Summerfest 2024 Recap: Nostalgia All The Way Down

I don't really take pictures at Summerfest. This is the best I can share with you. 

The first paragraph is often the hardest to write. For the last few reviews I’ve thought that I had a new angle – that my anticipation level for the show was low – only to go back and read them all and find that I’ve been saying that for literally years. Summerfest 2024 was no different in that I’m merely a casual fan of all of them. Most of them have two or three hit songs at best, and even the one that has two or three albums that I like (The Hold Steady) is a band I haven’t paid all that much attention to since 2010 or so. 

Paradoxically, Summerfest is one of the few things – I can count them on one hand! – that bring me actual, honest joy. From the announcing of the lineups to planning out my days, the food, the people-watching, the actual music, and even the late-night shuttle rides home – Summerfest is like my happy place. Even if, when you see me down there, I will most likely be scowling in the back with my arms crossed. 

Opening Day - Thursday June 20th

I am not sure that I’ve ever been to a Summerfest opening day. So it is perhaps appropriate that the old man maladies came in hot for my first trip down to the lakefront this summer. I was tired – I do wake up at 4:45 am for work after all. My back hurt, and I grunted and grimaced every time I sat down or stood up. I complained about the beer and t-shirt prices. (Summerfest gear was surprisingly reasonable, however) I had to pee approximately one million times. 

Music festivals have been a young man’s game for quite some time, but I wasn’t going to let that bring me down. 

Better Than Ezra was up first, and I think theirs was the most fun set I saw. They seemed like they didn’t take themselves too seriously, as evidenced by the snippets of covers they played ranging from The Weeknd to Sublime to, uh, Naughty By Nature. Lead singer Kevin Griffin joked around and told facetious stories – including one that kind of had me going for a bit, about how bassist Tom Drummond actually wrote the once-inescapable Proclaimers hit “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” via a John Lennon songwriting contest. It actually turned out to be a pretty excellent cover.

Over the opening guitar lines of their biggest hit, “Good,” Griffin channeled Jim Gaffigan’s “inner voice, exclaiming “Hey! I actually know this one!” This tune definitely got the biggest reaction of the night. They did play the other two songs you probably know if not by name, then by sound. “Desperately Wanting” and “In The Blood,” along with “Good,” sounded pretty much just like you remember them. 

It was a pretty decent 75-minute set, and its good vibes and “let’s remember some songs”-nostalgia was actually a pretty accurate harbinger of what was to come for the rest of Summerfest. 

Gin Blossoms strolled to the stage nearly 20 minutes late due to audio difficulties that had the stage crew scrambling frantically. No matter though, as they kicked right into “Follow You Down” and then proceeded to perform their expertly-constructed pop rock jams for about an hour and change.

Of course, if you wanted to hear any of their other big hits you had to wait until the end of the set. Which is both fine and somewhat expected, but Gin Blossoms’ brand of MOR pop rock gets a little samey-sounding after a while. (It probably also doesn’t help that I’ve heard their biggest albums maybe two or three times each. I haven’t lived in those songs the way a superfan might have.)

But they did end up playing “Hey Jealousy” – an all-time classic of the genre – and “Found Out About You” to plenty of dancing and singing along. Much like Better Than Ezra, these old warhorses sounded as good as they did cranking out of your boombox or car stereo back in the day. It’s hard to get too worked up one way or another about Gin Blossoms, but their easygoing, workmanlike set was a nice way to close out the cool, breezy first night of Summerfest. 

Sandwiched in between the two veteran bands was local singer/songwriter Trapper Schoepp. His brand of upbeat folk rock was actually a pretty good fit for a festival. His storytelling really caught my ear, and one tune in particular nearly moved me to tears of joy. “Ferris Wheel” is about two brothers who go on a ferris wheel and wish for the ride to never end… so it doesn’t.

It would have been so easy (one imagines, I’m no songwriter) to have the song take a turn into a rumination on mortality, or perhaps a Weird Al Yankovician twist where the ferris wheel becomes unmoored and rolls and rampages away and kills everyone in its path. But it doesn’t. It’s just joyous and sweet until the very end in a way that life mostly isn’t. 

My six-year-old son would absolutely wish for an amusement park ride to never end, and “Ferris Wheel” made me happy just thinking about that. It’s little moments like this that provide counterweight to being a parent to a small child who is quickly growing – something that is oftentimes inherently and profoundly sad.

All of this concluded with me buying a t-shirt from Mr. Schoepp, the “THIS ISN’T FUN ANYMORE” model showcased in the video clip I linked above. Why that one? Because… Gestures broadly to everything around me

The shuttle bus report: Fred the bus driver was in mid-Fest form already on opening night. The Amp headliner was a country singer, so that was the soundtrack. The gussied-up ladies in their Nashville-best cowboy hats and boots absolutely ate this up. But back to Fred - he was aggressive on the road as per usual. He did an impromptu u-turn right after we got off the freeway for the hell of it, and spun the bus around a few times in the parking lot. He suffers no fools and gives no fucks, and I love every second of it, lame country music be damned.

Day 2 - Saturday, June 29

Having bands that you actually know play at 4:30PM is a relatively new phenomenon at Summerfest (or maybe I didn’t pay much attention to the early performers when I started going in my teens, I don’t know) so when The Dandy Warhols were slotted there I was curious to see what kind of show it would be.

The sun was scorching us at the Miller Lite Oasis stage as the Dandys took the stage and went right into their first hit, “Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth.” Lead singer and guitarist Courtney Taylor-Taylor had a second mic with a vocal effect on it for this song. It made him sound more disaffected than usual, almost as if it was a piss take on his own song. I understand playing the same song the same way for 30 years can get boring, but this take on it wasn’t all that good.

This much more in-depth review thought the energy level was fine, and I would agree if he was talking about the energy used to get off the couch after a couple of massive bong rips. This is kind of what the Dandys do, of course; they’ve always been glam rock for stoners. They managed to sound both gnarly and subdued.

As much as this might sound like a negative review, I found their noisy alt-rock a good reprieve from everything else I saw at the ‘Fest this summer. They played the three songs I came to hear (“Bohemian Like You” and “We Used to Be Friends” being the other two) and all of them got the hips a-shakin’ for the modest crowd that came to see them, despite the fact they were all slower than the album cuts. 

“We’re The Hold Steady, you’re Milwaukee, and we fuckin’ love you!” exclaimed lead singer Craig Finn near the end of their hour-long set. It was probably the most energetic set I saw through all of the four days I went, and that energy was reciprocated between band and fans throughout.

If I may be a bummer for a second, The Hold Steady are a party band that reminds you about the hangover that’s coming afterwards. Their music has major “dudes rock!” vibes, but their lyrics are all about lost souls and damaged people. The last song they played, “Killer Parties,” features the lines “Killer parties / Almost killed me.” 

But despite that it was easy to rock out. The band might look like a bunch of accountants, but their guitar solos were righteous. Their three song run of essentially their best songs - “Chips Ahoy!, “Stuck Between Stations,” and “Your Little Hoodrat Friend” - was unmatched by any other band I saw. 

Better Than Ezra may have been the most fun, but I think The Hold Steady was the show I enjoyed the most. I haven’t paid much attention to them since their mid-aughts heyday, but that didn’t really matter here. Craig Finn remarked “There is so much joy in what we do!” before the aforementioned “KIller Parties.” In that moment, a truer statement could not have been made.

The shuttle bus report: A new experience for me as I believe I’ve only ever taken the bus back to the bar after a headliner. There were four people on the bus total. No music. Fred needed to stop for gas. Lame all around. 

Day 3: Friday, July 5th 

There was only one band on the docket for tonight, and The Wallflowers were lowkey one of the bands I was most excited to see. I have been listening to their 1996 classic BRINGING DOWN THE HORSE quite a bit lately, and was curious how those songs translated live all these years later. 

I don’t know if it was sound issues or age or (more than likely) a little of both, but Jakob Dylan’s voice seemed thin and raspy at times. He mumbled the lyrics at times, and sounded a little too much like his old man than I’m betting he would have liked to when he did. 

But despite that I think the band itself sounded great. The Wallflowers’ music just fits well for a summer night by the lakefront. The multi-instrumentalist who played lap steel, among other things, was phenomenal. 

And yet, it was clear most people were waiting for “One Headlight.” 

“6th Avenue Heartache” was played early in the set, but the wait for another song people actually knew was quite long. Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic” was covered, but no one seemed to notice, or care. 

Plenty of people bailed throughout the set, but those who stuck out the 70 minutes or so were rewarded with the biggest hit, and then some choice covers by Cat Stevens and Tom Petty for the encore. “The Difference” closed the 90-minute set out, and sent people out into the night on a relatively good note.

The shuttle bus report: Fred’s wife Tanya was driving our bus tonight. Though I’ve witnessed her racing Fred up the Molitor Lot hill at AmFam Field, this ride was nothing to write home about. 

Day 4: Saturday, July 6th

The last day of Summerfest was a musical mish-mash for me as both bands I wanted to see - Cracker and Living Colour - played at the same time (6:00 PM).

My brother-in-law and I went back and forth between the two bands. Cracker was first up, and I think their vibe was a little bit too laid back for me. Their fiddle player was awesome, though. I wanted to wait until they played something I recognized, and they obliged with “Teen Angst (What The World Needs Now)” It was fine. 

Living Colour was right next door, and we made it just in time for their cover of MC5’s “Kick Out The Jams,” which was excellent. They also did a snippet of Prince’s (but more like Sinead O’Connor’s) “Nothing Compares 2 U,” which I think would have been better if a) it was the whole song and b) if they made it a little bit more their own. But that’s just me. They started jamming on something, so we went back to Cracker. 

Cracker was just finishing up their biggest hit, “Low,” which was cool. They followed that up with the song I was looking most forward to, “Euro-Trash Girl,” which was awesome and seemed to get the biggest reaction of the night of the songs I saw. They played their hits, and I was happy about that.

We hightailed it back to Living Colour to catch “Cult of Personality,” and it was every bit as rocking as you could hope for. 

Overall the two-band approach went better than I thought it would. 

We weren’t planning on it, but what the hell, we decided to check out Sad Boy Saturday to finish the night.

My brother-in-law thought maybe it would feature all kinds of sad music, like The Cure. I did not have the heart to tell him we would mostly be hearing third-wave emo.  But we ventured on into the Aurora Pavilion anyways.

We stuck around for maybe an hour, hour-and-a-half. They played some bangers for sure - My Chemical Romance, Dashboard Confessional, New Found Glory - but the songs we heard leaned more toward the slick, pop side of the genre. Think Fall Out Boy and Paramore. Where were local heroes The Promise Ring? The Get Up Kids or Alkaline Trio? They are far more in my wheelhouse, and maybe if we stayed for the whole thing we would’ve heard them. 

(Yes, I know, Dashboard and NFG are more or less pop too)

Overall the positive vibes of the experience provided some cognitive dissonance for me. This type of music is not something I experienced communally. I don’t want to yuck anyone's yum here – singing and dancing your hearts out to something that means a lot to you is awesome! But it was all so foreign to me – I’ve never sung any of these songs with my bros. I listened to them in my room in college, alone, with headphones on because no one wanted me to fuck them. Clearly, the crowd and I differed on this point. 

We had much more fun trying to AirDrop vulgar memes to people. There were no takers, but it was fun to think about.

The shuttle bus report: Fred drove us home one last time. It was not the end-of-night crowd, so it wasn’t crazy at all. Relaxed is how I’d put it. He still did a spin around the parking lot, because that is just what Fred does.

That is a wrap on Summerfest 2024. All of the bands – ALL OF THEM! – played the songs I wanted to hear. The performances were fine. Nothing mind-blowing, but nothing disappointing. It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement, but when all of the bands you saw are ones you only kind of sort of like at best, you can’t really hope for much more than that, can you?

Concert review: The Rolling Stones at Soldier Field, Chicago, 6/30/24

Mick Jagger is in this picture somewhere.

 One thing I’ve noticed over the years with regards to going to shows is that my anticipation level for them now is next to nothing. I think the last time I was truly giddy for a concert was Paul McCartney in 2013. (Smashing Pumpkins in 2018 in Madison, Wis. would be a small-ish club would be a close second) So it was weird heading to a sold-out Soldier Field in Chicago to see The Rolling Stones – a bucket-list band for me – with no vibes to speak of, or if you insist, no expectations. 

The Stones are a cultural institution as evidenced by all of the demographics present just in my section and those around me – grandparents smoking joints that didn’t look like hippies, grandparents that did look like hippies but weren’t smoking joints, parents with small children, college bros, leathery old bags, a latino man so drunk and/or high that he couldn’t stand without the help of his friends, and even sad-sacks like me. Quite the motley crew of folks came out to see these guys, is what I’m saying. 

But can they still play?

You can’t possibly go into a Rolling Stones show, at least as a first-timer, without thinking about whether or not a band fronted by two octogenarians can still perform competently. To put it simply, they absolutely can. Yes, Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood definitely look their ages – and ol’ Keef seemed like he didn’t know which city he was in for the first half hour – but their playing was fine. Mick Jagger apparently has the Fountain of Youth on tap wherever he is because he sprinted and danced and pranced his way across the stage with the energy of someone 50 years his junior. Jagger’s voice was, like the rest of him, in good shape. It was pretty much a best-case scenario as far as that goes. 

I’m not sure if it was the sound mix, or the stadium itself, or my seats, but in general the set was very echo-y. Steve Jones’s drums in particular clattered off the back end of the stadium (where I was) to the point of distraction, and Mick Jagger’s vocals were occasionally unintelligible. I will now take this opportunity to say – lukewarm take incoming – that the stadium rock experience mostly sucks. Whether in a cathedral like Lambeau or a dump like Soldier, the seats are so far away that there’s no connection to the artist or show at all (unless you really want to pony up the cash), the sightlines aren’t good, the beer is overpriced, and it’s a pain in the ass to get home. 

The Stones overcame this inherent poor experience by delivering a mostly hit-heavy set. Perhaps the tempos were a couple of steps slower than you remember, but they mostly sounded like the studio versions you know and love. Exceptions included a jammed-out “Miss You”, complete with bass and horn solos and set-closer “Satisfaction” that seemed like it never wanted to end. The “surprises” were hit or miss; “Rocks Off” was excellent, fan-voted “Shattered” was “blah” at best. Jagger’s vocals on the latter were off-kilter and kind of a mess. In fact, his vocal phrasing on a lot of songs wasn’t quite what it was on the albums – making it kind of hard to sing along. The Rolling Stones have approximately one million live albums, but I haven’t listened to a single one closely, so that might just be how he has always sung live. 

Keith Richards took the reins for a few songs in the middle of the set. “Tell Me Straight” sent people straight to the bathrooms. “Little T&A” fared better, though it was more than a little discomforting to hear an old grandpa (roughly) sing the lines “She’s my little rock n’ roll / My tits and ass with soul.” 

Backup singer Chanel Haynes stole the show for a brief moment on her solo vocal run on “Gimme Shelter.” She strutted to the mic looking like she knew she was about to own the place and did just that. Her voice was so overpowering it threatened to swallow the song whole, and the only thing missing was the surprised “Woo!” from Mick Jagger in response to Merry Clayton’s take on the album cut.

The latter third of the set nearly matched the aforementioned McCartney in 2013 for its epic run of stone cold classics. “Sympathy for the Devil” and “Honky Tonk Women” showed why they are two of the Stones’ all-time best tunes. The intro to “Paint It Black” was as menacing as it was the first time I heard it; the dual-guitar buzzsaw attack of “Jumping Jack Flash” made it the hardest rocking song of the night. It was foundational rock n’ roll live and in the flesh, and it was excellent.

I was more exhausted than hyped up after the show, but that is more the fault of me being an old man in a slightly less older man’s clothing. The Rolling Stones were up to the task – as they mostly have been night in and night out across stadiums worldwide for 50 goddamn years – of entertaining a wide-reaching group of people for two hours. I may never see them again considering their advanced age and the fact that they play exclusively in stadiums now, so they probably won’t come back to Milwaukee or play in Green Bay. But if you have the chance to see them, I highly recommend not passing that opportunity up. 

The Beatles - "Now and Then," my dad, and me

As you may have heard by now, there’s a “new” Beatles track out in the wild. It is supposed to be the final Beatles song, the last of three John Lennon demo songs originally given by Yoko Ono to Paul McCartney to finish up as Beatles songs for the Beatles Anthology documentary. 

I’ve listened to it several times now. I’ve watched the making-of mini-documentary and the official music video. And though I have opinions on all of that, the reason I’m writing any of this is because it all made me think of my dad. 

You may not know this about me, but I’m a huge Beatles dork. My dad loved the Beatles, and is absolutely the reason I fell in love with their music. When Beatles Anthology first aired on ABC back in ‘95 it was appointment viewing (remember that?). I remember being very excited to watch it; I was a burgeoning fan at the time and couldn’t wait to devour all of this new information. I remember we watched all three episodes as a family. Watching television with your family. What a concept!

Furthermore, there was a CD soundtrack tie-in (because of course there was) for each episode, filled with never-before-heard outtakes… and not one but two new Beatles songs. I was hyped. 

This is where my dad comes into the story. My dad was always a fan, but I don’t think he was ever a fanatic. He certainly had his likes and dislikes, whether Beatles or otherwise, but I don’t think he really listened to music with a critical ear. So I truly don’t know whether or not he ever really wanted to listen to demos and outtakes. But I know that he went out of his way so that I could listen to them. He worked second shift at the time, so when those Anthology discs went on sale at midnight, he was there. For me. 

He liked the new tracks “Free As A Bird” and “Real Love” just fine, as did I. But I got way more out of the rest of those albums. At some point our tastes in Beatles music diverged; I gravitated towards later-period songs while he still preferred the early stuff. (We did both agree that Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was the greatest album of all time, for what it’s worth.) We may not have agreed on much – even within our fandom of the band – but we always had The Beatles.

I thought about all of this as I was listening to “Now and Then,” all of the memories flooding back. 

“Now and Then” isn’t in the upper echelon of Beatles songs, but it also isn’t “Revolution #9” or “Mr. Moonlight.” It manages to hit all of the wistful and melancholy notes that a final track of one of the most beloved bands of all time ought to. Is it a thing that really needs to exist? Not really. But I’m kind of glad it does. I may not put it on any Beatles playlists. But if I get the 1967-1970 compilation to complete my collection, I’m not going to turn the song off.

In the making-of doc, Sean Ono Lennon says his dad would have loved what the surviving Beatles did with the song. (Paul, Ringo, and George’s son Dhani echo this sentiment) I think John would have been absolutely tickled by what is possible in 2023 with regards to sound and how it can be manipulated.  (This is the man who wanted to sound like 1000 chanting Tibetan monks on “Tomorrow Never Knows,” after all) I also think he would have dismissed the song as rubbish, probably exclaiming there was a reason the song languished on a cassette for 40-plus years. 

It is somewhere between all of this that I find myself and my dad. Either “Now and Then” is the perfect capstone for the best, most creative pop band to ever walk the earth, or it’s a gussied-up Lennon demo that should have been left on the tape. Perhaps its appeal lies in the unknown. Sean can’t ask his dad about the song. I can’t ask my dad what he thinks about it, even if I already know the answer. (“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”) 

In a way, this kind of makes it the perfect final Beatles track and a fitting metaphor for the relationship I had with my dad.. It just kind of is what it is; it’s there whether you want it to be or not. I listened to the other “new” (at the time) Beatles tracks “Free as a Bird” and “Real Love” while writing this, and they also reminded me of my dad. They’re not the best or the worst, but I remember them all fondly. These days, that's all I can ask for. 

Listen to the new track
Watch the mini-doc

Watch the official music video, which is a bit much and not good

Bummery Essay/Concert Review: Tool - 11/1/23 at Fiserv Forum

Call this the “You’re Getting Old” show. 

In Season 15, Episode 7 of South Park, Stan turns 10, and suddenly views the world through cynical eyes. Everything that used to give him joy – television shows, new music, etc. – is now just “shit.” At the end of the episode, Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” plays over a montage of Stan’s parents growing apart and eventually getting divorced.

My experience with concerts over the past 5 years or so has been somewhere between those two extremes. Once upon a time I used to get really excited to see bands that I loved or to see one I had just discovered. Now everything is just sort of blah. This isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy those shows, because I did. But the anticipation is all but gone. The soaring highs of screaming along in unison with 2 or 20 thousand fellow believers is gone, replaced with a middling contentment. Tool’s sold-out show at Fiserv Forum on Wednesday night was no different.

Before the show, my best friend and concert-going buddy of the past 25+ years confided in me that he had an anxiety attack on his way to my house. This is just what happens now. Instead of getting fucked up on cheap beer and Jagermeister and letting the night take us where it will, we now tamp down our alcohol consumption and watch our heart rates.

The show kicked off with “Fear Inoculum,” and for the moment all that other stuff faded away. “Jambi” was absolutely punishing, even more so than on record. “The Pot” was next, which is where Maynard James Keenan got in on my own personal theme for the night: his voice cracked during the first line of the song. He was getting older too. (Of course, he recovered to deliver a vocal performance with more clarity and force than the album version, so joke’s on me for even noticing that minor flub.)

All of the hallmarks of a Tool show were present, from the snarling noise of “Rosetta Stoned” to the hypnotic grooves of “Pneuma.” Trippy visuals played on the screen and a laser show shot out from the stage during the middle third of the set. The band played with both a stunning brutality and breathtaking precision, all while Maynard James Keenan stalked and swayed in the background.

This may be the first and only time Tool and “Weird Al” Yankovic are compared, and perhaps it’s a stretch, but I’m going to do it anyways. For both acts, the concept of a concert as a living, breathing thing designed to be experienced in the moment is exchanged for something with a more precise execution. It’s almost as if the soul of a live show is choreographed out of existence. “Weird Al” has already delivered on a more concert-like experience; I will continue to wonder what it would be like if Tool loosened up even just a little bit.

It was at this point that my friend tapped me on the shoulder and said he had to leave; the anxiety had been too much to overcome.*

Apropos, I guess, because Tool’s music – particularly on the latest album – has a creeping sense of dread and unease that you just can’t shake. So there I sat, both consumed by the crowd full of righteous headbangers and fist-pumpers and all alone with my thoughts.

Maybe in my younger days I would’ve doubled down on long swigs of whiskey-and-Cokes, attempting to parse Keenan’s dense lyrics; instead I just let the noise wash over me while wondering if my friend was going to be all right or if my son went to bed without much fussing for my wife.

The set was largely bereft of Tool’s biggest radio hits, which sounds like a dream come true until the deep cuts played weren’t my absolute favorite deep cuts. (That’s a me problem, not a Tool one) Whatever the case, they played “Forty Six & 2” last. It seemed like it got the biggest reaction of the night, and rightfully so. It managed to drag me out of the reality in my own head and into the show that was taking place in front of me. My hands suddenly wanted to play a bit of air guitar, my voice wanted to sing along. For six minutes, it was bliss.

Despite all the bummery nonsense written above, it was a good show. I’ve seen Tool four times now, and they have yet to disappoint. 

Whether it’s on record or live, Tool’s music is a grueling exercise in persistence. You gut it out and make it through to the other side. It is also a lot like life in that there’s no reward at the end; the act itself is its own reward (or not, if you choose to make it unrewarding). 

I chose not to take part in the chaos of an Uber line, so I walked alone in the cold to the bus stop. I had to wake up early to take my son to school; I was to receive an infusion of new medication later that day. It was like the lyrics of a song they didn’t play: “keep going, spiral out…”

*I made sure he got home safely. I confessed that I felt horrible for not leaving with him in solidarity; he said he would’ve felt horrible if I had left and missed the show. This is how grown men exchange feelings – well, that and depression memes. 

Concert Review: Death Cab for Cutie/The Postal Service, 9/23/23, The Salt Shed, Chicago

The records TRANSATLANTICISM by Death Cab for Cutie and GIVE UP by The Postal Service both turn 20 this year, so Ben Gibbard is taking both bands on the road to perform both albums front-to-back. This tour came to The Salt Shed in Chicago on Saturday night for a sold-out performance. 

To be honest, these are records that I like but don’t love. 

I was aware of Death Cab for Cutie in 2003 due to working at my college radio station, but at that point I was doing my own show and wasn’t terribly interested in the indie rock favored by the station. It wouldn’t be until after I graduated that I got into that sort of music. Death Cab was definitely one of those bands, but TRANSATLANTICISM wasn’t on my radar until well afterwards. Ditto for The Postal Service. It’s entirely possible that I didn’t check their sole album out until I heard one of their songs covered (!) in an M&Ms commercial (!!).

The crowd was about what you would expect – receding hairlines and love handles galore. Parents with their children (both young and teenaged). Gen Z was there too, because Spotify and such has made generational demarcations of music meaningless. There were some old dudes there too. I am not sure if they were super hip or thought they were going to a combination Magical Mystery Tour/U.S. Mail convention. Whatever the case, everyone was definitely there to see the show. Death Cab songs are notoriously quiet, but talking over the slow stuff was kept to a minimum.

The Death Cab portion of the show took place first. Now, I have no particular nostalgia for the album so I wasn’t tempted to text an ex-girlfriend. What was I supposed to do here, be wistful for all the sex I wasn’t having at the time? So, I didn’t have any intensely emotional responses to the songs. The irony of couples mostly, presumably in long-term relationships here to see a performance of 20-year-old songs about longing, lost love, and meaningless sex wasn’t lost on me. 

Either I haven’t paid close attention to a DCfC show in a while, or Ben Gibbard was trying to channel a youthful energy from 20 years ago, because he was bounding about the stage during the entire set. Album opener “The New Year” absolutely cooked. The other rocking – and I mean that term relatively to other Death Cab songs – did what they were supposed to do: “The Sound of Settling” got the crowd involved with its “buh-BAH!” call-and-response refrain; “We Looked Like Giants” – TRANSATLANTICISM’s best song – was superb, even if it lacked the extended, jammy outro present on some live versions of the song.

For all the things that make Ben Gibbard seem bookish and beta – the wan vocals, his collegiate phrasing (“The glove compartment is inaccurately named / And everybody knows it / So I'm proposing a swift, orderly change” from “Title and Registration,” and also the name of the album they were here to celebrate), the man can be devastatingly mean when he wants to be. When he sang (multiple times) “You were beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me” on “Tiny Vessels,” all I could think was “the chutzpah on this guy!” Quite frankly I’ve never had the opportunity to say that to a woman, which is just as well because I wouldn’t have the confidence to say it anyways.

The emotional centerpiece of the night was the title track. The refrain of “I need you so much closer” was sung by both singer and crowd, over and over again, building like waves threatening to overcome the breakwater. It felt almost as if it represented the conversion of one’s exciting and terrifying twenties to a (hopefully) more stable and mundane thirties (or, yes, fine, for those of us who are elder millennials, forties).

The band seemed to sprint through the album, not because the songs were faster but because there was hardly any space between the songs. No banter or breaks. After closing track “A Lack of Color,” Ben Gibbard said “thank you, we’ll reset and be back in 15 minutes with the Postal Service,” and that was it.

The TRANSATLANTICISM set got plenty of applause, and it was certainly deserved. But the introspective indie rock was no match for the Technicolor electronics and guitar pop of The Postal Service.

From the opener “The District Sleeps Tonight” on, it was a combination dance party and Dashboard Confessional show, with the crowd both hanging onto and singing along to every word. Every song was met with raucous applause. “Such Great Heights” was an all-time arena rocker for just one night. Every time Jenny Lewis did… pretty much anything, the crowd roared its approval. And it was warranted: her duet with Ben Gibbard on “Nothing Better” was awesome; it was also the only text-your-ex temptation of the night. (It’s a break-up song where both people agree to say goodbye in the end. I think that means I’ve grown as a person or something.) She also added a menacing guitar solo to the end of a song that wasn’t there on record, which brought some rawk to the proceedings. (Like I said I like this album, not love it. I do not have the names of the songs memorized and I sadly did not write it down.)

Just as Ben Gibbard said a mean thing in a song a few paragraphs ago, I had a mean thought as this set was going on, and that is that I think the girls he was singing about over the course of TRANSATLANTICISM in a negative light are the same girls that were eating this songs up with a fork and spoon, only they don’t have the self-awareness to know it’s them. It was sort of like that Chris Rock bit (link EXTREMELY NSFW) about meeting a girl at a club to Lil’ Jon’s eternal crunk hit “Get Low.” If that sounds a little resentful and misogynistic, well, to quote Tammy Wynette, “I’m just a man.” But I didn’t begrudge them a good time; the intoxicating blend of Jimmy Tamborello’s glitchy, off-kilter beats and Gibbard’s sturdy songwriting was a winning combination and probably ahead of its time for 2003. If GIVE UP came out today I think it would be a #1 smash hit. 

(To make up for the previous paragraph I will admit that I held my wife’s hand during “We Will Become Silhouettes”, because what is more romantic than a song about nuclear apocalypse?)

Album closer “Natural Anthem” was probably the most welcome surprise of the night. The beginning of the song was noisier and glitchier and more blissed out than the studio cut. It added some balance to the delectable pop of the past 40 minutes, while building and building to something terrifying and wonderful until it folded in on itself, a dying star imploding to an abrupt end. To say it was a metaphor for life is probably a stretch, but it felt like it meant something more than just being some noise.

Of course, that wasn’t the end. They came on for two more songs: an acoustic rendition of “Such Great Heights” (which proved what a great song it was, stripped down to just a guitar and the vocals of Ben Gibbard and Jenny Lewis) and a cover of Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy The Silence,” for which the dance party started anew.

The Millennial Nostalgia Tour may not have hit me the same way it did for some of those in attendance. I didn’t wallow in a breakup to TRANSATLANTICISM and GIVE UP didn’t soundtrack makeout sessions in my parents’ basement or in a darkened dorm room. (In fact, most of my experiences with that album are as naptime music for my now five-year-old son.) But it was still good music performed with an unmistakable joy that was infectious. The fact that the songs mostly sounded like their studio counterparts didn’t hurt either. I won’t lie, it was kind of a costly trip for one night in Chicago, but I don’t regret it one bit. It was an excellent show.

If anything, both during the concert and while writing this, I thought an awful lot about the people I’ve been and the person I’ve become. If there’s a higher compliment you can pay a moderately successful indie rock LP and a one-off collaboration that was intended as a labor of love, I’d sure like to hear it.

Concert Review: Smashing Pumpkins at Fiserv Forum 10/30/22

I had the beginning and the ending of this review mostly written in my head days before the show was going to take place. The reason for this is that when it comes to bands/artists I’ve seen multiple times – particularly legacy acts – is that I mostly know what to expect. They’re going to play mostly hits, maybe a few deep cuts, some new songs that no one cares about – and it will all be delivered in a perfectly competent package. 

There is nothing wrong with this in and of itself, But it is a little bit – and neither of these two adjectives completely describe the experience for me, but they are the two that keep coming to mind – boring and disappointing. It is a pattern that has kept repeating itself for most of my adult life, whether we’re talking about Paul McCartney, Tool, or in this case Smashing Pumpkins. Nothing has ever been able to match the anticipation of seeing a band for the first time, not knowing entirely how it was going to go, and then being completely blown away by it all.

Of course, this isn’t the fault of Smashing Pumpkins, it is my own. This, friends, is why it’s a bad idea to live too much inside your own head. It becomes very easy to be let down when you think too much about things.

Fortunately for those of you that don’t want to read a total bummer, Smashing Pumpkins still know how to put on a stellar rock show. James Iha was dressed for the occasion(the concert took place on the day before Halloween) in a full mummy costume; Billy Corgan looked exactly like you’d expect him to look; Jimmy Chamberlin let his excellent drumming do the talking. 

They started with a new tune, “Empires,” that was appropriately noisy, but otherwise forgettable. “Bullet With Butterfly Wings” was next, and the real rocking commenced. Did I sing/scream along to all the words I knew? Of course I did. Was there righteous air guitar soloing? You know it.

We were treated to an excellent and apt deep cut, “We Only Come Out At Night,” from Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. There was also a sweet moment when Billy and James performed “Tonight, Tonight” together on acoustic guitars. For about 4 minutes they had me believing they were buds, belting out some of the most enduring music of the 1990s. 

The last third of the show was probably the most enjoyable for me. “Cherub Rock” featured some excellent guitar work by everyone involved. “Zero” scorched like it always has. “1979” filled the arena with a warm sense of nostalgia that only a song like “1979” can. Finally, the last number, “Silverfuck,” was all gnarled and screechy guitars – a shredfest that built and built until the whole thing boiled over. And then just like that it collapsed in on itself and it was over. No encore. Just the house music and eventually the lights telling us to go home.

I suspect both band and fans – at least those of my generation – have now settled into a comfortable middle age. They’ll play the hits, which will make them boatloads of cash (and for Billy Corgan, the ability to make self-indulgent triple albums that no one will care about). In exchange we get to see and listen to the music of our youth. It will be solid but unspectacular.

I was looking forward to this concert for months. I thought I was looking forward to the music, man, but I think in the end I was actually just excited to hang out with my friends for a couple of hours. In a world that looks more and more like it’s diminishing returns all the way down, I think I’ll take it.

Notes from a novice: The National at the Riverside, 9/16/22

A view from the last possible seat in the balcony.

  

The National, one of the daddiest of the dad-rock bands going today*, played to a sold-out Riverside Theater on Friday night. 

All of The National’s best songs have a feeling of calm with a sense of danger lurking underneath, like a plane drifting through the sky about to hit some turbulence. Aided by Bryan Devendorf’s propulsive drumming, the songs were taken from mere mid-tempo indie rock to something bigger and better.

The National frontloaded their set with some of their best tunes. ”Mistaken for Strangers” took on a different meaning as a middle-aged dad, but still hits hard. High Violet cut “Bloodbuzz Ohio” had the largely millennial crowd’s attention early on, with Matt Berninger crooning its entirely-too-appropriate chorus of “I still owe money, to the money, to the money I owe.” “The System Only Dreams in Total Darkness,” perhaps the rockingest song in their catalog, brought the entire crowd to its feet for the first time. Aaron Dessner’s gnarly, squiggly lead guitar brought some much-needed color to the muted greys and browns that The National usually traffic in. 

I called The National “dad rock” in the opening, and though I stand by that, in truth there were more women in the crowd than men. I think that at least begins with Matt Berninger’s rich baritone voice. He’s part mumbly crooner, part rambling drunk. Whatever you want to call it, he had complete control of the crowd. He ventured into the pit a handful of times throughout the nearly two-hour set, and one imagines it was sort of like a religious experience for those lucky enough to get close to him. 

It would be fair to think of the crowd at a The National show to be one that stands in the back, arms folded, too cool to show any sense of enjoyment. (I say this because I am one of those insufferable people.) This would be absolutely wrong, however. There was dancing in the aisles. There was fist pumping. As someone who is very self-conscious of going to shows alone, it was a relief to see there were fans of all levels (superfan, casual, etc.). 

Ultimately, I think the appeal of The National lies in the sense of togetherness that underpins the music. The lyrics may be sometimes mopey or sad sack, but that didn’t stop anyone from singing along. When Berninger shouted the chorus to crowd favorite “Mr. November,” I wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a plea, but the crowd screamed “I won’t fuck us over!” right along with him. 

That sense of community lasted right through the last song of the encore. The band gathered in a semi-circle at the front of the stage. They started to play gentle High Violet closer “Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks.” Matt Berninger played conductor in lieu of having a microphone, but that didn’t matter as a Dashboard Confessional show broke out right then and there as the crowd sang every line of the song back at the band. Perhaps that is a traditional closer because everyone seemed to know exactly what to do. But it was stunning nonetheless. On a night where, as a first-timer, I didn’t know what to expect, the vibes – as the kids say – were immaculate. There is no higher compliment that I can pay, all things considered.

* I think the top five, in some order or another, is The War on Drugs, Spoon, Wilco, The National, and Foo Fighters.