If Toronto natives The Wooden Sky were fazed by their first-ever Los Angeles gig, on a night when Michael Emerson — Lost‘s Ben Linus — drove intently through the pouring rain on Sunset Blvd. just blocks from the Hotel Cafe, they sure didn’t show it. (On that note, I pity the driver who cuts dude off.) Instead, the band played a short, loud set drawn mostly from their latest release, If You Don’t Come Home You’ll Know I’m Gone, turning up the volume in the intimate songwriters’ bastion. Catch them while they’re cramped — The Wooden Sky deserve bigger spaces, and I doubt they’ll take long to get them.
Here’s the thing, folks. John Mayer, Tweeter, Jennifer Aniston dater, paparazzi-chased funnyman, and today, journalist-ass-rape-threatener — should probably stop trying to convince America that he’s as sensitive as, say, his pal Taylor Swift. His public persona is completely at odds with the music he makes, which is ostensibly heartfelt singer-songwriter AAA radio fodder. To be successful as an artist (key word) in this genre, you need to create at least a veneer of realism; John doesn’t need to be Joni Mitchell here, but if you’re playing acoustic guitar and singing a sad song, you have to make us feel something.
“Who Says,” his most abhorrent effort yet, attempts to garner sympathy for a lifestyle which he clearly, flagrantly, enjoys in real life. When he sings, “Who says I can’t get stoned,” he might as well say, “Who says I can’t get young women to pay me money to pretend I’m sensitive for three minutes?” Or, “Who says I can’t have sex with Jennifer Aniston?” Nobody, John! Nobody is telling you this — except probably Jen. At least Adam Duritz seemed seriously depressed about dating her back in the day. Which brings us to this: Does John Mayer, self-satisfied smart-ass, honestly believe he’s making art here? Or is it all an elaborate, extremely profitable ruse? I wonder if he even knows anymore.
You wouldn’t know it from the best-of-decade lists flying around these days, but alt.country remains alive and well. The genre’s latest vital release (and Canada’s latest display of domination in any genre involving acoustic guitars) is The Wooden Sky’s If I Don’t Come Home You’ll Know I’m Gone, a collection of dusty barroom anthems and lovelorn hymnals with instant appeal. It’s a workmanlike, emotive album, guided by the sure hand of producer Howard Bilerman (Ravens & Chimes, Arcade Fire) — and one fans of Nelson’s poor-selling sad songs and waltzes won’t want to miss. The band plays the Hotel Cafe tonight in Los Angeles at 7 p.m.
The Wooden Sky – “Oh My God (It Still Means A Lot To Me)”:mp3
Ah, the glory days. When Largo was on Fairfax, sarcastic singer-songwriters had a shot at the mainstream, and Aimee Mann was just entering her artistic prime. Enjoy the memories.
I’m all for dramas. Deep characters, sensual camera work, period dress — all worthwhile pursuits. But for my money, there’s nothing more satisfying at the cinema than a movie with a healthy appetite for the absurd — and Zombieland is ravenous. The latest entry into the burgeoning horror-comedy genre, Zombieland never slides into the schlock or B-grade self-parody of, say, Lesbian Vampire Killers or Zombie Strippers. Instead, it’s an American answer to Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg’s brilliant Shaun of the Dead, a keen comedy with hordes of the undead as backdrop. Read the rest of this entry »
Just in time for Halloween, Spoon has released an interesting outtake for us — the a cappella version of Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga‘s strangest song, “The Ghost Of You Lingers.” Hearing the faded vocals reverberate without that drilling piano demonstrates how deceptively simple the song is, but leaves it no less haunting. Rumor still has it that Spoon’s next LP (hopefully including those Jon Brion sessions) will be released in 2010.
You wouldn’t know it from the best-of-decade lists flying around these days, but alt.country remains alive and well. The genre’s latest vital release (and Canada’s latest display of domination in any genre involving acoustic guitars) is The Wooden Sky’s If I Don’t Come Home You’ll Know I’m Gone, a collection of dusty barroom anthems and lovelorn hymnals with instant appeal. It’s a workmanlike, emotive album, guided by the sure hand of producer Howard Bilerman (Ravens & Chimes, Arcade Fire) — and one fans of Nelson’s poor-selling sad songs and waltzes won’t want to miss. The band plays the Hotel Cafe tonight in Los Angeles at 7 p.m.
Ah, the glory days. When Largo was on Fairfax, sarcastic singer-songwriters had a shot at the mainstream, and Aimee Mann was just entering her artistic prime. Enjoy the memories.
