The fourth annual Fun Fun Fun Fest went down last weekend at Waterloo Park in Austin, Texas, and the two-day, 90-band extravaganza brought something out of the underground for everyone. Experimental metal, indie rock, blog-hype rap, classic punk rock, indie stand-up comedy, and bleeding-edge dance music all made an appearance alongside the FFF’s mechanical bull and skateboard ramp mainstays. Though Day 1's heavenly weather gave way to Day 2's miserable drizzle and muddy mosh pits, a few poncho-covered mohawks were a small price to pay for some of the world's most forward-thinking music. A suggestion? Give the poor merch table people a tent so they don't spend next year selling rain-soaked band T-shirts. Highlights follow.

Yes, they wear skinny jeans. Yes, the singer was wearing a fake vintage Van Halen tour shirt. Whether you call the Sabbath-inspired Austinites “hipster metal” or not, there's no doubt that The Sword are popular among a certain bearded demographic, and that they look the part. Still. The band tore through a largely instrumental set that leaned heavily on new material, and they were heavy enough to sink the Black Stage a few extra inches into the earth. New tune “Lawless Land” wrapped Allman-style country rock guitar lines around their trademark stoner fuzz as a long overdue acknowledgment of their Southern origins. With a new record forthcoming this spring, The Sword showed why they remain standard bearers of the New American Sludge sound.

Old-school hardcore punk legends 7 Seconds took the stage with a “1-2 1-2-3-4” and hardly paused for breath for the rest of the set. With an energy that outshone bands half their age, the positivity-powered quartet ran through two-decade-old classics and a half-kidding frantic cover of paranoiac “99 Red Balloons.” Frontman Kevin Seconds joked early that his sweatshirt was a weight-loss strategy, but within five minutes the man had surely burned off a few days worth of meals. Watching Seconds lead the crowd in kinetic shout-alongs like “Young Til I Die,” it was hard to imagine that they would ever turn down, slow down, or get old. We're all luckier for it.

The world's quietest comedian had the misfortune of playing behind the Black Stage, where some of the world's loudest bands happened to be laying it down. Barry's soft-voiced neuroses had to overcome frequent microphone feedback, hilariously poorly-timed emergency vehicles making their way through downtown, and sound bleeding over from across the park. However, by surrounding his familiar material with improvised missives at passing ambulance drivers and tweeting audience members, Barry handled it without missing an awkward beat.

Fresh off earning the Polaris Prize, Canada's highest pop music honor, prog-punkers Fucked Up drew a giant crowd and ran them through the grinder. With what looked like all of Toronto standing behind the stage, the band's burbling wall of sound left more than one pair of ears ringing and red. Frontman Father Damian announced between songs that he'd gone the last week without taking his anti-anxiety medication, but his were not the actions of a nervous man. Sitting on the monitors and thrusting the mic into the audience (“it gives me the illusion of being so punk rock”), stalking the stage with his imposing bulk, and filling the park with his larynx-lacerating howl, Damian seemed to draw power from the complex drum work driving the band. Burying bassist Sandy Miranda's Stereolab-style female harmonies under layers of swirling hardcore guitars and carefully navigating breakneck time shifts, Fucked Up proved one thing conclusively: they're a lot more than just punk rock.

Progressive metal is enjoying something an uptick in attention in the latter half of this decade, with bands like Mastodon and Converge leading the hordes from the edges of popular music and into the mainstream. Coalesce seem to have picked up on this and have regained their focus after spending much of the aughts in turmoil. The new record Ox, a collaboration with the earsplitting experimental group Oxbow, clearly gave the band a major shot of the good stuff. They aurally assaulted the audience like they were the opening act of the Apocalypse, tauter and more sophisticated than they've sounded since 1999's 0:12 A Revolution in Just Listening. After a pretty bumpy decade they've found their groove again, and they're back and louder than ever.

The world's only Gallagher-aping Metallica cover band took the Yellow comedy stage Sunday afternoon and played rousing renditions of Metallica's 80s thrash classics while smashing various juicy fruits with a giant mallet. Cantaloupes, bananas, grapes, and of course watermelons met their crushing and hilarious demises in the midst of lengthy (and spot on!) instrumental sections. When The Darkness flopped in the US a few years ago, a frequent excuse from British apologists was that Americans liked to rock and liked to laugh, but weren't sure how to do both at the same time. Metallagher gave that statement the lie as the crowd laughed and earnestly headbanged in equal measure.

The Memphis bar-room bawlers came to Austin with a horn section in tow, ready to play widescreen versions of new material from the brass-laden 1372 Overton Park and showcase fresh horn-enriched arrangements of old cuts. “Tears Don't Matter Much” took on a surprising E Street Band flavor when blessed with a saxophone solo, and “The Devil and Maggie Chascarillo” swung like a drunken prize fighter. When I interviewed frontman Ben Nichols he said that after so many months of consecutive touring the band was looking forward to taking time off the road before getting back into the studio “and starting it all over again.” With a band this exhausted still so clearly at the top of their game, it'll be worth the break to see what comes next.

Maybe it's because Meanderthal is a year old. Maybe losing second guitarist Juan Montoya late last year cost the band some of their momentum. Maybe they're ready to retreat into the studio to record something new? Whatever the reason, Torche didn't seem to have it in them this time around. The sludge pop band seemed to be going through the motions, avoiding crowd interaction and plodding through a few too many molten dirges. Typically one of the best bets around when it comes to high energy live shows, the Florida group may need a little time to recoup and regroup.

In a set that seemed designed to be heavy on crowd pleasing and light on deep catalog cuts, the Wu-Tang Clan's most arcane lyrical surgeon burned through ADD versions of Enter the Wu-Tang and Liquid Swords songs and almost completely ignored this fall's new record Pro Tools. He paid tribute to dear departed Ol' Dirty Bastard, doing a syllable-perfect cover of “Shimmy Shimmy Ya,” and made the weird choice of doing unimpeachable Clan classics like “C.R.E.A.M.” acapella and spoken word style, stumbling more than once over the verses that weren't his own. After long stretches of beatless delivery the crowd seemed unsure whether to applaud or snap appreciatively, and when the set was over more than one audience member was heard to mutter “he was better last time I saw him.” Let's hope he's better next time too.

Psychic Ills held to their trippy name with a mélange of free form jamming and washed out visuals to provide a wonderfully appropriate setting for their practically nonstop performance. The Ills most recent record Mirror Eye pushed them in a more improvisatory direction and fell a little flat; during the show, however, those improvs sounded much tighter. Instead of creating a wall of sound, they seem to become more of a channel of sound, so much so that it’s hard to separate out one piece of the quartet’s work as superior to any other; its tightly wound explorations maintain the same tension throughout.

The Butthole Surfers could have been the next 13th Floor Elevators. Their wild antics and heavy drug use ran parallel, and Gibby Haynes voice, although electronically treated and assisted, almost held the same power as the vicious squall of Roky Erickson. Once they got a handle on recording, their albums from the late '80s were a great redefinition of psychedelia for a crowd that was turned off by the Incense and Peppermints vibe.

But from there, they wanted to get paid. The ensuing results were anything but flattering to an image of one of the most dangerous rock 'n' roll gangs: the MTV hit "Pepper," mediocrity, and the lawsuit against Touch and Go Records. The announcement of the reunion tour did leave a little skeptic's backwash in my throat; with all these bands from the late '80s/early '90s reuniting for nothing more than cash grab, it was maybe inevitable that the Surfers would seize such an opportunity. With the recruitment of second drummer Teresa Nervosa, there was as much promise of a return to the wild antics that you could read about in Our Band Could Be Your Life. But what really happened was the bamboozle of a cash grab.

I’ve seen a number of shows get away from a band and a number of audiences turned off and frustrated by a performer. What I haven’t seen before (at least on this kind of level) was a performer so entirely bored by an audience that was excited to see them. It’s fair to say that the weird stage presence wasn’t going to be there twenty years later, but it didn't even appear that the band wanted to be there. The riffs have not aged well either, but maybe that's many years of poor copies reincorporated by the late 80’s scene. Instead of being the 13th Floor Elevators, Butthole Surfers turned out to be more of a ZZ Top.

Andrew Murdock Livingston

A few weeks ago TV On The Radio announced they were going on hiatus, but Kyp Malone must have been out of earshot and avoiding any form of media... and living in a cave. Indeed, the soft-spoken, bearded impresario has always been the aloof space-cadet figure in the band: his rhythm guitar keeps a pulse that we barely hear over David Sitek’s textured lead lines and wind chimes. Kyp’s huge beard and glasses have given him a distinct look which has turned him unwillingly into something of a Brooklyn legend on photoblogs like Last Night’s Party, while his solo shows played between band breaks past with nothing but his Gibson and a loop pedal. Kyp’s unique playing and singing styles have posed a challenge for sound guys at TVOTR shows before, too, as his voice ranges from back up falsetto harmonies on the songs Tunde sings, to the guttural croon and rapid-fire poetry he spits on the songs he sings lead on.

Yet all these quirks and eccentricities are what allow Kyp to craft a signature sound both in the group and on his own. Rain Machine’s self-titled debut is Kyp’s solo project in every way, full of hypnotic arpeggios, slowly progressive rhythms and Bowie-esque multi-tracked vocals. Rain Machine’s live show finds Kyp recruiting a five-member band to fill these rhythms out, amplifying the bliss-induced pious urgency you feel at a TVOTR gig by providing steady, looping accompaniment for the wide ranges his voice can reach. Rain Machine largely forgoes the industrial, jazzy sounds of Kyp’s other band, instead building slow psychedelic prayers in the vein of the classic “vagabond” frontman, like Neil Young or Jerry Garcia.

This night at The Bell House was special, the first date of Kyp’s tour in his hometown at a venue he had never been to. Kyp described walking to the venue from the subway, through the warehouses and industrial atmosphere surrounding the place. “It’s all connected,” he said with a wry smile, aware of his position as the master of ceremonies in an area one would normally never expect to find live music. It was a brief moment of relaxation for a guy clearly on edge from the excitement of the evening, but also indicative of the whole mood of Kyp’s music - taking “the sacred”, like the psychic idea of inter-connectivity, and transforming it into “the profane”, like walking under a highway and past a Lowes store to get there – as well as the humor and profundity that make up a Rain Machine show. When Kyp performed a solo tune in the middle of his set, providing a break for his band and creating what might have been the most intimate moment of the evening, it came as no surprise that the song was called “Holy Shit”.

Admittedly the songs lose much of the one-to-one intimacy of their recorded form, but the communal splendor they gain in a live setting more than makes up for this. Kyp’s voice sounded crystal clear, thanks to the restraint from the lead guitarist, while the bassist and drummer captivated the audience on tunes like set opener “Leave The Lights on” and “Hold You Holy”. Subtly filling out the spectrum of sounds provided by Kyp's voice, the female backing vocal of the electric pianist gave the songs an impish sense of vulnerability that made the build-ups toward louder moments have even more of an emotive punch.

The album’s last tune and the set closer, “Winter Song” brought both the pensive and rocking sides of Rain Machine full circle, as the pianist switched to banjo before accompanying Kyp alone with his guitar and falsetto. By the end of this 11 minute epic, the whole band had joined in for a polyrhythmic noodling session, leaving the crowd in awe at the tightness of Rain Machine live and cementing Kyp Malone's reputation as an old soul making new music.

Words by Justin Joffe, Photo by Myisha Fujii

Stand clear and make space for Deerhoof, New York. The nearly empty main room during last week’s Circulatory System show at Bleecker Street’s swanky Le Poisson Rouge transformed itself into a crowded, general-admission rock concert for this sold-out Deerhoof gig. Yet again we were watching the San Francisco band play in front of acid-collage artist Martha Colburn’s heady visuals, something we haven’t seen accompany the ‘Hoof since their tour in support of 2005’s epic The Runners Four. But much has changed since that show four years ago. The Deerhoof gig back then felt more like a gallery show or an art project, part of which had to do with the dense, lyrical sprawl of that then-new album. Their old second guitarist, the heavily textured but precise Chris Cohen, added to this feeling as well.

Fast forward a year after that show and Cohen has left the band to pursue his own project, The Curtains. We caught the ‘Hoof again that year in an opening slot for The Flaming Lips, to discover the band had soldiered on as a three-piece, sounding a bit more stripped down but no less dynamic. They filled out the sound at Boston’s gargantuan Bank of America Pavilion quite well, even premiering some new tunes from Friend Opportunity, which wouldn’t be released until early the following year.

So maybe this new, edgy vibe we got at Tuesday’s Deerhoof show had to do with the fact that they are a quartet once more. The addition of guitarist Ed Rodriguez to the band has provided a perfect second guitar pulse to the band, psychedelically responding to singer Satomi Matsuzaki’s rapid-fire, throbbing bass and her impish, wispy, deceptively innocent voice too.

Those last two things syncing - her voice, his guitar - are of paramount importance. Matsuzaki’s lyrical punctuations have met a guitarist to complement her perfectly in Rodriguez. He is the one largely responsible for the “heavier” sounds on the latest album, Offend Maggie, a fantastic journey through both the poppier and more experimental sides of the group. What’s more, the songs don’t find them needing to speed up or play faster so much as just relax and settle into a groove. What we got on stage that night was evidence of how tight these guys have gotten as a band, and proof of how dense that groove can get while still sounding distinctively like Deerhoof.

But wait, Offend Maggie came out last October? That was almost a year ago, and the ‘Hoof have already toured the country and even Europe in support of the album. What brings them back to New York? Those pesky, fish-and-chips-hawking lads of The Flaming Lips again, as it were (they have an album coming out soon and it’s righteous.) See, the Lips got selected to host the latest stateside All Tomorrow’s Parties festival, and this gig was a warm-up to the September 11-13 festival in the Catskills. As the host of the festival picks the lineup, Deerhoof were almost guaranteed a spot. Since the ‘Hoof had rehearsed for the festival, us club goers who couldn’t make ATP still got a taste of the badass set list the band had prepared.

Deerhoof’s hour-fifteen-long set was stuffed with gems from all of their albums since 1999’s Holdypaws. Highlights included Matsuzaki’s skills with a glow-in-the-dark basketball during Maggie’s “Basket Ball Get Your Groove Back” and a cover of Ramones’s tune “Pinhead”, which turned into a perfect expression of Deerhoof’s love for their audience. Drummer and band founder Greg Saunier further thanked us for being a supportive audience, and reminded us that the audience is often what pushes a band to play their best.

The stripped down but nonetheless danceable version of ”Milking” off 2004’s Milkman was pure pop bliss; of course, calling Flaming Lips drummer Kliph Scurlock up from the audience to guest on drums, letting Rodriguez switch to bass and putting Saunier on guitar didn’t hurt the groove much either. Matsuzaki was the master of ceremonies, and she couldn’t seem more excited to be there. The whole event was a celebration of collaboration and finding your proper footing as a band. Deerhoof have evolved again, to the point of such skill and tightness that their sound can hop from album to album and never miss a beat. And if the new song they premiered, “I Did Crimes For You”, is any indication, the ‘Hoof will only stomp harder from here on out.

Words by Justin Joffe, Picture by Nick Maestri

At what point does artistic integrity cross the line into wasting everyone's $20?

That was what it seemed like many people were asking Sunday night at one of the biggest events in recent memory at ISSUE Project Room - the arrival of the mysterious Jandek. There were a good number of avant garde luminaries present, from Okkyung Lee, Aki Onda, to the well-respected openers Ryan Sawyer, C. Spencer Yeh, and Nate Wooley (as the Ryan Sawyer, C. Spencer Yeh, Nate Wooley Trio, naturally). The crowd was sizable, and after the opening set, a combination of free jazz drumming, microtonal trumpeting, and Yeh's trademark guttural growls and hisses, Jandek, who had been lurking around the scene here and there, made his way towards the mic.

Jandek's companions for this set were the aforementioned drummer, Ryan Sawyer, Susan Alcorn on slide guitar, and the cloaked Shahzad Ismaily on bass. As with typical New York crowds, many were sitting chatting, and it took several bars for everyone to settle down and take notice of Jandek, as he had been calmly playing the harmonica. As with many other "super groups" that have worked live gigs with Jandek, the ensemble here added subdued coloring as Jandek was given ample time and space to set the evening's tone. Things started promisingly, as Jandek slowly pulled from his instrument and spoke into the microphone, saying he wasn't able to come home, and that "I've lost all the money... and I've killed a man." For this, he says, he has to go to Sacremento. This ominous couplet, typical of the more straightforward, aggressive Jandek lyricism of late, was to be the last thing Jandek said for a very, very long time.

Much of the evening was given to long jams between Jandek and his band. On this first piece, the formula of loud and fast, and spare and quiet, created a great context for Jandek's words. When he finished this first piece, he stood still, and let the music dissolve into the darkness of the Canning Factory's courtyard. Yet, for the rest of the evening, there was only playing, and no speaking. Personally, Jandek's rock out was inspiring, as there genuinely seemed to be a give and take between the band, and there was, for Jandek at least, a joy in working with such esteemed artists. Sawyer delivered a great amount of ferocity and precision in his playing. The venerable Alcorn was a master of her instument, picking out microscopic lines while retaining the twangy grandeur of her instrument. Ismaily was a revelation, as he was both the most in tune with what Jandek "needed" and because his bass was not so much about melody or rhythm, but about pulses that drowned everything, cleared everything, creating shapes.

Amongst these talented instrumentalists, Jandek held his own. While these jams were not particularly thrilling at all times, given the two power outages that killed much of the show's momentum, they were distinct. Jandek has somewhat limited technique, partly playing partial chords, other times barre chords with his special tuning. However, he can pick out motives, direct the band with his density, and force others to change direction with his personal energy. If there was a complaint, it was not with the quality of the music, but the volume. The band simply tested the crowd's patience too long.

It is hard to tell how many people in the crowd were true, longtime Jandek fans, and it is hard to tell what they expected. Suffice to say, what has made Jandek a mystery, and what has been his central appeal, has been his words. For decades, poetry and loneliness have been communicated to the world from an undisclosed location. Now that the secret is out, people have expectations. What most certainly was not to be expected was an almost wordless set. For a man that has several vocal-only releases, it seems much of the crowd was disappointed that the man didn't come to speak. People sadly, almost ashamed, slowly filed out of the courtyard during the set, and, from the stage, the bustling crowd moved from anticipation to simple loyalty to a legend. That the band maintained energy is either evidence of disinterest in the crowd, or an act of musical professionalism.

Finally, Jandek came to play. He stuck to what he wanted to do, as he seems to always do. The crowd, perhaps, wished for compromise. In the future, perhaps Jandek will give the crowd a little of himself. He can play for the Hell of it anytime.

Review by Paul Banks

"Electro-clash" is an odd pseudo genre, liberally applied to any music that incorporates a significant amount of electronic noise with either a more band-oriented or live focused aesthetic. Of course like most labels, it is also a largely meaningless and alienating term, almost putting the musically curious at more of a distance from understanding the artist's sound than they would be just letting the music speak for itself. Yet the genre tag is still not entirely without precedent, and this recent double bill featuring recent Fat-Possum signees Crocodiles and Toronto analog-ravers Holy Fuck showcased two bands that both receive shade under the vague "electro-clash" umbrella.

The increasing number of electronic shows at seminal Cambridge rock club The Middle East has been suggesting that this is a growing trend, yet this dynamic double bill with both a new, blogged to death group and a slightly more road-tested, certified bunch of party starters left Junkmedia convinced that the electronic rock show might not just be a new fad.

Kicking off the show was a set from a band that The Weekly Dig recently showcased in their local music issue, Hooray For Earth. The last time we saw these guys they were at Harper's Ferry in Allston, opening up for Deer Tick. And though in Allston their layered organ noises and anthemic choruses sounded a whole lot more like what The Dig would file as 'space rock,' Hooray For Earth still held it down on that tiny stage through that tiny PA at The Middle East Upstairs. Their presence at the show was, if anything, an early indication of the quality of these bands. Even though Hooray For Earth are still up-and-coming, still finding their sound, the Dopamine Records band even being on the bill was something of a stamp of quality that spoke in advance for the showmanship of the groups they were opening for.

That being said, both headliners delivered great sets, albeit in their own unique ways. Crocodiles have been dividing people to love 'em or hate 'em since they began earning attention, and maybe this has something to do with their set-up. Tackling the guitar noise-pop shuffle sound as just a duo, Charles Rowell and Brandon Welchez take the drum machine and guitar shtick that early Echo and the Bunnymen were all about, name themselves after a later Echo record and throw in some California sunshine pop melodies before burying them under feedback. After all, they are from San Diego.

Though it's a simple set-up, Crocodiles work together because of their chemistry, not their aesthetic. When Welchez wasn't kneeling down at his programming boxes, churning out ambient tones that some speculated were intentionally "brown noise" to rile the audience up and make us uncomfortable, he was quite the entertaining singer, wearing Dylanesque shades and pushing the palms of his hands together above his head while doing a swimming, goofy guru dance. As entertaining and captivating to watch as this was, of course there are going to be a few haters in the blogosphere, frustrated at their own inability to peg the unique pastiche characteristics of Crocodiles and their quirky antics to a single time or place. But Junkmedia were not among those bloggers and skeptics. We really dug these guys, who were certainly more of a rock group than they were an electro act – sequencers and beat machines be damned.

Holy Fuck, meanwhile, are on the complete flip side of the 'electronica' coin. Having a drummer and a bassist, along with two keyboardists who also use kitchen sink effects and electronics (like a circuit-bent 35 mm film synchronizer and toy guns that make noise), they are thrilling to watch as a band entirely electronic that manages to build the progressive washing tone of their songs solely through analog means. In an age of auto-tune, when any douche with a laptop and sampling software can drop ecstasy, buy a hi-lighter neon American Apparel headband and call himself a mash-up artist, these guys manage to do it right. Choice of instruments aside, it was remarkable to dig how prog these guys were - in seeking to create an electronic soundscape through purely real, physical instruments, Holy Fuck have constructed a set of tunes that each build to a climax or explosion. And though much electronica functions in the same manner, the sheer scope and ingenuity of the devices they use to make it happen is really something to behold. Holy fuck, indeed.

--Photo of Holy Fuck by James Mejia.

--Review by Justin Joffe.

Peaches may have faced a sold out show at the Paradise Rock Club but still managed to call the crowd to order with a militaristic opening, complete with search lights and her backup band, known as The Herms, in glittery camouflage S&M uniforms. The searchlights stopped after they found the 40-plus Peaches marching across the stage wearing a sexy camouflage mask and a fluffy pink outfit that would put the plump Violet Beauregarde to shame. Once on top of a giant speaker the mask flew off to reveal a renewed Peaches (she manages to reinvent herself more often than Madonna) and heavy bass vibrations that inspire the gay and lesbian love fest prevalent at her shows. Their bomb outfits and the smell of vagina graciously covered the shitty acoustics of the Paradise. This shock factor is only furthered by the fact that Peaches was formerly an elementary school music teacher and plays nearly all of the instruments on her self- produced albums.

Peaches began climbing through the crowd, onto the risers and railings while singing "Shake Yer Dix" a song of the 2003 album Fatherfucker that got the entire crowd moving: "Shake yer dix, shake yer dix, shake yer dix!...Are the motherfuckers ready for the fatherfckers?! Are the fatherfuckers ready for the motherfuckers?!" Even this writer/photographer began swinging his lens around. This is not uncommon for Peaches as the blurring of gender distinction is prevalent in her music; a way of bending gender issues. In fact Peaches has performed wearing a beard as depicted on Fatherfucker. The next song "Kick It" (featuring Iggy Pop) began with a Stooges-esque breakdown on guitar before Peaches once more took to the stage, only this time she was dressed in a bathrobe and Erykah Badu-style towel, claiming that all the sexy heat led her to take a cold shower. It was only fitting that Peaches should strip down once more to a jumpsuit wherein she performed something of a laser light show, stroking her light saber to the lyrics "Seems you got a little more than you asked for." With every stroke of the blade Peaches's guitarist bent a note or two.

The room truly began spinning once Peaches kicked off the last leg of her show with "Boys Wanna Be her" (Impeach My Bush, 2006) and Peaches stripped down even further, ending up in a bikini. She was always sure to reach out to the audience, reminding the nosebleeds, "Just 'cause you're in the pits doesn't mean you got the shits" and congratulating the recent college graduates. Next Peaches introduced the audience to her "best friends" – two hairy beings resembling Cousin It from The Adams Family who began dancing onstage alongside her while she spun what resembled anal beads around her neck in a hula fashion. The audience was promptly inspired to remove their shirts and spin them above their heads in a similar fashion while chanting with Peaches "Come on, let's set it off!"

The show began to draw to a close when Peaches's guitarist adorned a blonde wig for the song featuring Iggy Pop, "Rockshow." It might not have been the same as hearing Iggy's 2003 release Skull Ring/Rockshow but the guitarist managed to sing his part rather well. And of course the show could not truly draw to a close without more off of the 2000 album The Teaches of Peaches and an encore for the seminal Peaches song, featured in Lost in Translation, "Fuck the Pain Away." Suddenly crotches were swinging again while the keytar began glowing to "Suckin' on my titties like you wanted me, calling me all the time…What else is in the teaches of Peaches." Adorning a cape, Peaches joined us one final time for another encore for "Lovertits" during which she took a swig of a beer and began convulsing and holding her stomach before spewing fake blood in Gene Simmons fashion onto the entire audience.

--Photo and Review by Mark Gottlieb.

Recently at Harper’s Ferry, Junkmedia watched John McCauley lead the denizens of Deer Tick through a fiery set composed equally of instant classics from first LP War Elephant and new album to be released in June, Born on Flag Day. Frankly, it was a religious experience. And not because of any hype or expectations that followed the band into Allston that evening, but due to a workmanlike performance which oddly enough suggested Deer Tick are some transcendent, rustic New England reincarnation of The Dead or something.

Allow us to explain. The extent to which McCauley is rooted in the folk/grunge scenes of New England is staggering. A friend of yours in Cambridge has probably jammed with him before. Some of them might even made some field recordings with McCauley. His dedication to remain an everyman came across in all the witty banter, including but not limited to talk about shrimping, as McCauley told all the women in high heels, “Ladies, don’t step in any shit. I wanna suck your toes later.” This band has played with Jana Hunter toured with Elvis Perkins. A current opening spot on the Jenny Lewis tour assures Deer Tick are ready for their moment to rock. It’s refreshing to hear an old soul write lyrics this wholly badass.

But what of the new tunes? How do they hold up against those on War Elephant? Amazingly well, the way the second Wolf Parade record expanded on the sound they made on the first while no longer sounding like they were all individual members in a group trying to get their songs on the record. This new DT album still has the singer/ songwriter quality as War Elephant, but the riffs are bigger, sadder, and more conducive to making hips move. New song “Straight into a Storm” begins with a super-sized Zep homage to “Whole Lotta Love” before turning into a rockabilly bluegrass number. You can see how these parallels to The Dead are apt.

Even the spirit of how Robert Hunter and Jerry Garcia wrote songs together is alive in Deer Tick’s repertoire. A great example is “These Old Shoes,” one of the best tunes on War Elephant that was given a new depth of soul when McCauley’s old friend, songwriting partner, (whose name eludes us), became the lyricist of that song,. But important to remember is that the guy also led the band through a rousing cover of Notorious B.I.G.’s “Juicy”. Between that cover and the cover of “La Bamba” fused with “Twist and Shout,” we remain convinced that Deer Tick’s dexterity as a well-oiled, rockabilly touring machine will keep them in working order for a long time coming.

--Review by Justin Joffe.

--Photo by Mark Gottlieb.

It seems like yesterday that progressive rock band Moe, took a yearlong hiatus during which they considered calling it quits. Luckily for the band's thousands of fans, ranging from Deadheads to rock and roll freaks, the band chose to come back. Throughout Moe's career, which has moved through three separate decades and produced 17 albums, they have been labeled as one of the most influential jam bands of their generation – touring with bands like the Allman Brothers, Phish, and even The Who.

The band's time away has not stunted their growth. Like fine wine, they appear to be aging with grace and class. However, on this day, the Calvin Theater was not packed to capacity, and this had an overall effect on the show. Moe often draws a diverse crowd, and a Sunday show may have detoured older fans who had to work the next day from attending. If there was any energy lacking in the room, the band made up for it with their engaging stage presence and earth rattling grooves.

Colorful lights rippled through the crowd and accompanied the shifts in sound almost perfectly. The audience seemed to enjoy the three white circles in the backdrop which created psychedelic swirls of color. Moe has always been known for their mind-captivating lighting shows, which on this night were enhanced even more by the acoustics of the Calvin Theater.

As the show began, there was no question that the small, but rowdy crowd was ready. Glow sticks in hands and dancing shoes on – this was going to be a night to remember for the Moe faithful. Moe opened with "Understand" and later transitioned into "All roads lead to home." The stage remained dark and gloomy throughout "Understand," but then lit up like a Christmas tree during "All roads lead to home," a crowd-engaging sing-along with a country edge.

During the set, numbers like "St. Augustine" showed off the band's vocal range, as well as their uncanny ability to work off of each other throughout. The second set featured Moe's ear worm of a single "Cathedral" off of their most recent album Sticks and Stones. "Cathedral" is one of those songs that seeps into your subconscious, and shows itself that the most inopportune times, most likely leaving you somewhat embarrassed. You know the feeling.

The second set also included larger-than-life numbers like "Lost Along the Way" and "Rebubula" – much to the liking of the crowd.

These two beauties were where the show peaked. Every Moe fan has his or her favorite song, but these two get the best reception at shows – as they should. The band's encore started out with banter as most Moe shows do – announcing birthdays and acknowledging the diehard fans who follow the band everywhere they go. The band finished the show with the remainder of "Atikimbo" which they had started previously during the first set, leaving to a standing ovation.

After the show the streets were filled with adrenaline and testosterone. Most fans were looking for some type of aftershow. Too bad it was a Sunday!

Moe is currently involved in many side projects, which is usually a red flag that a band's career is coming to an end. Though this was definitely not the most electric show that this reviewer has seen, Moe has proven to be consistent and always worth the money.

--Daniel Thompson.

Ladytron's performance at The House of Blues was tame, disappointing audience members who expected them to close the show rather than open for dance-punk band The Faint. Instead Ladytron got a slow start, opening their set with "Black Cat" and "Runway" both off of their 2008 album Velocifero. It was not until the band started approaching their earlier records that the show picked up pace with "High Rise" and their pop anthem "Seventeen."

Helen Marnie and Mira Aroyo's vocals were washed out by the heavy beat and the band relied on lighting gimmicks rather than dancing and interacting with the audience, let alone one another. Ladytron's only saving grace was when they played to their strengths, enlisting airy, ethereal sounds from keyboards and synthesizers over the pervasive heavy breaks and beats of drums as seen from seminal shoegazers such as My Bloody Valentine. In fact the band has since replaced their drum machine with an actual drummer but this did not save Arayo from missing a beat and consequently slowing the band down in "Mutron." This was of course sad since the song is a classic opening track off their 2001 debut album 604.

The audience's nostalgia was only further crushed when the backup vocals became barely audible, proving that Ladytron's place is in the studio as opposed to the stage. Getting it together would be difficult for the rest of the show until they renewed the crowd with "Playgirl" and made appropriate use of acoustic drums. They also succeeded in balancing their dance/runway songs with more serious ones, as demonstrated in the dark lyrics of "International Dateline": Untied & weightless / unconscious as we cross / the international dateline / let's end it here.

Ladytron again returned to their droning, industrial form with the set's closer "Destroy Everything You Touch" which was interrupted by acoustic drums but otherwise proved to be a cleanly executed song, helping the audience members move their feet a little. Ladytron might have come from a great tradition of music, originating from Liverpool, England and used to taking the stage first when they headline shows with The Faint, but their disappointing slow-burning sounds can only begin to build up to the all-out dance party that is The Faint.

The show was stolen with the incredible stage presence of Omaha, Nebraska's The Faint, inspired by raves from the audience when front man Todd Fink began dancing like a wild man, swinging his mic cord in all directions and dancing next to fellow band members. His snarky cranked-up attitude would continue throughout the show, making it seem like he might collapse at any moment. Meanwhile keyboardist Jacob Thiele and bassist Joel Petersen helped to balance out Fink's wildness while Clark Baechle demonstrated to Ladytrron fans what it means to be a good drummer in an electro band. The Faint do not dish-out traditional techno-inspired beats like other electro bands; their funky, raw-boned riffs release an incredible amount of energy; their beat is not flat like Ladytron's.

Immediately audience members knew what it meant for an electro band to straddle both the studio and stage by nearly having their eardrums ripped out amongst an epileptic light show. And even though the Faint's seminal album may be Danse Macabre, they made a risky decision that proved fruitful by deciding to self-produce their latest release Fascination on their label blank.wav. Excessive light gimmicks and stage presence aside, The Faint continue to aid in the establishment of electronic music as legitimate by presenting themselves as a psychedelic force in the electro community. Their live performance proves that one is best able to experience music in person rather than listening to records or watching music videos. The electronic music frenzy may have originated in England but it has certainly come into its own in the States.

--Photo and review by Mark Gottlieb.

More photos here.