The Anger Management Tour
@
Tacoma Dome
November 13, 2000
Tacoma, WA

Links:
Limp Bizkit
Eminem
Papa Roach
Xzibit

Okay, I would have looked ridiculous sporting all that, and the first time I called something "whack" they would have seen through my disguise and been disgusted by my pointless attempt to hide that I was, essentially, "Dad." I tried to connect. Really, I did. But I just didn't have anything in common with the trio of twelve-year old girls popping up and down in front of me as they sang along with Eminem. "If you don't like my shit, you can suck my dick." You know, I can't even be bothered to remember how this exchange played itself out in the sixth grade school yard.

I don't want to get off on a sociological rant here, but what exactly does all of this have to offer? An exhortation to "slap bitches" and "do it all for the nookie," and a near Tourette's-ian insistence on using "fuck" as a measure of one's credibility as an alienated youth of America. Sure, maybe I just don't get it. After all, my choices for outlets of my youth rage and crises of misunderstanding were Mötley Crüe and Loverboy (white boy hip-knocking bass line aside, "Turn Me Loose" is never going to be remembered as a rallying cry for the disenfranchised). Look, Eminem is just a white boy from Detroit who has a penchant for running at the mouth in triple time over Dr. Dre's inspired blunt-smoking beats, and Limp Bizkit is to the musical exploration of rage as crushing the empty can against your forehead after shotgunning the beer is to modes of expressing deep pathos. I saw more anger management watching Henry Rollins' Session at 54th Street on PBS the night before.

So why did I go? I'm still wondering myself. Maybe it was an attempt to find out what is flipping the switch of the next generation; maybe it was an attempt to retouch those formative early teen years; maybe I was just out to get a gander at the audience which queued up that first week to get Limp Bizkit's latest opus (all one million-plus of them). Is this the extent of youthful insurrection? There was a nasty taste in my throat the next morning, a bitter taste reminiscent of the collegiate walk of shame. This is the mutiny of the Gentry of the Ego--the self-obsessed, corporate-branded individual who believes that rebellion is spelled "fuck you" and that freedom of expression can be summarily demonstrated in a simple grab and tug of the crotch. The 16th century English philosopher Hobbes summed up human existence as being "nasty, brutish, and short." He got that right. The indelible tragedy is that some are consciously wasting their short time limping with the Bizkit.

-Mark Teppo
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Blue Rodeo
@
The Mercury Lounge
November 16, 2000
New York, NY

Links:
Blue Rodeo

The Mercury Lounge is set up so that the band has to push their way all the way from the back of the crowd to reach the stage. As they squeeze single file through the packed audience, most of which gratefully acknowledge their passage, Jim Cuddy trails at the end, pausing to recognize and kiss a female fan on the cheek and greet people he recognizes as he heads toward his rightful position in the spotlight. The woman, like a lot of the fans here tonight, has probably seen Blue Rodeo many times before. The woman, like a lot of the fans here tonight, is probably also from Canada, where the band enjoys a huge following. In fact, the place is downright lousy with Canadians. This becomes terribly evident as a good portion of the crowd leaps in enthusiastically to sing along with the rollicking opening number, "What Am I Doing Here." The song epitomizes a good portion of the Blue Rodeo sound: Equal parts Dylan, The Byrds and The Band, with a solid pop twist for good measure. Cuddy and Keelor's voices intermingle perfectly amidst the warm, rootsy swells of accordian, harmonica and acoustic guitars. But the charismatic Cuddy, it becomes clear, does most of the talking for the group, amiably correcting the soundman after the first number: "It's like a Fellini film up here--the accordion is just a-rippin' us."

Standing side by side, it's hard to imagine that these two men, who must be in their early forties, are the same age. (They first met in high school.) I remember the first time I heard Blue Rodeo's music. Fittingly it was on a lonesome stretch of Canadian highway and it was Cuddy's angelic, emotional voice that initially drew me in. I was driving by myself to Ottawa on a bitterly cold November day in 1995. About 30 minutes after crossing the Canada-New York State border, I was the lone sign of life on a flat stretch of road bordered by the low, piney scrub of the northern wilderness.

I fussed with the radio, trying to find some companionship when I stumbled upon one of the most singular and affecting listening experiences I have ever had. At the time, I was still wallowing in my perversely indie, punk and generally obscure pretensions. What came from the speakers, however, was undeniably country music--but it was also something else you couldn't put a finger on. It certainly wasn't the shitty pop music with a cowboy hat that Nashville was producing. It was strangely and tragically beautiful--the sound of one man singing at his own funeral. The song, "Blew It Again" (from 1995's Nowhere to Here), was a lonesome little number with a plaintive country strum and slight, rustic accents of piano, countrified electric guitar and pedal steel.

But it was Cuddy's voice that really got me--like the best of torch singers he squeezed every drop of anguish from those pipes. He sounded to me like a Gram Parsons who could really sing, who didn't need Emmylou Harris harmonizing with him to completely wreck your heart. Nevertheless, at the Mercury Lounge show I turned my allegiance toward Greg Keelor and his Elvis Costello growl. Cuddy is a dynamic performer with an amazing voice, even wowing the fans with his amazing blue-eyed soul chops on the dynamic "Try." But, whether it be through my own age (an old man at 31 now) or fickleness, Keelor won me over with his unassuming presence and gorgeous, worn balladry.

I had never seen the Rodeo live before, so the leap from that private listening experience to the fully realized live band was significant. I didn't expect certain songs to break out into psychedelic-tinged guitar solos; I didn't expect gritty barroom rock thrown into a pot with pop, country and folk rock. The men behind Cuddy and Keelor are a remarkable group of musicians--comparisons to The Band (who all, with the exception of Levon Helm, happen to be Canadian) are well deserved. Like that legendary group, the Rodeo are all essential pieces of an amazing whole, with each member able to take on many roles and switch up when necessary. At one point, drummer Glenn Milchem even came out to play lead guitar. The members have changed here and there in the fifteen or so years since the band's inception, but they seemed to have settled into a fairly definitive lineup. (Their most recent addition, pedal steel player/multi-instrumentalist Bob Egan, played with Wilco on their Being There tour.)

The band played a rousing set at the Mercury on this, the second of a two-night stand. The sound was like cozying up to a warm fire on a cold November night. It was clear that Blue Rodeo, who are used to playing five-thousand seat arenas and larger in their native Canada, love what they're doing, and they do it with cheer and finesse. This was not a band slumming in the small back room of this small club on NYC's Lower East Side.

In an age where a lot of groups try to act cynical or aloof while not even having the courtesy of being talented (or intelligent), it was great to see these kings of the road pour everything out in this small, smoke-filled back room. Blue Rodeo will probably never gain more than critical success in the U.S. but that's okay--you get the sense that these guys feel lucky just to have the opportunity to make this music. And they have maintained their vision while a couple of trendy roots/Americana movements have come and gone. (Cowpunk and, later, the alt-country/No Depression movement of the '90s come immediately to mind.)

The band finished off the night with the song "Lost Together" from their 1992 album of the same title, and this could serve as an anthem. Just imagine these guys, far from their native Ontario countryside and loved ones, leaving New York in the rear-view mirror the next morning as they head toward Chicago and then who knows where. The last echoes of the night before contain Greg Keelor's voice, rising defiantly and euphorically, Cuddy's clear tones sailing with him: "Standing before this faceless crowd, I wonder why I bother... / And if we're lost, then we are lost together!"

-Erik Hage
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Double Veteran/Zuni Fetish
@
Johnny's Rocking Bistro
November 17, 2000
Casselberry, FL

Links:
Double Veteran e-mail

Double Veteran merged with Beneath to form a newer, harder-hitting Double Veteran. Gone is the dorky frontman and the few not-so-good members. Double Veteran now has the singer from Beneath and he has changed his stage demeanor for the better: Negative Approach-looking baldness and anger enhanced with eerie glow-in-the-dark contact lenses and a set of pipes that Lucifer would lust after. The twin guitar attack is so incredible...it will leave you breathless. Two guitar studs with bullet belts and fleet fingers. The young, overly-energetic bass player kicked ass all night, thumping out riffs that made your table rock. The drums were absolutely hellishly perfect. The sound: Ungodly Florida death metal with loads of brutality. Imagine the offspring of Dying Fetus and Morbid Angel...it may come close, but add in a little angel dust for speed and set them loose.

I pity the band that followed that maelstrom, but I knew they couldn't compete, so I left happy and fulfilled. Yep, for once in my life I was right, I knew these kids had something special. Now if only a label will run around Volusia County to find these morbid metallers. Fans of Decapitated and Dying Fetus will ooze for Double Veteran. They ran out of bumper stickers...that's the sign of greatness.

-Sabrina Haines
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Murder City Devils/At the Drive-In
@
The Showbox
November 14, 2000
Seattle, WA

Links:
Murder City Devils

Opening up with "Arcarsenal"--the first cut off their latest, Relationship of Command--the band lived up to every live expectation that has been thrown at them. Hell, they even had the entire Showbox floor up and jumping which, if you live in Seattle, is a rare sight among its "I'm too cool to let it all hang out so I'll just bob my head slightly" hipster denizens. Guitarist Omar (whose afro makes Macy Gray's look like a crew cut) struggled furiously in a love/hate relationship with his guitar while Cedric shook and shouted like a revivalist preacher possessed by spirits. Back and forth over their catalog, through songs like "One Armed Scissor," "Napoleon Solo" and "Pattern Against User" the band burned with a fiery-hot mix that hinted at Fugazi, Rage Against the Machine and the Motor City 5, but was a sound entirely their own.

Hometown heroes The Murder City Devils, who are good friends with ATDI, headlined the show. MCD have always known how to treat an audience, and tonight was no disappointment. Surrounded by banners of switchblades and several dozen burning candles, the band came on and launched into a furious version of "It's in My Heart," off their Die Young Stay Pretty self-titled release. Dan Galucci's open-mouthed devilish grin and Elvis-like swagger set the mood as the band tore through the likes of "Broken Glass," "Johnny Thunders," "Press Gang" and the set's initial closer, "Murder City Riot."

Between gushing about their respect and love for At the Drive-In and Leslie Hardy smacking her organ in an attempt to get a stuck key from droning, the only other between-song banter had singer Spencer Moody asking the crowd to respect each other by not stage diving, which culminated in roadie Gabe literally picking up a would-be diver off his feet to carry him offstage.

The Devils have always been a band to pull off an intense live show. With their latest, "In Name and Blood," they've begun to further themselves as writers and musicians, cementing their place as a band to watch in the coming years. Mixing strong songs with the boom swagger boom of their live shows, MCD have concocted a volatile potion--one that everyone should pay attention to.

-Craig Young
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vidnaObmana/Steve Roach/Jeffrey Fayman
@
The Old Church
November 9, 2000
Portland, OR

Links:
vidnaObmana
Steve Roach

Witnessing ambient music in a live setting kind of defeats the whole purpose of the genre and Obmana realizes the practical impossibility of making a hundred and twenty minutes of whooshing drones engaging. Within three minutes of enveloping us in the atmosphere of his music, he drops in a beat loop (nearly giving me a heart attack in the process) and skillfully uses the inclusion of such loops around his wordless cries, the fluttering tones of his wooden flutes, and the clattering percussion of his myriad of organic rattles. Steve Roach, making a rare appearance outside of his Arizona haunts, becomes the counterpoint to Obmana's structures as they engage in a proto-historical ambient jam. Anchored by Fayman's taut hand-drumming, an otherwise exhausting exercise of maintaining focus in a dreamscape of drones and tones is elevated into an unforgettable excursion into the possibilities of organic music stretched beyond the limits of Western compositional structures.

"Amidst this dearth of noises, the first sounds that man drew from a pieced reed or stretched string were regarded with amazement as new and marvelous things. Primitive races attributed sound to the gods...and so was born the concept of sound as a thing in itself, distinct and independent of life, and the result was music, a fantastic world superimposed on the real one..." (Letter from Luigi Russolo to Futurist composer Balilla Pratella where he posited a theory on the "Art of Noises")

-Mark Teppo
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Terrastock IV
@
The Showbox
November 3-5, 2000
Seattle, WA

Links:
Terrastock

That's right, and unless you're a die-hard of the psychedelic music scene or of Ptolemaic Terrascope magazine (you would most likely, then, be both), you probably wouldn't know this. Nor would you know that the others have been held in Rhode Island in 1997, San Francisco in 1998 and London in 1999.

Luckily, we folks in Seattle have been enlightened by hosting Terrastock 2000, a yearly psychedelic rock music festival that raises money for the Terrascope and which this year consisted of some 30-plus bands in a span of three days, attended by some 1800 people. More of the well-known acts, most of which hailed from the U.S. or U.K., included ex-Velvet Underground drummer Moe Tucker, Wellwater Conspiracy and headliners The Bevis Frond. Local appearances included the "Sonic Youth at their most experimental" Kinski, and the young, lunar, floating brilliance of Voyager One. Other national acts on the bill were The Minus 5, Ghost (from Japan), Bardo Pond, The Alchemists and The Monkeywrench. But no worries if you haven't heard of some, most, or any of these acts, as a large purpose of the Terrastock Festivals is to showcase the music featured in the Terrascope, which itself strives to "champion the unheralded, shed light on the deserving and punch through to the eclectic underbelly of rock, folk and psychedelia." The underground publication, started in 1989, is based in rural England.

What sets Terrastock apart from other music festivals, besides the genre of the music itself, is the quality and intensity of the music that comes instantly across as pure and passionate. You have to consider that most of these folks are actually here to play and perform (a lot of festival bands do one or the other and seldom both). Selling out the house is not a top priority, as one, it is a benefit to raise money for the Terrascope, and two, most of these bands don't (yet) have the fanbase to do so. So what you get is a large group of like-minded individuals sharing their talents, not competing, and feeding these talents to an audience that is actually present to hear and feel this expression of unadulterated creativity.

If you didn't get the chance to make it this year, make sure not to miss next year. Terrastock, is by far, more than a festival. It is an experience...an experience in sound, sight, and of the senses. It is, ultimately, an experience in that alternate space between heaven and earth that we use to call music.

-Edna Gonzalez
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