Beatbox Soapbox: Meg Lee Chin & Jared Louche
@
The Fenix Underground
November 10, 1999
Seattle, WA

The Beatbox Soapbox premise is this: spend a little time talking about the songs, interact with the audience about the songs before you do them. It's about connecting with your audience and not just blowing through the setlist like this is the 14th Kiss revival tour. Jared and Meg both did about four songs apiece, engaging the audience during the interim chatter and freely leaving the stage to move about the room during their numbers. Jared even had a little fun with a portable light during the massive breakdown in his cover of "In Every Dreamhome a Heartache," weaving through the audience and running the light over everyone's head, leaving a luminous trail in his wake like a caterpillar on acid.

Afterward, it's an hour of hanging with the audience. It's a relaxed coffeehouse atmosphere (over half the shows are done in record stores and the like) that clearly breaks down the barrier between artist and audience. It's a great way to attach a face and personality to an artist, to make your investment in their music more personal. And it makes every show fresh and unique because of the extent of the audience involvement. Where else could you go and get to partake in a rousing cheer of "Earpollution sucks!" as part of the onstage entertainment? No wait, don't answer that. [And in a breakdown of modern technology, I ran out of tape before that moment, so there isn't a .wav file for you to download. Too bad too, since eP's Jeff and Steve and I were yelling louder than anyone else.]

The Beatbox Soapbox is a great idea. It's a great way to hear new music in a very intimate atmosphere (did I mention the show was free?) and discover some of the motivation and progression that pushes these artists into their creative states. Nobody operates in a void and this is a fantastic way to part the veils separating audience from artist and allow transmission between the two.

-Mark Teppo
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Links:
Bryan Ferry

Ferry has always personified elegance and style and this evening is no exception. After several introductory numbers by the harp player and the string quartet, he strides onto the stage as if it were his living room and his leather pant/white shirt/black tux jacket combo were his bathrobe. (If you're not comfortable in your bathrobe in your living room, then substitute some other garb and chamber. You get the picture.) He and the band drop through three tracks from his latest release, As Time Goes By, before dishing up a deliciously exact version of "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes." He then begins the alternating game, trading off between delightful cover songs and sinfully elegant Roxy Music re-creations before getting out of the way of the band for a hot little instrumental number. He glides back and commandeers the piano for a tastefully lean rendition of "The Only Face" and then sweeps into the latter half of his set, teasing us with "Love is a Drug," "Jealous Guy," and "Falling in Love Again." He returns to a standing ovation for the title track of his new album and rock solid versions of "Let's Stick Together" and "Do the Strand."

Ferry has been crooning his way into our heart for over twenty years and, this evening, showed no sign of ever wanting to give it up. Flashing the trademark smile that would melt the sternest of ice at forty yards, he seemed fluid, at ease, and at the top of his game. Not to mention like he was having a wonderful time. Whether he is doing old standards or his own stellar material, Ferry brings a graceful and refined timelessness to the stage, a performance that reminds us all why we fell in love with singers in the first place.

-Mark Teppo
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Dot Allison
@
ARO.space
November 20, 1999
Seattle, WA

-Craig Young
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Links:
On The Boards

I got sucked in because Ryoji Ikeda and Toru Yamanaka are responsible for the music. Some of the audience will argue that "music" isn't the word I should use to describe the aural assault catapulted on us for the duration of the show. There was a sign posted near the entrance to the theater alerting patrons to the availability of earplugs because some of the tones were a wee bit high and a wee bit low. Just before they opened the doors, a nice fellow reiterated the availability of earplugs. Most of the people snagged a pair of the cheap plugs--more for novelty's sake than from any real rush to use them--as they wound their way into the theater. The plugs were a conversation piece, a little something to discuss with your neighbor while you waited for the show to start.

The first colon-splitting basso rumble had everyone diving for their purses and pockets. And then the sine waves started pinging. The first piece, ":Edge," introduced everyone to the glitch minimalism and deep reverb dub that Ikeda and Yamanka are known for. You could hear the audience gasping for breath in the empty echoes of the rumbles, struggling to retain their seats as the strobes kicked in with brilliant spots of illumination. (This was nothing. Later acid jazz interludes were split by cracks of white noise while a single fellow posed on stage for us in the split seconds of illumination. Now that was a shocking marriage of sound and light.)

I'm making it sound scarier than it was. It is actually a phenomenal experience. It's not your granddaddy's music, nor his recollection of dance. It is an expressive examination of life and death at and past the moment of dissolution. As the liner notes posit: "It is about the state of 'white out,' like in the blizzard, where you are deprived of the ability to see, where you can't recognize anything, where you don't know where you stand any more, where you may not know whether you are alive or dead." I was reminded of John Cage's discussion of "4' 33". The audience and the theater are an integral part of the show. In the darkness and the silence which punctuated portions of the show, [OR] was still in session. We were still in that state of unknowing. Those moments of nothingness weren't empty, but rather full of echoes, echoes of what we had just seen or heard, echoes of our reactions, echoes of us being alive.

The climax is a full bore visual assault as the three screens that make up the backdrop of the stage start playing video recorded from the front hood of a speeding car. The car starts moving faster and faster, the road streaming by at an impossible rate. The music keeps pace, the metronomic tones sharpening and climbing, the heartbeat rumble of the low end starting to hurt your chest. It goes faster, starting to break up, the images begin to spark and twist with their own interpolations and the music begins to stream together, earlier beats and rhythms intruding, until everything is moving too fast. And then it goes faster.

Even though the performers de-intoxicate us with a restful creation of a summer beach, you are still suffering from acceleration trauma when you leave. Your skin is tingling and your breath is tight in your chest. Your mind takes in and archives more information than you can consciously process all the time. Dumb Type strives to open your ability to process information through an active overload of the buffers in your brain. If the unconscious can't keep up, then the overflow hits the conscious mind. At that instant, borders are moved and you are pushed beyond your mortal perceptions and forced to consider larger possibilities.

-Mark Teppo
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Links:
Floater (Official site)
In the Shadow of What's Real (fan site)

Needless to say I made it, and I was glad I did. This was, admittedly, not my first Floater show. I have made my way to various West Coast cities and towns over the last 3 years to witness the ever-evolving beast that Floater unleash onto the audience. I attended many of those dates alone. This night I was meeting up with some old-time friends, and some new ones. It was an unusual occurrence to be seeing one of my favorite bands surrounded by so many friends.

The Ballroom, by my estimation, contained about 2000 fans...quite a draw for any underground band. It's an authentic ballroom, with fine wood carved decorations, and various wall paintings. It seems like it was probably used back in the '40s '50s and '60s, closed in the '70s or '80s, and re-opened by Portland club owners in the '90s. Down the middle of the floor, a twin porta-rail partition corridor separated the youngsters from the drinking crowd. In addition to two bars on the main floor (one of those a soft drink bar on the all-ages side), The Crystal has an upstairs balcony/bar reserved for the 21+. All in all, a great place to have a mixed-ages event.

As obscure samples and movie score music signaled the imminent beginning, I again was reminded of the high energy displayed by the Floater crowd. They knew they were in for a great performance, and they greeted it eagerly with a throbbing mass and a numbing pit that began before the music even started. After 10 minutes of finishing touches, the fog rolled in, and the stage was immediately rushed. The lights dim, the fog thick, Floater appear on stage like three ghosts suddenly fitting and fiddling with their instruments: Dave Amador on guitar, Pete Cornett on drums, and Rob Wynia on bass.

Never the talkative types, they begin this set like most others: letting the music speak for them almost exclusively. Mellow and confident, they approach the beginning of "Invitation" with modest enthusiasm, as if making certain the first taste will set the tone right. The song seems to be the perfect choice, mingling the three instruments together little by little until the wall of sound overtakes you. Floater's sound is quite large for a three-piece, and is driven by Wynia's melodic bass riffs. His inventiveness on the four-string, and his engaging Eastern-tinged vocals combine to display an amazing talent to behold. Carving up the bottom end is Cornett's tribal drumming, which at times makes one do many double takes to seek out what would seem to warrant a third flying arm. Wrapping strange noises and crunchy textures around Cornett and Wynia's romp is the deft Amador, who is as zealous a guitarist as I have ever seen. His strength for accentuation is a perfect fit with the bass work, which assumes more of a guitar role.

Often accompanied by a strange film, the beginning of this set is recognizable, but changed. The focus of the "side show" this time would be low-key light effects building momentum with each song. By the time "The Sad Ballad of Danny Boy" arrives, the stage lights are on full attack. And rightly so. This is by far the band's most popular song, and few sights are as amazing as 2000 shoving fans screaming each and every word.

Included in the 18-song set were three new songs, seemingly being honed live for future projects. This was a special treat, as the last album with new material was early 1998's Angels in the Flesh and Devils in the Bone. Many of Floater's songs continue to be works in progress, as attested by numerous extended endings and jams, so it's of high interest to hear new tunes in their relatively early stages.

Another amazing night, and Floater did not disappoint. For me, it was again worth the trek down, and much thanks to Mike for putting me up for the night afterward.

Do yourself a favor and catch them when they play Seattle's Sit & Spin on December 10th.

-Al Cordray
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Heather Duby
@
ARO.space
November 24, 1999
Seattle, WA

In recent interviews, Heather has said that the mental space in which the album was written is not the space she inhabits now; she's got a much brighter outlook, and this bubbly effervescence rolled off the stage this evening as she and her six piece band roared through the vocal tracks off Post to Wire. The dark mood of "Kensington Place," for example, is stood on its head by the addition of a stuttering drum 'n' bass loop beneath the lyrics that become cries of transformation rather than whispered admonitions. She has an excellent vocal presence that is hinted at on the album, but is really allowed to stretch and fill a room with these new arrangements of her songs. Sharper, shinier, tighter, and more adjectives could follow--but you probably get the point. This woman's got talent, talent barely scratched on her first album.

As I'm wandering towards the back of the crowd, I pass Reggie Watts (reigning voice of Maktub) in the crowd. He's got his head down and his eyes closed, totally blissed out by the music. One great voice lost in another.

-Mark Teppo
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Pete Krebs
@
Gordon Biersch Brewery
November 18, 1999
Seattle, WA

Links:
Pete Krebs

Krebs is a working musician, and between shows with his backing band, Gossamer Wings, you can usually find him playing solo engagements in various pubs around Seattle. A self-proclaimed alt-country fan, his commitment to the craft shows in the aesthetic quality of his songs. The songs drift into the space where folk meets stripped down pop; where irony and wit are distilled into the essence of heartfelt longing. Sitting upon a stool and wrapped in the darkened shadows of the bar's small corner stage, Krebs defiantly strummed and sang; oblivious to the clatter and chatter of the rest of the bar, embracing the attentive with songs from his recent release, Bittersweet Valentine, and his album with Gossamer Wings, Sweet Ona Rose--both available on Cavity Search Records. Krebs' two sets went by quickly but the memory of his songs linger sweetly on. Gordon Biersch has been hosting an ongoing number of free performances by local first-rate solo musicians like Pete Krebs, next time, show up and bring a friend. These kind of intimate appearences deserve not only your attention, but that of everyone else in the bar as well.

-Craig Young
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Links:
Slipknot

It is true. Like every well-lubed band, Slipknot's live show is not just as powerful as the record, it is 100x the expected craziness. The stage is their element. It is where the whole concept of the band comes together, and swipes you across the face like a grizzly paw. This was the second time I've seen them and I was no less amazed.

The rainy evening started off trying to locate Slipknot's manager Danny so that I could interview "1" (Joey). Evidently the drum tech had fallen extremely ill and Danny would be spending the evening at a local hospital taking care of that. Despite several negotiations to prove my legitimacy as a writer for this magazine and a guest on a list that no one had, the evening went swimmingly, including a set by Slipknot that I thought was for sure going to destroy DV8.

Slipknot was the second band in the lineup and to be quite honest, I had and have no interest in the other bands on the bill. But for the sake of information, Dope opened for Slipknot who opened for Coal Chamber. So I arrive at this, and I swear I will get to the live show after this statement: after listening to and seeing Slipknot, no other metal band could possibly matter.

Misters "0," "1," "2," "3," "4," "5," "6," "7" and "8" took the stage, beat the shit out of their instruments, themselves, and mainly the spectators. These guys are as relentless musically as they are visually. This show they donned the black coveralls instead of red, although I preferred the red and plowed flawlessly through a set that included most of the album's tracks.

Appropriately opening with "(sic)," the synchronized bouncing and bobbing of nine freaks seemed tight enough to have been choreographed by Paula Abdul. Throughout the schizophrenic bopping about, they mangled us with, among others, "Eyeless," "Wait & Bleed," "Tattered & Torn," "Purity," "Surfacing" and "Spit It Out." But the evening's real kick in the crotch was the album closer, "Scissors" and the hidden track from their recent release. During these ten-odd minutes, the answer to "why nine people?" gets a big fat answer. The sampler, DJ and two additional drummers make major contributions to the whole show, but these last minutes of the show become almost surreal with scratching horror and steel drum madness in concert with the visual presence.

It seems like Slipknot is a ticking timebomb ready to go off at anytime which would make me believe that they won't be around for long. I hope for music's sake that I'm wrong, but in the event that I'm right, for your sake get out and see them.

-Jeff Ashley
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