can take a night off. 

(Tom Thumb occurs every year in Kirksville, MO, typically in the month of April. To learn more about the festival, you can head to the blog page and like them on Facebook.)

St. Vincent Live at Liberty Hall

"I think we have a couple of things in common," Annie Clark (better known as the seismic force behind St. Vincent) chirped to a crowd at Lawrence's Liberty Hall last night. Having ravaged her voice during the prior song "Cruel" to capture the abandonment of "so they took you and they left you," the light banter was a welcome break. But the opening up took a sharp 45 degree turn, as each shared experience Clark listed became more and more specific. By the time her final commonality came up, it was clear Clark was talking about herself. Even in opening up, Clark couldn't help but obfuscate.

Though that lesson should've been clear from the first wobbly beat of opener "Rattlesnake". Rather than step straight to the microphone Clark mechanically danced in place, relishing every sharp herk and jerk. When her voice does eventually sound its sullen and confused; wondering aloud "am I the only one in the only world?" Instead of tackling the question head on, Clark opted to run away on the back of a frenetic, gut busting guitar solo. Clark's decision to let her guitar do the talking became a common occurrence on the night. When she found herself being carried off by "Surgeon"'s electronically treated strings to an indignant silence from a former lover, she abolished that silence with a solo where hammered-on notes recalled a short-circuit. "Birth in Reverse" staved off the aforementioned "Cruel"'s malevolent tone with a guitar strut. Before anyone could overstay their welcome in Clark's "cosmic eternal party line" she was shooing them away with electronic histrionics. 

And if Clark's fretwork failed to keep the wolves at bay, her physical acrobats were more than up to the task. While Clark's guitar prowess deserves to be celebrated, her commanding stage-presence is equally laudable. In the King Crimson meets Timbaland groove of "Digital Witness" she adroitly conveyed the zombie-ism of the Social Media age with her own disaffected "yahs." Each time a dead-eyed utterance spilled out, you could hear a mouse clicking to another profile. St. Vincent standout "I Prefer Your Love"'s warm synth swoons gave Clark a bed to lie down upon. Sprawling out across the on-stage staircase, Clark became a 40s lounge singer, albeit one well-versed in futurism and sorcery.

Such sorcery was in full-effect for "Every Tear Disappears", which had Clark contorting to right angles to deliver the sagely advice "a smile is more than showing teeth." When she openly interrogated "what about the pain?" you felt it yourself. "Prince Johnny"'s need to love yourself before you can love another seemed untenable as Clark collapsed to the floor and began to writhe around like Samara from The Ring. Clark previously commented on the song saying, ""Prince Johnny" is about a mixture of compassion and hopelessness that you feel for a friend who’s being very self-destructive, but you also know that you can’t save them, but you can’t cast any judgment because you’re equally self-destructive," and that desperation was clear with every wriggle. Finally, the schizoid vocals of "Bring Me Your Loves" were an ideal companion to Clark's frantic mind that was hung up on a former bf's belittlement. To exercise those relationship demons, she thrashed about the stage once more though it all felt in vein by the time the stage went dark. Physical aggression can't cure mental anguish.

However, anguish is best captured with little to no frill. Strange Mercy's agonizing title-track delivered a masterclass in stunning minimalism. Perched atop her digital ziggurat, Clark had only her guitar and a solitary spotlight to accompany her. There was no need for flailing guitar chords or twisting movements to highlight the desperation of telling someone "when you see me, wait." The crowd was silent as Clark snuck out to be with the lost boys she was chasing. For all of her obfuscation, Clark arrived at a desire we can all relate to: the desire to transcend your surroundings, to escape.

Setlist: 
1. "Rattlesnake"
2. "Digital Witness"
3. "Cruel"
4. "Birth in Reverse"
5. "Regret"
6. "Laughing with a Mouth of Blood"
7. "I Prefer Your Love"
8. "Pieta"
9. "Every Tear Disappears"
10. "Surgeon"
11. "Cheerleader"
12. "Prince Johnny"
13. "Year of the Tiger"
14. "Marrow"
15. "Huey Newton"
16. "Bring Me Your Loves"
17. "Northern Lights"
18. "Krokodil"

Encore:
19. "Strange Mercy"
20. "Your Lips Are Red"