Standard Fare/Allo Darlin'

'I want to second this. A highlight of the entire run of the blog so far. Like a first-rate magazine survey. (Follow-up topic sometime: influential teachers?)'

Haha, this isn't even a swing or anything, but I don't know, when you're being sarcastic anymore! (Short bursts would suggest yes, but I'm not sure...)

My wife and I ended up in London for a long work-related weekend, but we made some time tonight for a not-so-work-related event, seeing New Order at the O2 (formerly Brixton) Academy, a classic venue in a rough part of town but close to the Brixton Tube Station. We didn’t even know about the show until right before we got on the plane to London yesterday evening, so this was complete serendipity. It turns out the band has reformed for a brief tour of England and we just lucked out. The great news is that Gillian Gilbert is back on stage for the first time in this millennium and boy has she not changed—on those rare moments when she looked up from the keybs tonight, she couldn’t help but break her scowl to smile at the crowd, but otherwise she barely moved.

And Peter Hook is long gone, but that’s not such a bad thing. One less stage hog, and it turns out that anyone who plays simple lead guitar patterns on the high end of a fuzzed up bass sounds just like him, cuz that’s what his replacement (who’s name I didn’t catch) did.

I’d only seen New Order once before, at the Fox Theater in Atlanta around the time of Power, Corruption, and Lies, when they were still more goth than dance. And although the band did grow up, Kris and I went to the show tonight expecting a nostalgia trip. In fact, all objective evidence suggests that that is what we got. The crowd skewed older (but only slightly) and 50:50 female to male. The set list was a tour through their greatest hits. And Bernard looks a little bit Boy George-ish around the middle.

But hey, even if the tunes were familiar, the energy wasn’t faked—in fact, it seemed brand new. Give credit to the new lineup—Bernard was having a lot of fun with Gillian on stage, and having fun in general in a totally sober way. And give credit to the crowd, which didn’t treat this like an oldies show at all—I sensed guarded optimism at first, making the band prove themselves, but they (we) gave in as the intro of “Ceremony” went from jagged and ragged to rolling and swelling. (After which Bernard said “We’re watching your show as much as you are watching ours.”) Let’s face it, dance music isn’t about being tight, it’s about finding the groove, and then taking a full step higher, once-twice-three times a song. And they didn’t fail for one of the 16 songs they played. The “586/Perfect Kiss/Blue Monday/Temptation” sequence left my heart palpitating, the crowd visibly staggered.

And then, they stopped playing. And got called back for an encore, and Bernard said “Hi, we’re Joy Division”. And they proceeded to play “Transmission” and “Love Will Tear Us Apart” like the songs from the front line that they are. I wasn’t there for the real thing, and to hear these songs this one time—not mimicked but resurrected, reinhabited—all I can tell you is I will take those 8 minutes to my grave. “Dance, dance, dance to the radio”, don’t forget, ok?

P.S. I’ve got video of tonight’s entire “Love Will Tear Us Apart” (with crappy sound, cuz it was crazy crazy loud, but who cares?) that I’ll try to post over at Facebook if I can figure out how to do it.

As I believe I've mentioned several times, my father's favorite band is the Doors, one of those bands that I find inherently unsavory (though the best of on Rhino does make me give in).  He did, however, turn me on to Buffalo Springfield and Love.  My mom gave me Carole King and Joni Mitchell.  They're probably also to blame for the Beatles obsession I've had since the age of 5 .  They both were hippie types, and my dad in particular found their teenage son's love of the Smiths and the Pet Shop Boys and XTC and R.E.M. unfathomable (to say nothing of art films and Nabokov).  I once mentioned this to a family friend, who pointed out: "You are the son they raised you to be," which is a poetic way of pointing out the paradoxes that separate parents from their sons and daughters. 

My mom had arm surgery yesterday and is laid up in my brother's condo recuperating.  When she was in the doctor's office she ran into my father's mother, who hadn't seen her in ten years, and was coincidentally there getting cataract surgery.  My grandmother mentioned how she heard the doctors loved my mom, having taught their sons and daughters.  "You've made such a mark in the community," my grandmother reportedly said.  "Everyone loves you and I'm very proud of you."  My stepmother -- a very nice woman -- stood by, looking slightly uncomfortable.  But hey, my mom, like my grandmother, is someone special.

It's nice being the son of someone so appreciated -- an honor.  Love you, Mom.  Grandma, too.  Get better soon.

The discussion of parental musical influence, or otherwise, has been lovely.

I want to second this. A highlight of the entire run of the blog so far. Like a first-rate magazine survey. (Follow-up topic sometime: influential teachers?)

Did want to diverge before I get caught up in other things to toss some notes about recently reviewed and mentioned players.

Lee Renaldo clanging the bells out of the gate.  'Course he keeps his sighs and goodbyes to the past brief (subtext of "Waiting on a Dream"/"Off the Wall" maybe) but mostly he sounds liberated from Sonic Youth. Like the man said, set free to find a new illusion. But it sure feels good in this moment.

Spoek Mathambo kicking in the stall now after multiple listens. Something new under the hot, hot sun, I think -- so the tentative or confused reactions are due to freshness, not mess. Weird thing is, this here, there, and all-things-everywher​e style is very much like what I swear I  heard when I first checked out The Very Best mixtape and then gradually couldn't hear it as much on repeat listenings (and thought it all but disappeared without the many samples on the regular-release debut). It's a style. It has no name. But I think it's a distinct mode.

I find Parson Sound a bit on the historical-interest side myself*, and much prefer a spin-off group, Trad Gros Och Stenar. (*And they remind me of Motorpsycho only in a very general way.)

As to Noir Desir, I recommend the 1994 S/T compilation on Barclay as their nosiest, yelping, grunting, guitar-grinding, screaming, hard-whomping-best-F​rench-drummer-ever release. Although 1989's Veuillez Rendre L'ame is a more "varied" and "well-constructed" album.

Recent Xgau A MINUS day at work.   Played Bruce, Madonna and Standard Fare - all final spins.   I had the Standard Fare at A MINUS weeks ago - but wanted to see how they stacked up.   So, for those who care - Standard Fare, Madonna then Bruce.    Oddly, all three albums have stronger second halves.

Dad:  Born 1929 - 100% Italian-American.  Owns thousands of records.  I heard a lot of Sinatra, Harry James, Basie, Ellington, Kenton growing up.   Now, he likes some Connick, Diana Krall.  Went to see Michael Buble - but was not impressed.   Dad liked WNEW back in the 70's - but always caught me by surprise with the Top 40 songs he would turn up on the radio - 70's Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, Earth,  Wind and Fire, Phil Collins, etc.  There are nearly 40 years between us - so I was always timid about what I would try and play for him.   When I lived at home I remember him liking "Yellow Moon" and some of The White Album but not Sonic Youth or Public Enemy.

Mom:  Born 1940.  Grew up with the radio.  Always played the Top 40 station until she turned 45 or so.  Then, went to the Adult Contemporary station.  Owns no records.  Hasn't mentioned a new song to me in years.   She liked the Michael Buble show more than Dad.