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Wilco "I'm as nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs," said Wilco lead singer Jeff Tweedy, taking the stage at Wilco's Los Angeles debut show. Wilco used to be the much-loved Uncle Tupelo, a country-punk trio that put out a few edgy, dark records before imploding last year after the departure of co-lead singer/lyricist Jay Farrar. Tweedy and several members of Uncle Tupelo's touring band regrouped as Wilco, a more laid-back and countrified version of UT. Much of Wilco's material is smart, punchy country rock--imagine a bluesier, less mainstream Soul Asylum, or, say, the Meat Puppets minus the irony. Without the punky alternative sheen of UT, Wilco are essentially a country band from Illinois, something overly hip, trend-happy LA does not respond well to. That Wilco opened with Uncle Tupelo's signature song, "We've Been Had," may have been a strange choice for a band trying to establish themselves in unfamiliar territory as their own act, but it instantly won over the crowd, many of whom were there to see what Uncle Tupelo, Part Two had to say for themselves. With their sometimes overly simple melodies and a sound straight from '70s AM radio, the five-piece Wilco may not be the careful, intricate musical craftsmen that Uncle Tupelo were, but they are UT's easy equal live. While a UT show could often be a tense, bleak outing (the members of UT, who clearly didn't like each other, rarely spoke to each other OR to the audience), Wilco turned out over two hours of bluesy, Creedence-like rock & roll with grace, good humor and unflagging energy. While not exactly overly bursting with charisma, there's a low-key charm to Wilco, especially Tweedy, who overcame his initial nervousness to such an extent that, after a while, he even started taking requests: a version of "Passenger Side," (which, on their debut, "A.M.," sounds like an inspired Grand Funk Railroad outtake), went over so well that, when someone in the audience yelled "Play it again!", they did, this time as a mock country stomp. Only a request for Camper Van Beethoven's "Take the Skinheads Bowling" went unheeded: "Uh, I don't think I know that one," said Tweedy. Wilco ran through most of "A.M.," as well as several Uncle Tupelo numbers ("The Long Cut," "Give Back the Key to My Heart") and a dusted-off cover of "Honeybee," an old country standard so obscure that even Wilco didn't remember where it came from. They even played a song from the Soul Asylum/Jayhawks sort-of-supergroup Golden Smog, with Golden Smog member Dave Pirner looking on approvingly from the balcony. Tweedy opened the encore--which, clocking in at over an hour, lasted almost as long as the show--with an acoustic mini-set that went on a few numbers too long, killing some momentum along the way. But not enough to prove fatal. "This sure is nice," said Tweedy, surveying the packed house. "We just played to thirty people in Tulsa. We counted. All our shows should be as easy as this one." --Xulybet
The Verve There are bands that are great on CD, but suck live (like, say, many DJ acts -- sorry, two turntables and a microphone rarely makes for a scintillating "show"). Then there are other acts that are so amazing live that their performance convinces you to go out and shell out mucho sheckels for their product. Then there are still other bands where it doesn't much matter whether you're sitting in your living room listening to the CD or standing in a smokey room crowded with goofballs watching them perform -- they sound exactly the same. The Verve would be one of those bands. Okay, Richard Ashcroft's voice sounds great live. And he is kind of compelling in a boney, big-lipped Brit kinda way, but he's not exactly a master showman. He keeps his between-song banter to a minimum, and he doesn't do much but sing and wave his arms around a bit. But compared to the rest of the band, this boy is PT Barnum. The other five guys on-stage did not seem to interact with Ashcroft or each other at all. Their disconnection was disconcerting, but truthfully, it didn't effect the sound at all. The Verve opened with a couple songs from their previous record, Northern Soul, but the crowd got really happy when they played their latest single, "The Drugs Don't Work." (Strangely, according to folks who'd seen the Verve in years past when Ashcroft's allegedly prolific drug use was at its peak, the drugs do work for him.) In the UK version of the single the line reads, "They just make me worse," instead of the US version that Ashcroft delivered: "They just make you worse." Some say the band was a bit more animated in years past. But if their stage presence suffers in exchange for the singer's mental and physical health, I suppose that's a fair trade-off. The band led off the encore with "Bittersweet Symphony," the mega-hit that they will make zero dinero from due to an unauthorized sample lifted from a Rolling Stones tune. It was definitely the highlight of the show. They followed that with "History," and closed with the obviously personal, "Lucky Man." As I tottered out of the hall, my feet hurting and lungs full of second-hand smoke, I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. Everything went by the book and it was a perfectly acceptable show, it was just a little dull. Oh well -- Judy McGuire
Vans Warped Tour '98 How do you get 10,699 kids to stay put all day on a dry, dusty field under the blazing sun? Give them what they want, and lots of it. In contrast to several tours that haven't returned after '97's lackluster ticket sales (Lollapalooza, Big Top, Electric Highway), Vans Warped Tour has redoubled its size and scope. This year's incarnation of the skate and music festival includes street and ramp exhibitions by nationally-renowned inline skaters, boarders, and BMXers, as well as motocross jumping. Vendor booths appeal to the short attention span of the festival's mostly under-21 audience, offering video game and guitar demos, fake tattoos, giveaways, and movie screenings. Oh yeah, then there's the music: 24 bands on four stages, playing 30-minute sets with 15-minute overlaps, making it impossible to take it all in, but also guaranteeing nary a dull moment. Among the highlights: A wired Reverend Horton Heat rejoicing in his return to Salt Lake City, "where the women are pretty and the men are ugly as hell." The Rev's rumbling set featured the high-octane classics "Do It One Time," "J.I.M.B.O." (dedicated to the band's brawny stand-up bassist), "Psychobilly Freakout," and "400 Bucks." Parents, forget Marilyn Manson: keep your daughters away from these guys. The New York City hardcore scene flexed both old- and new-school punk muscle as H2O and Civ stirred up the slam-ready crowds. Meanwhile, Hi-Standard, a Japanese power pop outfit, poked fun at the angst-ridden Deftones, whose main stage set drowned out most of Hi-Standard's sidestage performance. "There was heavy metal a minute ago, now it's gone," singer Ken Yokoyama quipped, "Where did it go?" Guttermouth had the unfortunate job of playing to a listless, thinning audience at the end of the day, but still treated die-hards to some fresh, sarcastic agit-punk. Disappointments were few and far between: Less Than Jake seemed to have the right idea -- mixing ska and punk with a healthy dose of humor -- but their antics as clowns and masked crusaders failed to camouflage the band's glaring lack of talent. Ditto Save Ferris. The more purebred ska and swing acts, presumably hired to break up the three-chord monotony, were met with indifference, crowd surfing and moshing. The Pietasters and Cherry Poppin' Daddies appeared to be the only ones who bothered to dress that morning. The other ska band of note, the pseudo-reunited Specials, bored the crowd by plugging their mediocre new material instead of playing the classics. Warped headliners were spread out over the course of the day to keep fans' blood pumping. NOFX took the early shift, enticing most of the show's capacity attendance toward the stage in anticipation. "Hi, Mormons!" singer Fat Mike smirked as they walked on-stage. "I bet your bishop doesn't know about this." The crowd went nuts, singing and slamming along to every song. Relying on bratty, self-deprecating humor and raw, eclectic punk rock, Fat Mike and company blew through crowd favorites "Leave It Alone," "Bob," and "The Brews," as well as a breathless seven-songs-in-four-minutes medley. Rancid filled the middle of the show in the tradition of roots-punk legends The Clash, knocking out a rocking, sloppy set balanced by genuine enthusiasm and camaraderie. Tim Armstrong, whose raspy vocals make him a dead-ringer for Joe Strummer, grabbed the mic for the radio hits "Time Bomb" and "Ruby Soho," while passing on their breakthrough single "Salvation." As daylight waned, the technical difficulties kicked in for Bad Religion, delaying their set by a few minutes. Lead singer and scholar Greg Graffin fidgeted. "I'm not good at jokes, I can barely juggle," he deadpanned. "But I can talk about a lot of lofty subjects." Graffin proceeded to name off the neighboring mountain ranges and almost launched into a lecture on the first vertebrates when guitarist Brian Baker returned with all systems functioning. Bad Religion belted out a string of desperate, politically charged SoCal punk tunes, including classics "Stranger Than Fiction," "21st Century Digital Boy," and "American Jesus," as well as the brand new track "The Biggest Killer In American History." Warped organizers may have relied on the law of strength-in-numbers to carry the show, but in the end, the veteran musicians saved the day. And there wouldn't have been a show without the youthful majority (not discounting the gray-haired man in the "Old's Cool, Punk" shirt), whose prodigious litter and breaches in pit etiquette were forgotten and forgiven soon after the final chords faded.
-- Sam Cannon
Tibetan Freedom Concert To see 50,000 people in one place, at one time and for one single purpose, is indeed quite a spectacle. To see it happen two days in a row is bordering on insanity, but that was the scene over the weekend as people from up and down the west coast migrated to San Francisco's Golden Gate Park for the Tibetan Freedom Concert, the brainchild of Beastie Boy Adam Yauch and Erin Potts, head of the Beasties' non-profit Milarepa Fund. The concert was a two-day "edutainment" benefit to help raise money for Milarepa's mission of increasing awareness about the people of Tibet that have been exiled, raped and murdered by Chinese forces occupying the South Asian country since 1950, all the while being entertained by an eclectic collection of rock, hip-hop and blues bands in what was being billed as the musical event of the summer. The concert, though, failed to live up to the mammoth expectations bequeathed upon it by such an impressive lineup of bands donating their time, though it still surmised enough punch for a couple of entertaining and pleasantly informative afternoons. Kicking off things at noon Saturday, was the resonating, droning hums of the Chaksam-Pa, a group of monks from Southern India, dressed in saffron and deep purple colored robes. The monks greeted a field of curious onlookers from one of the two equally large stages, their chants serving as introductory ceremonial blessings for the afternoon before Folk singer and Woodstock alum Richie Havens officially kicked off the music portion of the day. From there, though, it was obvious that this show wasn't going to be similar in style to other large American concerts, such as Lollapalooza. The two stage setup allowed one band to prepare while the other performed, thus minimizing the wait time between acts. Though a shorter waiting time is appreciated, especially on warmer summer days like Saturday, putting bands on immediately after the other band has finished is not conducive to a pleasant listening experience. Instead, the show felt rushed; intensified by the short, often uninspiring sets some of the bands delivered. Lovably tough Japanese hip-hop/rock duo Cibo Matto delivered a fun, but noisy, collection of their many songs about food, hyping up a crowd that was packed across both stages and extended several times beyond that in length. Those dedicated and brave enough to be tightly packed near the stage rocked away, while those farther back lay on blankets, tossed around the hackey sack or smoked plenty of marijuana. One of the more unique four-band segue-ways in memory followed, beginning with Pavement, who delivered a lazy Saturday afternoon set of slacker-rock tunes including a Velvet Underground cover and an amazing version of Echo & the Bunnymen's "Killing Field." They were followed by seminal hip-hop MC, Biz Markie who injected some energy into an otherwise passive crowd with audience favorites like "Just A Friend" and "Vapors." Dave Grohl engineered one of the most charged performances of the afternoon as the Foo Fighters pounded song after song in a concise, thirty-minute set. And half-retired blues legend John Lee Hooker provided a mesmerizing show, though many people used the down-time to stroll around and refuel with food, further proving the lack of "diversity" in diverse music events. Many speakers were on hand to speak about the situation in Tibet, including Bob Thurman (Uma's father), a Tibetan scholar that urged the crowd to take action and boycott Chinese goods, and Palden Gyatso, who gave a graphic description of the torture he witnessed and experienced while imprisoned by the Chinese government for 33 years. It was embarrassingly obvious, though, that many simply did not care about the cause and wanted to see the bands, as the crowd got restless when speakers were on stage. It was up to Q-Tip of A Tribe Called Quest to revive heads that had been dozing with an inspiring monologue in the middle of the group's superfly set which had them running through their string of hits, as well as a sampling of their upcoming album. They were convincingly the best act of the afternoon. The Smashing Pumpkins came out on stage next, keeping with the short set theme, to perform only a handful of songs, opening with "Bullets With Butterfly Wings" and "Zero," then washing up into a sea of lingering feedback. (They were outdone, however, the next afternoon when Sonic Youth made it to only three songs before drifting into a collage of noise). By the time the Beastie Boys came on, introduced by DJ Hurricane that abruptly interrupting the end of the Pumpkins' set, it was only 5:30 PM, and many began to feel disappointed. Yauch thanked the crowd for coming out and supporting the cause, while the Beasties kicked out a mixed grill of songs from their repertoire ñ including being joined by Biz Markie for "Do It", Q-Tip for "Get It Together" and Chaksam-Pa for "Sabrosa." Before you knew it, the first day was over. No surprise then, that the next day, while still packed, had considerably less of an audience. Sunday's winter-like weather stood in stark contrast to Saturday's heat, and the show began at a half-hour earlier than scheduled, leaving many to miss the bluesy stylings of Buddy Guy and the art-noise of Yoko Ono and Sonic Youth. Possessing all the moxy of even the most confident rapper, Beck, however, dazzled the crowd with his solo set done over pre-programmed beats. Beck, who with his fuzzy sideburns is looking more and more like a lumberjack everyday, was followed by De La Soul, whose set was plagued by audio troubles as they rocked through several songs from Three Feet High And Rising. The Skatalites were Sunday's "John Lee Hooker," gaining no respect from the mostly Deadhead and frat-rock crowd, but providing an intriguing set no less. Only Bjork seemed to hold everyone's attention, shifting from jungle beats to orchestrated tunes in her usual, playful manner. Then came the Fugees, who only made it through two songs because technical difficulties swallowed their time limit. Wyclef's freestyle ad-libbing and surprise dip into the audience were the set's saviors. Rage Against The Machine got the nod for providing the most energy and adrenaline for the weekend, causing one final stir in the mosh pit before the Red Hot Chili Peppers ended the weekend with a brief and fairly uninspiring, anti-climactic performance in front of an increasingly dwindling crowd. Those in the know, however, were smart enough to spend the better part of the afternoon at the other end of the field in the Monastery Tent, indulging in the rich smells of incense and the soothing warmth and mellowness of the hums of Buddhist monks. What can I say, it was a Zen thing. --Jazzbo
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