Hidden Track Staff

Our good friend and longtime long-winded scribe Neddy has been reviewing each night of Marco Benevento‘s Sullivan Hall residency. Here’s the latest…

I won’t go into crazy note-by-note detail (at least I’ll try not to), but Thursday was more of the same…which is to say completely different than the first two nights of the residency. The line-up had a “can’t miss” quality to it with Stanton Moore on the drums and Marc Friedman on bass. (Marco will complete The Slip Trifecta on 1/31 when Andrew Barr gets behind the kit). The crowd returned, although I think it might have been a slightly different crowd. There were definitely some expectations in Sullivan Hall, and I’m not sure they were met. In fact, in perfect form, when everyone leaned in, foreseeing things going one way, Benevento went in quite the opposite direction.

All Photos by Greg Aiello

For one thing, for the first time this month, you could actually say that songs were being played. If you wanted to, you could probably sit down and write an actual setlist…at least for the 1st set. There was an “Atari” and a “The Real Morning Party” off of his new album, Invisible Baby, as well as the oft-played cover of the Zombies’ “She’s Not There.” Yes, the songs were there, in neatly contained packages, but those packages were like eggs in a carton: thin and fragile, easily broken into runny, messy things.

The unexpected thing was that when things got out of the shell, they did not tend toward the funky not at all. You’d think, by sheer presence alone, that Stanton would will the music into a dance-happy groove-fest. Rather, the opposite path was taken. So when “The Real Morning Party” — a tune that’s got an inherent, addictive funkiness to it — split open, it oozed into something much more slow, cerebral and simmering. I personally thought it was a fantastic romp, but the crowd seemed amped for a different kind of show. Read on…

Lead Belly was born on January 23 1888, or January 20 1889, or maybe some other day sometime in the late 19th century. Here’s a possible 120th birthday wish from Resident Curmudgeon Chuck Myers and his total bastardness…

I like to think of myself as musically omnipotent. I know music, I know it well, and I certainly know more about it than you. I mean, c’mon. You probably don’t even know that Jim Steinman, the man behind Paradise by the Dashboard Light and Total Eclipse of the Hear, was responsible for those annoying Sisters of Mercy goth anthems like This Corrosion. When it comes to self-righteous rock snobbery, I could beat you with my left ear tied behind my back.

Alas, last year I learned that I’m ignorant. I learned that I’m flawed. I learned that my musical omnipotence is more like impotence.

I’ve always heard people talk about Lead Belly, but I’ve dismissed them as wannabe snobs who are trying to impress those of us who know music. So what if Kurt Cobain said that Lead Belly was his favorite? Kurt was probably just trying to score points with that chick from Hole so she’d sit on his cock. And yeah, Led Zeppelin’s Gallow’s Pole was (ahem) borrowed from Lead Belly’s Gallis Pole, but Zeppelin borrowed stuff from pretty much everybody. Read on for more…

Our Thursday dog-walkers Rupert & Stan are back, and they’re gettin’ dirty…

Since we started throwing around a few ideas for bachelor parties last week, it seems like a good time to talk about one of the great attributes of many a song, particularly the jamband kind: the happy ending. Whether you are a fan of the “costs an extra twenty bucks” kind or the “she finds out it was a bet, gets angry, never wants to see him again, but he really does like her now, and they eventually make up and kiss” kind, everybody loves a happy ending.

Numerous bands have used this technique in their song structures, whereby the songs typically progress through a series of varied sections, often with some strictly composed parts, building tension throughout, and ultimately releasing into a climactic conclusion. These earlier sections are often brilliant and more musically complex than the “happy ending,” but it’s the finale that really brings the wide reaching grins, woohoos, fist pumps, and high fives.

These are songs that end with a release via towering jams or other special treats. We’d be lying if we didn’t admit that we’ve been known to fast forward straight to these happy endings from time to time. In fact, most weeknights you can probably find one of our fat asses listening to one of these while romping along on some poor treadmill.

So without further ado, read on after the jump for some of our favorites, including some Imeemage for your listening enjoyment as we go along…

You may be well familiar with the bands featured in this section, but Some Dude from Hits from the Blog wants to ensure there’s No Jambandfan Left Behind…

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, but [insert random singer-songwriter’s name here] is the new Bob Dylan. I swear!

How many times have you seen or heard that weighty comparison thrown around for any number of wordy songsmiths? It’s a lofty and mostly unfair expectation to live up to, considering the profound impact on music of the former Mr. Robert Zimmerman. Who else could have come up with such nuggets like “Jewels and binoculars hang from the head of a mule” or “The sun’s not yellow, it’s chicken” and a) be taken seriously and b) have said lines dissected with a fine-toothed comb, or at the very least a giant Jewfro-pick.

That’s not to say that there aren’t some fine, fine singer-songwriters out there that at the very least are the next Gordon Lightfoot (Canada’s Bob Dylan – Anyone? Anyone? Is this thing on?). While it would be too easy to go with indie-rock pin-up boy Connor Oberst (Bright Eyes for those of you scoring at home), I’ll dig a little deeper. So read on after the jump with me and let’s take a look at someone else that I think deserves your attention: Elvis Perkins.

The Mars Volta brought its rolling ball of wild energy, wicked improvisation and hyphenated names to New York’s newest big venue last night, and our main man Danfun headed to the west side for the band’s 150-minute nonstop spectacular.

Dan reports: “The show was fucking great. It had everything I look for in a show. It was loud, high energy and fucking heavy. The band played for close to 2.5 hours without stopping. These guys just blow me a way every time I see them. The setlist featured both old and new songs, but the theme of the night seemed to be that the band was sick of people saying ‘Why don’t you make your first two records over and over again?’ I can’t wait until they tour again great time.”

So read on after the jump for some more amazing photos from Danfun…

Our friend and oft-contributor Neddy celebrated his birthday at Sullivan Hall on Thursday night with good friends and great music, and he’s lived to tell…

If you sit down at a blank canvas and paint everything but a bowl full of fruit, fill in the spaces around the still life but never the apples and oranges themselves…well in some way, then, you in fact have painted those things at the same time you were doing the opposite. Confusing, sure, but that’s was the way I was hearing things Thursday night back at Sullivan Hall.

All Photos by Greg Aiello

Marco Benevento & Friends (two different friends than the previous Thursday) worked in some weird inverted musical space, managing their way around songs and styles and themes, and in the process ended up revealing those things…and a bit more. Which is all a fancy way of saying that the show was next-level sickness. In fact, I’ve seen Benevento play at least 12 times in wildly varying formats over the past 15 months, and Thursday night may have been the most exciting, invigorating and mind-bending of them all.

With Brad Barr on guitar and Duo partner Joe Russo on drums, Marco traced around some of the best music you’ll ever hear. The show was an inverted form of the 1st night of the five-show residency, which was wildly free-form beeps and whirrs that occasionally found its click-point and grooved a bit. This time the band would find its whacked-out-willie weirdness but would always settle back down into some seriously jamming, major-key, all-accessible ass-kicking. Read on…

Take a bunch of rabid music fans, throw them on a luxury cruiseliner, sail ’em out to the jurisdiction-less “international waters” and pack the boat with about 30 bands and individual musicians — now I don’t usually recommend beating yourself about the face, neck, chest, breast and head, but if you can’t have fun on that five-day excursion, you might as well begin knocking yourself unconscious.

And such is Jam Cruise, the weeklong vacation-slash-concert now in its sixth year. The MSC Lirica departed from Ft. Lauderdale on January 4th and docked in Honduras and Cozumel along the way; and, in between, the boat played host to countless concerts, sit-ins, super-jams and seafaring spunions. The artist list featured notables like Warren Haynes and moe.’s Al Schnier, Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings, the Funky Meters and Toots & the Maytals, Galactic and Soulive, Perpetual Groove and New Monsoon, Michael Franti & Spearhead, Karl Denson, Robert Walter, Steve Kimock, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals, Lotus and more.

Oh, and hey, that guy in the green shirt at the kit looks familiar. I doubt anyone chatted up Jon Fishman (of the Johnny B. Fishman Jazz Ensemble, I’m told) at the pool that week. So take a trip with us as we look back at Jam Cruise 6, told through the photographic stylings of the gifted and talented Dave Vann. Read on after the jump for a full gallery, as well as videos and downloads from the boat…

Resident Curmudgeon Chuck Myers is back, and he’s returned with a special message for one of the brightest jewels in the Queen’s sac…

Happy birthday, Jimmy Page. I mean that sincerely, because you’re one of the greatest guitar players to ever bless the world of rock music. Sure, back when I was 19 and living in L.A. and striving to be in one of those bands like CoxxRokkitt or Pussykatt Sleaze or Stüpïdfüxx, I lost sight of your brilliance due to a myopic obsession with douchebags named Yngwie or Joe. But I found my way back. I am your prodigal son, Jimmy, and your sloppy-ass fretwork showed me the way home.

The problem is, I learned a lot when I was out wandering through the dark world of bad metal. For instance, I learned that the best players in the world can speak volumes through just a couple of notes, but the guys who sound like a coked-out bumblebee usually contribute nothing to a song. I learned that you don’t need leather trousers or big hair to be larger than life. I learned that all the posturing and props and pointy guitars can’t mask the arrhythmic heartbeat of a soulless band.

And I learned that guitar solos are evil.

Now, let’s be clear about something. I’m not talking about a short break in the middle of a song. Those are generally stupid and pointless, but they’re rarely evil. I’m talking about the 15- or 20-minute interlude, where everyone in the band walks backstage and has a smoke or eats a Tofurkey sandwich. Everyone, that is, except for the guitarist, who stands beneath a single blue spotlight and wows the audience with his technical proficiency and his (cough) soulful chops. Read on…

Face it, hipsters: Nothing beats the peak of a red-hot jam. But many of the jambands left on the scene just don’t do it for Some Dude of Hits from the Blog, so he’s here to coach us on which bands we should turn to for greatness…

Let’s face it, folks, the jamband scene is dead and decomposing. The Fat Man isn’t walking through that door; pre-hiatus Big Red isn’t walking through that door. The bands left in the wake of the once-thriving scene of the late ’90s/early aughts have either hit their ceiling, called it quits or are currently cashing in as glorified cover bands. So as we all wait for the next big thing to violently shake up the scene and make it relevant again, it’s time to broaden our horizons.

While some have resorted to labeling bands “post jam” — sorry, I almost threw up in my mouth after typing that — to sugarcoat it, I’m here to tell you there is no such thing (apologies, Mr. Greenhaus). For something to be post-anything it has have been influenced by its predecessor, and I doubt the members of bands like Wilco and My Morning Jacket were slinging veggie burritos and selling homemade blown glass out of a 1987 Chevy Shitbox in the Phish tour lot.

There are, however, exciting bands out there that should appeal to those of us rooted in classic rock and improvised jamming, groups that have opted to jump head-first into the indie-rock pool like the two mentioned above. So without any further posturing, I’d like to introduce you to the musical stylings of Portland’s own Blitzen Trapper. Read on for less lecturing and more music…