Friday, November 30, 2018

CONCERT REVIEW: The Smashing Pumpkins at The Sylvee, Madison, WI. 11/28/18

Billy Corgan, wearing what appears to be a floor-length leopard-skin smoking jacket. 

A semi-reunited Smashing Pumpkins played a sold-out show on Wednesday night in Madison, Wis. Though some of their music (Siamese Dream, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness) is untouchable, their reputation as a live band is spotty at best. It was with that question on my mind that I went into the show not quite knowing what to expect.

Two songs into the set, and my question was answered.

The band kicked into “Zero,” and as I and 2,500 fans sang along, I got chills down my spine. The chills weren’t for what was going on at that moment but what The Smashing Pumpkins meant to me during my formative years. It was as if I was back in my parents’ basement in 1996, blasting them through the stereo. Billy Corgan may not write good-timin’ tunes, and my teenage years weren’t exactly good times that I’d like to relive. But the fact that I’m here seeing a band live sing songs that I loved (and still love) from 20 years ago is proof that rock music can save lives.

Across 19 songs and two hours, Billy Corgan played it straight. There were no weird arrangements or half-assed renditions. He sang every word like he meant it. The band, who toured basketball arenas this past summer before playing smaller theaters and clubs this winter, sounded like they had been playing together all along, not as if there was an 18-year hiatus. In seeing this version of the Pumpkins, it was apparent what each member brought to the band. Jimmy Chamberlin’s drumming gives the music a sense of velocity and some muscularity. James Iha’s guitar work lends it some atmosphere. And of course, Corgan’s pop sensibilities makes the songs memorable; his riffs and nasal snarl give the music an edge, and the lyrics are the songs’ beating heart.

Though the songs sounded mostly like their album counterparts, the Pumpkins still had some tricks up their sleeves to keep things interesting. Deep cut “Porcelina of the Vast Oceans” featured an absolutely scorching solo from Corgan that stretched the song past the 10-minute mark. On the aforementioned “Zero,” James Iha’s squelchy, Atari 2600-esque leads gave it some extra texture.

A recent interview with the three reunited Pumpkins said that though whatever happened in the past may well be water under the bridge at this point, they still aren’t (and perhaps never were) best buds. This was on display during the show, as it took until the 10th song before it appeared that Billy actually enjoyed playing in a band with James. (He walked over and did that cliche rock n’ roll thing where they kind of dance around each other while they play guitar.) It was a full 90 minutes before Corgan even said anything to the crowd. To his credit, he did warm up after that, but it was clear he is still an aloof weirdo. (The man changed costumes at least three times, for Chirst’s sake.)

Yet, that can all be forgiven because the music was so consistently excellent. The intensity level was there; even the slower songs sounded menacing. I cannot criticize the set list as it took me a couple of days to realize that they didn’t play every single song I wanted them to play. Even “Heavy Metal Machine” from Machina, an odd choice to end the set if ever there was one, gave the band a chance to stretch out and jam. (Was that a snippet of Black Sabbath that I heard? I think it was!)

Was the tour a cynical cash grab or merely fan service? Who cares? (For the record, it is probably both.) The Smashing Pumpkins delivered hit after hit (and some choice deep cuts) to an adoring crowd that sang and screamed along to every word. It was quite obvious that Billy Corgan, James Iha, and Jimmy Chamberlin understood that the music they made together meant a lot of things to a lot of people. The show they performed was worthy of that legacy, and 30 years on, I think both fans and band got what they wanted.

Set list:

Solara*
Zero
Today
Never Let Me Down Again (Depeche Mode cover)
Knights of Malta*
Tonight, Tonight
Dross
Friday I’m In Love (The Cure cover; James Iha vocals)
Disarm
Bullet With Butterfly Wings
Porcelina of the Vast Oceans
Travels*
Cherub Rock
1979
Ava Adore
Heavy Metal Machine

1st Encore
Silvery Sometimes (Ghosts)*
Muzzle

2nd Encore
Siva

*denotes song from new album

BONUS CONTENT: BANTER

(James Iha had just mentioned his Packers fans friends and Wisconsin sports in general)

IHA: So, uh, Billy, do you have anything to say about sports?
CORGAN: (COMPLETE SILENCE)


Billy is a big time Cubs fan, so I’d like to think his silence was because he’s still sore about the Brewers knocking the Cubs out of the playoffs. A “Let’s Go Brewers!” chant would have been amazing at that moment.

Friday, October 19, 2018

CONCERT REVIEW: Foo Fighters at Fiserv Forum, 10/17/18

Foo Fighters would be forgiven if they mailed it in on Wednesday night at a sold-out Fiserv Forum. They were nearing the end of a one-and-a-half year long tour in support of latest album Concrete and Gold. Dave Grohl looked tired and haggard, and as would become apparent as the night wore on, his vocal chords had had enough. But the thing is, they did not mail it in. They delivered a capital-R Rock Show to an adoring crowd.

After working through four new tracks -- which the crowd still ate up every second of -- Grohl insisted they were going to “play a song from every fuckin’ album they’ve ever done.” This was a little white lie, as their self-titled debut was ignored, but that really didn’t matter. Foo Fighters brought along a sturdy collection of alt-rock hits spanning three decades. Whenever you got into Foo Fighters, they had a song for you: “My Hero,” “Learn to Fly,” “Times Like These,” and “Best of You” were all present.

Unbeknownst to me, Foo FIghters like to jam on their songs. It was a neat trick as first -- the song would slow down or instruments would drop out as if the song was over, Grohl would talk to the crowd for a bit before the song would come roaring back -- but they did it on nearly every single song. “Everlong” lends itself to an extended version; I really don’t need to hear six minutes of “The Pretender.”

But the crowd didn’t seem to mind any of this. Dave Grohl implored them to sing along many times, and they obliged. There was gratuitous guitar solos and righteous fist-pumping. A short, spitfire of a woman in front of me was having what looked like a religious experience. Drummer Taylor Hawkins’ drum riser rose up 30 feet in the air so he could perform a solo. At the center of the GA pit, this all swirled around me and I thought it was all…fine? The show kind of bordered on classic-rock cliche and excess (maybe some of it was done with a wink and a nod) -- the 2 ½ hour set could have easily lost an hour and still been excellent. Yet, judging by everyone around me and in the stands, the problem was not with Foo Fighters but with me.

What I did like was how the band genuinely enjoyed playing live and with each other. Several times I caught the aforementioned Hawkins and guitarist Pat Smear grinning from ear to ear, and it was kind of infectious. The band introductions were a highlight for me, as each member got a solo and a cover song. Grohl and Hawkins switched places for a wonderful take on Queen and David Bowie’s “Under Pressure; keyboardist Rami Jaffee took on the Small Faces’ “Stay With Me” and guitarist Chris Shiflett did Alice Cooper’s “Under My Wheels.” The best was saved for last, with a Pat Smear-led, charged-up version of The Ramones’ classic “Blitzkrieg Bop.”

They did a both soulful and reverent cover of Tom Petty’s “Breakdown” during the encore, which was more apt than you might think. Both artists have a bevy of rock singles that will stand the test of time. Their albums are solid if unspectacular with a couple of exceptions. Live setlists are comprised of exclusively greatest hits. But most importantly, both Petty and Grohl and Co. aim to give their fans a great time at their shows. 14,999 fans -- minus this one eternally grumpy 37-year-old* -- would say Foo Fighters did just that.


* 36 years and 362 days as of this writing, if you're being pedantic. You know who you are.

Sunday, September 9, 2018

CONCERT REVIEW: Ringo Starr and his All-Starr Band - 9/8/18 at BMO Harris Pavilion

If there’s an opportunity to see a living Beatle, and the price is right, you have to take it. My wife and I were lucky enough to get heavily discounted tickets (from $72 to $20 -- thanks Summerfest flash sale!) to see Ringo Starr and his All-Starr Band at the BMO Harris Pavilion last night. The show was practically sold out, and it wasn’t hard to see why.

Ringo brought his innate Ringoness to the stage, strutting out before opener “Matchbox” in exaggerated motions while flashing the peace sign. His goofy charm came out in the way he told corny jokes that mostly weren’t jokes and how he profusely thanked the crowd and told us how much he loved us. Also, there was a random “Hare Krishna” shout-out during solo hit “It Don’t Come Easy.” He was more cheesy Vegas lounge singer than benevolent bandleader.

You may be thinking that Ringo doesn’t have enough Beatles and solo hits to fill a show, and you would be correct. That is where the All-Starr band comes in. The two-hour show was set up like this: Ringo sang a few of his songs, some out front and some behind the drum kit. Then the guys in the band took turns playing songs that their former (or still current) bands made famous. This time around the comprised of Steve Lukather (guitar) from Toto, Colin Hay (guitar) from Men at Work, Gregg Rollie (keyboards) from Santana, and Graham Gouldman (bass) from 10cc. Filling out the band -- these guys didn’t get songs of their own -- was Gregg Bissonette (drums) and Warren Ham (sax, flute, percussion).

Clearly these guys have been playing together for a while as they sounded very tight no matter whose songs they were playing. I thought Steve Lukather’s guitar playing was a little flashy for the Beatles songs, but he absolutely slayed on Santana’s “Black Magic Woman” and Toto’s “Africa.” With the exception of some extended outros and solos, the songs pretty much sounded exactly as you would expect them to.

Ringo’s voice did not sound weathered or thinned at all, which was impressive considering he is 78 years old. All of the well-known hits were there: “Yellow Submarine,” “Act Naturally,” “It Don’t Come Easy,” “Photograph,” and set-closer “With A Little Help From My Friends.” There really wasn’t a clunker in the set save for 2012’s “Anthem,” a song Ringo wrote as an anthem for, what else, peace and love.

Though it could not possibly have the same emotional impact that a Paul McCartney show would have, it was still pretty cool to see Ringo Starr perform his hits live. The All-Starr Band’s contributions to the act rounded out the evening nicely. For two hours, it was all good times, good tunes, and good vibes. There’s really not much more you could ask for on a Saturday night.

Set list:

Matchbox
It Don’t Come Easy
What Goes On
Dreadlock Holiday (10cc)
Evil Ways (Santana)
Rosanna (Toto)
Down Under (Men At Work)
Boys
Don’t Pass Me By
Yellow Submarine
I’m Not In Love (10cc)
Black Magic Woman (Santana)
You’re Sixteen
Anthem
Overkill (Men At Work)
Africa (Toto)
Oy Como Va (Santana)
I Wanna Be Your Man
The Things We Do For Love (10cc)
Who Can It Be Now? (Men At Work)
Hold The Line (Toto)
Photograph
Act Naturally
With A Little Help From My Friends

Give Peace A Chance (chorus only)

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

CONCERT REVIEW: "Weird Al" Yankovic at the Pabst Theater, 4/10/18

EMO PHILLIPS


I was not familiar with opener Emo Philips’ work beyond his appearance in UHF, but after seeing him open for “Weird Al” Yankovic I might have to explore his comedic stylings. Certainly his vocal affectation can be a little off-putting, but if you can get beyond it there is some good stuff there.


His style reminds me at least a little bit of Steven Wright or Mitch Hedberg, only Phillips’ jokes take darker twists. An example: “I got in trouble on a date recently: I didn’t open the car door… instead I just swam for the surface.”


If relationships were his greatest muse, cornball puns (as if there are any other kind) were his other. One such groaner went. “This is my impression of the stratosphere: “So thisguy comes up to me... “ (Say it out loud if it doesn’t make sense to you.)


Emo ended the half hour set by saying he had known “Weird Al” Yankovic since the 80s and had always wanted to tour with him. Al replied that it would happen, but only if Donald Trump was elected president. Emo’s deadpan response: “I’m sorry.”


“WEIRD AL” YANKOVIC


This stage lighting is about as fancy as it got. 




















“Usually when I write songs, I inhabit a character,” quipped “Weird Al” Yankovic before a packed Pabst Theater on Tuesday night, “...but this song is 100 percent autobiographical.” The song in question was the stunning tour de force of “Albuquerque,” a fan favorite deep cut off of 1999 LP Running With Scissors. This little (admittedly facetious) tibdit was emblematic of the tour as a whole:  Yankovic and his excellent band ditched the costume changes, video screens, and hit parodies for stools, a minimalist stage setup, and set mostly comprised of rarely performed deep cuts and style parodies.


Reflecting upon last night’s set and reading other reviews (and also attending the show with a lifelong hardcore “Weird Al” fan) made me realize that there are levels to “Weird Al” fandom. All Yankovic fans are dorks to some degree or another -- he doesn’t go by “Cool” or “Awesome” for a reason -- but some take it further than others. They are the ones that know all the words to all the songs, the more obscure the better. Then there are folks like me who like Al just fine, but never really got into the back catalogue beyond the hits. This show was definitely for the former, but I enjoyed myself nonetheless.


As much as I might be a middle of the road fan, I’m not unlike my fellow dorks in that I’ve always wanted a “Weird Al” show that was more like a real concert instead of a choreographed musical. In doing it this way, the show revealed Al as a person in addition to his stage persona. Al and the band got to do the songs they wanted to do, and they looked like they were having a blast doing it.


The aforementioned “Albuquerque” was easily the set highlight for me. Sure, the version here was turbo-charged compared to the studio version -- Yankovic’s vocals were rushed, and some of the humor comes from the pacing and pauses -- but still, it was awesome in all of its manic, stream-of-consciousness hilarity.


Another highlight was the Doors pastiche “Craigslist,” from the little-loved Alpocalypse LP. It’s not that the song is terribly funny -- though the coffee shop bit always gets me -- but rather the performance of it. Yankovic does a pretty inspired Jim Morrison impression with this tune, and the band plays up the moodiness of it all pretty well.


The crowd was otherwise treated to a career-spanning set full of deep cuts, some fan favorites (“The Night Santa Went Crazy (Extra Gory Version)”), some -- even “Weird Al” acknowledged (“Airline Amy”) -- not so much. Though there was some hooting and hollering (and random song requesting) between numbers, the people in attendance mostly hung on Yankovic’s every word. With that in mind, one could read the crowd as being either subdued or reverent depending on your perspective, but I don’t think that really matters. Many laughs were had, and Yankovic and band were showered with applause after every song.


The set ended with a medley of parody hits (“Eat It,” “Smells Like Nirvana,” “Amish Paradise,” etc.), which was presented not as a polka but as MTV Unplugged-style classic rock. It was a nice nod to his most casual fans but also a nice little surprise for his most hardcore ones.


The two-song encore consisted of a straight-up cover of Tom Petty’s “Breakdown.” In an alternate universe, the theater would have erupted into a Pack Up The Plantation style singalong, but it was not to be. “Yoda,” however, did have the biggest singalong of the night. It was fitting that the show was closed out with a well-known parody, because let’s face it: no one got into “Weird Al” because they heard “Stuck in a Closet with Vanna White” or “The Biggest Ball of Twine in Minnesota.” At the same time, those songs are the reason Yankovic has the enduring fandom that he does. The proof was on the faces and in the voices of everyone that left the Pabst Theater.  

Monday, February 19, 2018

An Obituary for My Cat, and Musings on Mortality


We rescued Isis (a.k.a. Big Black) from the Wisconsin Humane Society in March of 2007. Immediately she came up to me looking for pettings and chin scritches. When I wasn’t touching her, she did figure eights between and around my legs. My girlfriend -- now wife -- and I were completely smitten with this cat. We brought her home that day -- our second major “as a couple” thing we did in a month. (The first was moving out together.) We were instructed to introduce Big Black to the apartment one room at a time if at all possible, which we complied with as best we could. But despite our best efforts, when it came time to go to bed, Big Black busted out of the ramshackle wall we built and made her way into our bedroom. She jumped on the bed and laid down right between us, looking for cuddles and pettings.

Years passed. Big Black got even bigger before developing a thyroid problem, which caused her to lose a lot of weight. Her eyes started discharging a goopy yellow liquid. Both ailments required her to be on medication for the rest of her life. In addition to these things, her advanced age simply slowed her down; she struggled to get up at times and had trouble making the jump on to our bed. Her paw pads became worn and crusty; the black fur that defined her turned grey in spots. The seven-year-old we took home was now an old lady that required more care.

Despite all of this, Big Black was still essentially herself. She still loved her treats. She still came up by you looking for pettings and chin scritches. If you hit the spot just right, she’d kick one of her hind legs out in delight. But the decline came quickly; she started peeing everywhere; her cries in the night (and sometimes the day) became louder and more anguished. In her last days, she stopped eating her beloved wet food and was so frail she could barely stand. I knew it was nearing the end when I tried to feed her treats and she just looked at them and flopped down, leaving them uneaten.

We had to put her down yesterday. She was 18 years old.

****

It hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet since she passed, and I cannot stop replaying her last hours in my mind. My wife spent hours with her in the bathroom, crying and comforting her as best she could. I came home from work to see a cat barely alive with a cry so soft it broke my heart.

We took her to the hospital to be put to sleep. The time alone with her in the room was excruciating. My wife kept trying to wash her face off to not much avail. I gave her some pettings and a last chin scritch. We both kept saying how sorry we were. Was it for her or for us?

They took her away to put the IV in. I swear, despite knowing that Big Black was pretty out of it already, that she looked me in the eye with abject fear.

Finally, doctor came in to administer the fatal injection. He explained that it would probably be over quickly, and it was. My wife yelped “I’m so sorry!” as we both fought back tears. It was intense. The doctor left, and we were alone again. My wife picked her up in the blanket and hugged her one last time. I kissed her softly on the head, and tried to close her eyes but failed. We decided to leave the blanket we brought her in, not wanting to disturb the body. We left with a plaster casting of her paw prints to remember her by. Only an hour had passed, but I felt like I had aged years by the time I got in the car. Our ride home was mostly silent.

****

The iPhone's camera sucked in 2010, but that is Big Black being cute at the sprightly age of 10.
These words I’m writing are more for me than they are for you. All I can think about is how and why I’m grieving and what it all means.

I know why Isis’ death made us so sad. The 11 years of love we gave her and the companionship she gave us wasn’t for nothing. There was a genuine relationship there, and the loss of her has created a void that won’t be easily, if at all, filled. But it isn’t just about love or companionship. Because whether it’s a pet or a person that is (physically) gone forever, that loss reminds me of my own mortality.

The existential crisis of mortality is paralyzing. I cannot think about it for more than a few minutes without breaking down. Signs of Isis no longer being here are still in the apartment: the two litter boxes in the bathroom; the last cans of wet food we bought her; no longer having to worry about pee puddles in the morning, or being woken up in the middle of the night by cries for food. I look around this shitty apartment and it makes me sad; I look at my parents and my wife’s parents and the way they’re all slowing down now, looking a bit more weathered than before and it makes me sadder still. I look my 6-week-old son in the eyes knowing that one day he might be where I was 24 hours ago, trying to comfort me the best I can before the drugs kick in and I’ve left my body and consciousness behind, and now I’m fucking bawling.

This death thing isn’t going over too well.

****

My wife had a good thought on the whole thing. She said, “It’s better that she went with us rather than without us.” For us, confronting Isis’ death was probably a good thing. It probably also at least gave us peace of mind that her last minutes were spent with people that love her. The pain of her passing and guilt over letting her hang on maybe too long won’t be leaving any time soon. But that’s what it means to be human. (Felines are lucky in this regard.)

They didn't really like each other, but I could occasionally capture them together.


The treats I tried to give to Isis on her last day alive are still scattered in the kitchen. Every time I look at them I know I’m choosing pain over closure. I know I can physically remove these remnants of Isis, but I can never mentally wash them away. Isis the Cat is gone, but Isis the Memory is not and never will be. I’m sure this thought won’t make it any easier when future pets or people go, but it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?

Isis, doing what cats do.



Just about 17 years old in this picture, but will always be my baby kitty cat to me.