liveinthenownow

[liveinthenownow]

A fan letter to Foals (11 April at the Fillmore)

Yannis and co., you have gotten under my skin so hard. So epically hard. I worry that no other band will rock my world quite like you dudes. Thursday evening I joined a packed dancefloor in greeting you dudes to these shores. You, though, were the true greeters. To a level of vibes I knew not existed. Brought out I was by "Spanish Sahara" (truth be told the only Foals track I was fully acquainted with). Little did I know that this most epic of numbers serves as a much needed breather from an intensity that makes fainting in a crowd most definitely likely. So thank you, Yannis and crew. For diving head first into a sea of strangers. Thank you, for putting your life at risk to blow a pack of minds. I feared for your safety. There could be no way one human has the stamina to keep on going as you do. I expected you to pass out. But you kept rocking. Rocking as if this were the last show of your life. You banged, you strummed so flipping hard, you let out holy moly noises. All to leave a city utterly mind effed. Three albums you have. And three methods of blowing brain that never have I known before. Not long ago it was the Jewish holiday of Passover, in which my family sang the Thanksgiving/Easter-like song of "dayenu" (Hebrew for "it would have been enough"). Well on this night, Foals you brought me forth from a life of awesome to a land of epic. And why lead a life anything short of the most epic? Just the dance your face offness of your latest most catchy of albums would have been enough. Yet you delivered us more. Just the frozen in your tracks momentousness of "Spanish Sahara", well that would have been plenty. Yet still the best was yet to come. "Antidotes". That entire album. My rock & roll fist has never worked as hard. Awoke I did the next morning longing for these moments. Pandemonium on the dancefloor. I need it in my life again. In the face of these post-show withdrawals, the best I can do is life my life like a Foals show. So thank you for going all out for us. From now on my life will go all out in your spirit.

Until next week in Indio, AK

And PS someone amongst us caught some energy on film. Sweet vid of Spanish Sahara!

[liveinthenownow]

Foxygen at Brick and Mortar (27 March)

I thank the gods of music releases for the timing of my arrival into SF, coincidentally the height of the indie world’s latest musical love affair with the Bay Area. Foxygen’s sonnet to my new stomping grounds just so happened to hit blog landfall the week I touched down on west coast soil (the other nicely timed song is the Mogwli’s “San Francisco”). Clouds might’ve overcame rays if not for the L.A. duo’s shot of sunshine in my ears. And so it seemed only natural to head over to the Mission to thank Foxygen for blessing this city with month loads of good vibes. Of course, just about all of San Francisco had the same idea. This was a buzzing I have not yet seen from this town, as if all were here to greet a future president (or the next Strokes!). But is Foxygen worthy of this sort of city-spreading attention? And does every town these dudes touch down in go as crazy for them as this one? These were the questions I figured I’d have answers for come the close of the night. What I learned instead, though, is none of that matters. Who cares if hype is deserved? Did you smile and have a good time? For three or so minutes in particular, I smiled. A lot. Aside from cute baby animal videos nothing has the power to make me smile as stupidly as these guys do with “San Francisco”. A moment of letting go of how dorky you might look. Just let all of your happiness out. These four or so minutes were every flower in my hair. Every field of green. Every Magical Mystery Tour. All in my veins. So proud I was to call this place home. This, the anthem of my head remaining in the clouds. Foxygen is how I walk down sunny streets. As for the moments before and the moments following the bliss that is “San Francisco”, well that lead singer has a heck of a ton more stage charisma than ever I’d have imagined. Dude is pretty maniacal up there. A psychedelic sugar rush he’s on. Not sure I was having the same rush, but he’s still fun to watch. Regardless of whether the hype is worth it or not, three of those minutes made me smile. And if it's a choice of heading home straight from work or a music-induced smile, well it's a choice as clear as these Sunday skies.

Catch the vibes over here! This vid for "San Francisco" is the Wes Anderson of all tunes =)

[liveinthenownow]

Hey Marseilles at the Chapel (Tues 5 March)

"Think of the shorelines you have yet to see." -Hey Marseilles

A nick of time entrance dropped me right into a life I love. Some musical soul-searching I was in need of after having just sat through my first LSAT prep class. Hour of logic and whatever other things one discusses in an LSAT class were tolerable. The second hour hit and I panicked. And I daydreamed. And I wrote a list of reasons law school just ain't the right place for me. A box it was I wanted no thinking in. Hey Marseilles make the music of a world at the heart of my daydreams. Masters they are of a most nautical of vibes. The kind of musical storytelling at the heart of every adventurers' imagination. This was the most sweet sounding of reminders, through accordion and trumpet and other acoustics, of the rivers and roads I have left to explore. For the time being, though, my head traveled in figure eights to the pleasantness of Hey Marseilles. I'd be perfectly content living in a state of these harmonies. As sad as I was for the live tunes to come to a close, the men on stage sent me home with adventure in my blood and a new soundtrack for the travels to come. And thus in rain I said heck no to cabs, for what a great opportunity a late night stroll would be to listen to "Rio" and dream of the boxless days ahead.

(*That was both my first and last LSAT prep class)

The new Hey Marseilles album just came out. "Rio" though is the one tune I haven't stopped listening to. http://vimeo.com/33365150

[liveinthenownow]

Noise Pop (Feb 26th - March 3rd)

I awoke this Monday morning with what felt like sunshine in my veins. The ninth time, this was, that I had started my week in the city of San Francisco. Yet on those eight Mondays prior something just wasn't there. The excitement to get out of bed and explore the oyster they call a city, well that was a spirit left behind in Cape Town and Bethlehem, PA, and one that even jumped ship to Paris, Rio, Vietnam, and all the other roads and rivers I have yet to arrive at. But today, my present location flipped to a sunny side up. A total restructuring of funky dispositions I had undergone. For, a blood transfusion of the most musical plasmas had turned my universe around. Though I'd like to believe I am the maker of my own good vibes, a push I needed off of the diving board into the depths of this magical city. That most needed a shoves came from a week they call the Noise Pop Music Festival. The following is a memoir of my most music-packed of weeks.

Wednesday at Brick & Mortar // Ramona Falls + Social Studies + Harriet + Mahgeetah: To kick off my Noise Pop I had a choice between the 60s-infused rock & roll of the Fresh and Only's and the Portland folk of Ramona Falls. I opted for what I assumed to be the chiller night. So wrong I was about there being any sort of calm at a Ramona Falls show. A jail break of hell it was that I most enjoyed. But before demons ran rampant throughout Brick and Mortar, three of California's finest bands introduced me to diverse sounds of the west. My glassesless eyes were just blind enough for night kicker off Mahgeetah (SF Americana rock) to dupe me into thinking this was Manchester, Tennessee, in the early days of the reign of My Morning Jacket. Having made my way up front for L.A.'s Harriet, my eyes soon wandered to the back where, not one, but two drummers sparked in me ideas on the concept of spirit lengths between music makers. Third up, hometown indie heroes Social Studies made me so totally excited about this city's music scene. This comparison has been made by others before, but it's impossible not to think of Beach House's Victoria Legrand when falling under the spell of Social Studies' most musically enticing of frontladies. A dance-encouraging west coast cousin of Beach House me thinks. My SF to-do-list has a new priority: re-enjoying Social Studies! But now it was time to finally place a finger on the peculiar creepiness I've always felt about Ramona Falls. Creepy I say, though nonetheless they're still the makers of albums I've had on repeat for a few years now. In person the oddity of their tunes becomes blatantly clear. The devil's soundtrack it is that they blast. Difficult it was to pay attention to anyone that wasn't the drummer. Dude could and should have his own solo percussion act. This was a brand of demon-touched folk that I quickly and with the best of feelings acclimated to. (L.A.'s Harriet & the infamously fun to watch duo of drums in the back)

Thursday at the Independent // Paul Basic + SuperVision: From Thursday onwards my traditional show-going course took a turn for the far more awesome behind-the-scenes route. Strolling up to the Independent I assumed the cloak of assistant to someone important. An adventure into the mysteriously musical world of artist production, a term that I knew not even existed until this past week. And thus into the green rooms and box offices and sound stages of these gigs I went. My mentor in music's first lesson for me plunged us shakingly yet simply into the world of DJs. Pretty Lights affiliated cronies Paul Basic and SuperVision attest to the musical diversity that is Noise Pop. Though few in number, the loyal bodies that came out certainly made up for the low density with the utmost of funky devotions to the dancefloor. Lessons I did learn, both with regard to the inner workings of a venue and the art of die hard dancing. These funky souls, and I will admit I was not among them on this particular night, could have easily and eagerly kept rocking bods til worlds ended. Inspiration I gained lots of to BYO Funk no matter the number. A party I did watch get made before my own two program-handing-out eyes.

(rockin' the soundboard)

Friday at the Chapel // Damien Jurado: Friday night my mentor in musical living led me to the Chapel for an evening with Seattle folk. A fitting setting this was, for the followers that flocked here see the man of the night as no mere mortal. Despite my year-long attachment to the "Nothing is the News" song, I truly had no idea of the cult status that is Damien Jurado (and, I soon learned, rightly so). A worker of merch first and a concert-goer second, living in the musical moment was for once not at the forefront of my nightly agenda. My task for the night, aside from checking off a lifelong aspiration of working the merch table, also offered a most awesome of platforms to cross paths and chat with fellow music minds. Besides, live tunes I still managed to check out a bit of. Never have I seen a lone musician on stage garner such respect as Damien Jurado. Not a peep from the crowd was acceptable, not even a shuffling of cups or a movement of foot. Worshipping we all were a most down-to-earth and good-natured of gods. A dad he is that just so happens to play beautiful music you can't help but drift to. A Note on Culture Club: Noise Pop has a fairly recent Saturday tradition of showcasing music-fueled creativity when the sun still shines: an event by the name of Culture Club. Even better, it's the perfect setting to meet followers of the funk in life and get your own creative juices flowing. Panels, artwork, musical innovators, even crochet; musicians doing atypical cool things. Awesome vibes all around. (baskin' in the spirit of creativity with Eilon Paz, founder of the very funky Dust & Grooves project)

(Dust & Grooves: For the Love of Vinyl)

Saturday at Brick & Mortar // DIIV + Wax Idols + SISU + LENZ A book on eastern religious thought I feel I could write after having been forever changed by the boys named DIIV. For, a new way of experiencing live music my body did learn. But before discussing the face melting overdose of epic that is DIIV, I feel it my mission to talk the heck outta SISU (see-soo). Seek out the unfamiliar: a life mantra epitomized by this set from L.A.'s SISU. A name as foreign as calculus to me, by the first tune of their most boot-stirring of sets, one thing was clear: frontwoman Sandra Vu and her musical cohorts should be headlining the whole darn festival. So naturally rock and roll graceful she is up there. Navigation music with an edge, easy to just flow with. This was no Jane Schmo up there. All made sense when I found out the rock goddess on stage, when she's not inducing blown minds, is also the drummer for Dum Dum Girls. Before my jaw could even recover from its dropped spot on the floor, I could have sworn we did a time warp again. All chica Ramones-meets-mod Wax Idols took to the stage. How cool it was to see back-to-back instances of ladies rocking the eff out. It was still only a matter of moments before my life forever changed, my music-seeking body having gone to a very hellish heaven and totally content to stay forever put in a state of DIIV. Looking totally hippy punk on stage and no older than junior high dropouts (though I'm sure they're much older than that), the Brooklyn beach bums on stage immediately unleashed a new form of epic. An album of the chillest nature to nap by the pool with or really for any easy-minded occasion, in person seconds are intense to the point where I thought I'd need to leave. For this was a new heat my body almost couldn't take. Had a new friend not so kindly brought over some water, I have no doubt I would have fainted from overdose of intensity. A musical seizure I may very well have had. Tunes would stop yet my head kept shaking. These moments, I lived so hard in them. (rock & roll goddess Sandra Vu)

(DIIV. Thank you. So so much.)

Sunday Night Closing Party // super secret surprise guests: Like blind music-seeking mice we RSVP'd (for free) to a most secretive of extravaganzas. The motivation we needed was that Noise Pop hinted this night'd be a special one. Inside this mysterious Market Street location surrounded we were by everything I've come to love about this week, and SF in general. Gathered within this rad-looking room were the little niches within the melting pot that is Noise Pop. A crowd of conglomerated awesome. Though perfectly happy basking in good company, my nerves began enduring tolls from the stress of surprise. But finally in the most anti-climactic of ways a big revelation made its way to my ears. So totally stoked I was to find out that Tycho would be bringing their rain-soundtracking live vibes to bid adieu to this most game-changing of weeks. What's more, queen of everything cool, Merrill Garbus would be shelling out good tunes from behind the DJ booth. A sigh of relief and utter stokedness I could breathe, for Noise Pop had followed through on their promise of magic. But first, the night kicked off with a bit of music video making. Go-pro cameras were all around to film the psychadellic tunes and vibes of SF's Maus Haus. In what may be my new claim to fame, we all in the room gathered to sing tUnE-yArDs herself a very happy birthday. The room just totally lit up with the good natured presence of the birthday girl. (sidenote: I look forward to one day being deemed a worthy enough DJ guest.) My mind wandered to waterfalls as Tycho was about to take the stage, for their's is a music I love best in the rain. It mattered not what the visuals displayed on screen actually showed (though they were certainly quite groovy). Tycho takes your mind any magical destination you choose. Up in the clouds, in fact all the way to a cloud numbered nine, that's where they took me. Live in action Tycho can either move your feet or put you to sleep, a best of both worlds scenario if ever there was one. Ready for bed after a full week of tunes, it was time to dream sweetly and wake up to a sunny side of living. How sweet it is, I am finally certain, to be 21 in the city of San Francisco. (tUnE-yArDs, hope you're birthday was a groovy one!)

(Tycho taking us to cloud nine)

[liveinthenownow]

Night Beds + Indians + Cat Martino at Brick & Mortar (22 Feb)

Our souls sometimes open so far wide, often grilled cheese-induced, that our eyes stay closed in the most natural of ways. In live music I call this the eyes wide shut, soul wide open phenomenon. This past Friday at Brick and Mortar I might as well have brought blindfolds.

A yoga studio I need not look for if Cat Martino sticks around town. All of my bones relax, either as a result of her most meditating of voices or the spirits awakened by those voices. The experimental wavelength continued with Indians, though from futuristic sounds with Cat went we to a blast from the pleasantly played past by way of Copenhagen. Cat had done her part to awaken the musical ghouls, but Indians' "I Am Haunted" brought the spirits out in full nice-feeling force.

Though happy enough I was, my heart awaited the live rendition of an album that had provided me reason enough to get out of bed each morning that week. A homecoming for Night Beds I had stumbled into. This was as heartwarming a moment in music as they come, for an entire set span. Winston Yellen not only whisked away a room full of home state loved ones and fans, but he himself was whisked away by the wide open hearts before him. So lost in the tunes the man behind the mic got that at times his feet were literally swept off the floor. Powerful this evening was, the unfolding of a coming of age ritual on stage. A heart has never spilt so politely. It's as if Winston doesn't realize the impact of his voice. The Hulk couldn't life me up half as high as the beauty of these vocals. My body stood still while my soul soared to the location of our universe's lost balloons. The epicness of Local Natives with a bit of some southern comfort. Kindness and humility are adjectives that rarely come to mind when reflecting on a previous night's music. Yet it's impossible to separate these most special of qualities from the music Night Beds played us. Everything about this set and their record and them felt and feels like something magical.

[liveinthenownow]

Robert DeLong at Amoeba (22 February)

Did I make money? Was I proud? Did I play my songs too loud? Did I leave my life to chance or did I make you effing dance? -Global Concepts

A glass half filled as I strolled into Amoeba mid-reason I set out to the Haight at 6PM on a Friday. Welcoming my late arrival was the maniacal drumming of Robert DeLong, professing his most catchy of life purposes to the crowd. I feared I had missed my chance to effing dance. As the one-man-show drumming transitioned to a madman producer with high tech gadgets on stage it was clear that many 'a opportunity to get down still remained. "Opportunity", though, is the key word. DeLong performed his musical mitzvah of free vibes for the public good like the overachieving trees-for-Israel Bar Mitzvah boys and girls of years past. Plenty of tools he blessed us with to go absolutely apenuts with our feet, arms, and entire bodies. Apenuts he went. We in the crowd though most munfunkindanely underutilized the energy at our disposal. Perhaps tame times just go with the territory of an in-studio performance. Mr. DeLong and his dance manifesto are so adequately suited for the hottest of sweaty days in places like Manchester, TN, Miami, and Chicago in festival season. Nonetheless a happy enough time in SF was still had, and done so extremely on the cheap.

DeLong makes music at its most primal of feelings with a futuristic means of getting there. A hybridization of rock at its most intense with dubstep. DeKibg is a strand of EDM that I can handle. Bass with a positive message. I'd like to say there's something slightly dorky about his Sea World trainer enthusiasm (he really just wants to make everyone happy), yet I can't help but have the utmost respect for a guy with a musical manifesto to make the world dance. He's a maniac with a drum set and high tech toys. I'm a girl with a pen and paper. Despite our different devices, there's a common cause between us that makes me feel attached to a musical form I'd otherwise silence. Both of us are on a similar path towards spreading good vibes across the globe. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8tdO0wjQLE

[liveinthenownow]

Tanlines at Rickshaw Stop (8 February)

Tropical vibes or bust. It was a Tanlines-provoked mission. In retrospect I'm not totally sure which lesson to take away from this past Friday's journey to Rickshaw Stop. Either way it's clear: my fear of commitment makes the process of seeing live music far more complicated (ie this newfound habit of waiting until a show is sold out to make ticket-purchasing moves). Perhaps this is all part of a subconscious desire to leave life and musical things to fate. Were I to purchase my ticket in the days leading up to a show, well that would just take away room for roads less traveled and flows to go with. In the case of the sold-out Tanlines quest, commitaphobia worked most funkily and good time-resulting in my favor. To my most fortunate of lucks, 5PM rolled around and my savior with a hashtag popped into my life. The social media equivalent of lost kitten flyers it was. In this case though, the beloved missing pet was a ticket to the time of life. Better yet, I was connected with the most music minded of new friends, and a fellow and far more established blogger of beats and tunes. My twitter query had led to not only the ticket of my dreams but also a most fun-provoking of crews for the night (and perhaps some futurely epic shows to come). Over a week later and flashes of awesome continue popping through my ears and eyes, the result of the orchestrating duo of nights I'd like to remain in a perpetual state of. Maestros of moments where a venue full of good people lose themselves in sync to those best feeling of vibes. It was the pandemonium of Ultra in a setting that need not attract a neon vest and glow stick. A tribal gathering in the tropics of San Francisco it was. Pulsating we were to prehistoric feel it in your bones thumping percussion by way of Brooklyn. Feelings of epic seeped deep down into my nerves, compelling me to gather my feet up to the stage-area steps. My hands flayed centimeters from the very man causing the flaying. Whatever lose yourself to the tropical sensations spell came over me, well somehow it's stuck with me. Tanlines are not just a Brooklyn-based indieish duo (no idea how to even pinpoint their genre), nor even just those funny guys on twitter who happen to play instruments. They've perfected the craft of oh so good feelingly imparting on all they encounter the art of perpetual time of your life having.

[liveinthenownow]

Thao & the Get Down Stay Down at Amoeba (6 February 2013)

Stomp your boots. A lot of that was done pre-dinnertime at San Francisco's beloved record mega-store. Thao Nguyen and crew filled me with enough soul-located vitamins to skip the next couple of meals. Ginormous compared to any ol' mom and pop shop Amoeba filled with music-seekers of all different spectrums, from fellow 20-somethings to very rad moms and even some ahead of the musical game tots. All were here for a totally free taste of Thao's brand awesomely new album "We the Common". Before getting to the implications of the ensuing get down, a brief introduction into the phenomenon of inspirational stage presence is in order. A year or so later I continue to live life by the fumes of a St. Vincent concert. There's something about witnessing such an epically holy cow how does she do that and how much does she love what she's doing sort of performance as that presented by the lovely (okay, the loveliest) Annie Clark. The sort of concert that inspires even the least musically-talent among us (myself) to just be more epic at everything. Thao Nguyen is another human being with that bring out the best in all of us presence. She puts on one heck of a vow to be a better human sort of show. (Now back to the live tunes at hand) A most rocking of lessons on kicking things off with a bang was soon learned. I was totally not expecting that much of a roll in our welcome. The wise words of impossible to forget opening track "City" reinforced a lesson at the heart of my last couple of weeks of up-growing around these funky parts. "Start a new year whenever you need". More important words have never been rocked out to. From there-on-out everything was just, and I say this only when totally necessary, so effing good. The kind of good in the moment fun on stage you see from recordings of big music festivals. Unreal. That's the word for Thao's style. The hardest rocking human being on a banjo. My favorite instrument stepped up infinitely gratifying for the feet heights. Though the crowd so unfortunately preferred to stand still, the in front of us air felt like Coachella in a vinyl collector's paradise. The ensued tunes, all hit with the quality of anthem. What we at Amoeba received was an album brought oh so naturally enthusiastically to life, the music equivalent of Who Framed Roger Rabbit, if Roger Rabbit was the best vibe-filled cartoon character. Thao's new album, I've had it on repeat since that fateful day. More significantly, though, something from that in-store sampling of tunes has rubbed off on me. Perhaps it's the spirit of being totally incredible at your passion and totally passionate about your work. That's how I'd like to think Thao Nguyen rubbed off on me.

[liveinthenownow]

Local Natives at the Fox (30 January)

Take a walk down memory lane to your college years (or something like that). For some of us all that's needed for some glory days reflection is a bit of turning on, tuning in, and dropped bass. For, right alongside your best and most soul-completing of buds (shout out to you guys), there's those albums that stuck by your side through thick and all sorts of thins. For me that trustworthiest of digital companions was Local Natives' Gorilla Manor. After four or so years of musical medicine coming in doses of la blogotheque videos, tiny desk concerts, and of course the album itself, I found myself a local native in the home state of my good feeling-spreading doctors. Lucky enough this final week in January was a great time to find yourself a Local Natives appreciator anywhere in the world, and specifically in California. Firstly, on the morning of January 29th I awoke to the most joyous of updates. Santa had arrived in vinyl form. Local Natives' second album, Hummingbird, was out and up on spotify to be played many many times again. More-so than on other mornings, I sauntered through the park with the smiling swagger of a post-Chanukkah giftee. Darker and more pensive-sounding these birds humming in my ears were, though nonetheless still epic. If the 29th was a cause for celebration, then the following day was the most victorious of show-going laps. A high that began long before a venue even entered the picture. Sighting the brightly-lit words of "Local Natives, Jan. 30" atop the Fox's most majestic of signs, every bit of little kid enthusiasm sparked in my bones. My big-things-coming senses tingled in this most 'classic Hollywood theater meets Far East palace' of places. It would only be an hour or so before one of the defining bands of my young adulthood would serenade all of ours souls. It didn't even matter that my destination was the second to last row. For now I'd just kick back, take in the most impressive of sceneries, and enjoy the sounds around me. The task of entertaining one-track-minded eager for Local Natives show-goers has to be one of the toughest gigs out there, but the Superhumanoids and their 80s vibes kept me relaxed as I awaited the soul-melting moments to ensue. My nosebleed though still sneeze-worthy location did't last too long. I realized that had I stayed put concert-goers to the left and right of me would have been unpleasantly alarmed by the music-induced trance of the girl next to them. And so I made my own standing section, right alongside some ticket-checkers (eternally grateful to those kind folks for putting up with my nonsense). And so it began. An hour of my fondest memories of the past four years flashing before my overwhelmed eyes. The good times-flashing aspect of my enchantment, though, was of course only inherently glued to the Gorilla Manor parts of their set. The fresh off the press parts were the goodest of chances to bask in the presence of the most soul-wooing of sounds in front of me. Percussion. In the case of Local Natives, that sometimes overlooked part of the band is where the emotional pull on me lay. It is not drumming in any traditional rock & roll form. It's these soft sorts of sounds that pack the utmostly soul-pulling punch. And then there are the voals, among the most 'can't get it out of your mind' in today's indie world. Both these elements, as well as the meant-to-do-this flow with which these four guys click on stage, came together to shoot my being way up past the very high ceiling of the Fox. The climax of the entire night, and perhaps my 21ish (give-or-take) years as a music listener, was the closing-out-the-show number "Sun Hands". Just that moment would have made everything worth anything. And off I went back to the city, sure I'd made it to the sun and back. For days I've remained singing tunes to myself on the fumes of those Sun Hands.

[liveinthenownow]

Cat Martino + (a little bit of) Willy Mason at the Chapel (29 January)

A venue named "the Chapel". And not just simply named after a religious structure, but also sort of resembling one with some red neon lights thrown in for a hip effect. What a brilliant concept and a potentially awesome post-work sanctuary for any tunes-centered minds out there. Cat Martino's work with the legend Sufjan Stevens on the 'Yr Not Alone' track as well as her involvement with a cool little organization named Weathervane made her a familiar name to me, and thus the reason I decided to make this my refuge for the night. A chapel indeed was the perfect setting for the looping let-yourself-go-ness that is Miss Martino. Initially we were about as timid of a crowd as a spectator in a circus spectacle, opting to take this as a chance to view some sort of interpretive performance. Luckily though the very kind-spoken Cat invited us all in to be an active part of the ritual that soon would unfold. And a good thing at that it was; Cat Martino needs to be enjoyed, heard, felt, and everything of the above right up close. Exploration with loops and the most delicate on the ears sort of voice make me think if James Blake was a lady and a kindergarten teacher that would be Cat Martino. Necessary it was to close your eyes. Feel the vibrations and waves around you. Or look in front of you and see the female incarnation of Sufjan, replete with all the glory of a light-up on-stage attire. At points there were even traces of the most minimal and satisfying dubstep quivers. At other points I had an emotional connection with the percussion. A state of musical genius she was in, clearly having been touched by the creative odd-bug of the musical master himself at some point in her most promising of career paths. Pitches were hit that made my entire day's work worthwhile. With one set I had attained the most musical of blisses I had come out for. The country sort of folk of headliner Willy Mason might have been a good listen most other occasions, but my body had already left this galaxy. With a song or two for good measure, it was time to head home.

(Update): Checked out Willy Mason's tunes last night after a friend with great ears brought up his jealousy about me seeing that dude. Really awesome stuff that I've heard so far! I'm sure had I been in the right mindset I would have been filled with the most blown away of spirits. 

Cat Martino - Yr Not Alone (feat. Sufjan)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lW1DOHHOpqY

Willy Mason - Oxygen

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RvZIiiIMwbg

[liveinthenownow]

Father John Misty + the Walkmen at the Fillmore (24 January)

A close second to the high of live music is the pre-emptive shaking of bones and rattling of senses that is an anticipatory holy cowness when you realize two of the allegedly noteworthiest of acts will be popping by your new hometown together. "Fear Fun" (FJM) and "Heaven" (the Walkmen) are among two of the closest to my ears and heart albums of this past year. Any quick or very long side-by-side listen might suggest this is the apples to oranges tour of the indie world. Little did I know the holy cow quality of their in-person presence makes them a very natural and utmost dynamical duo, the sort of force to be reckoned with that no matter what must be seen at some point in your life. Strolling in two songs deep to the very incredible-sounding in front of you voice of Father John Misty (aka Josh Tillman of Fleet Foxes), I instantly transformed into a transcendental zone of both psychadellity and vaudeville-folk. I had been warned FJM's live performances make him a must-see act; yet his other-world-creating presence came as a total and most gratifying of shocks. It's hard to deny Father John Misty not only deserves but epitomizes the label epic live performance, in any angle you look, hear, or feel it deep down inside your bones from. Firstly, he's got vocals that hit you in every sort of inside (soul, heart, bones, everywhere). Secondly, and perhaps more out of the blue, he's got the moves that make him the indie community's modern-day Elvis. That sensation teeny bopper fans clad in poodle skirts, screaming at the sexiness of the Rock & Roll king on stage, well that's something I can finally understand. Bon Iver meets Elvis. Josh Tillman is the king of Folk & Roll. "Hollywood Forever Cemetery", replete with red flashing lights, some poll dancing for good measure, and Tillman's leave no energy out there vocality, well that all made for the sexiest ending to and indie folk set I've yet witnessed. Dapperly dressed as if getting ready for a nice piano set at a MOMA gala, the Walkmen ended up teaching the aristocracy a thing or two on ultimate intensity rock & roll spirit. They have the epic stadium-like sound of the National, yet in the most maniacal of forms. If Josh Tillman played indie Elvis of the night, then the Walkmen's Hamilton Leithauser was Sinatra on 'roids. My heart swelted (is that even a word?) with the in-the-zone doesn't even explain it drum-beating, piano-playing, and of course word-yelling of Hamilton and crew. The crooner in our presence belted with the utmost of jaw-dropping intensities the words and feelings that have remained with me to this day almost a week later. "We Can't Be Beat". A phrase has never been more uplifting nor music high-inducing. Though the live tunes eventually came to a close, the Walkmen sent me home walking on urban water belting those very words which Hamilton Leithauser had not too long before filled me with the most can't stop me ever of energies.

[liveinthenownow]

The Stoop Sessions (January 20th 2013)

Step outside on a nice day & you just might encounter the raddest of banjo singing/songwriting.

[liveinthenownow]

Happy Now Year! (Sat 26 January)

This may be fifteenish years in the making (the era I was first introduced to the White Album and Mr. Smith’s ‘Getting Jicky Wit It’), but music has somewhat, bordering on entirely, assumed the role of organized religion in my life. Divinity to me is a name like Otis Redding. My fill of weekly faith no longer takes place at Beth Torah in North Miami Beach like it did for those bat mitzvah-preceeding days, but rather in synagogues known as dive bars and street-performer-filled alleyways. I could write a guidebook on the Central Avenue-located place of music in my spiritual well-being (perhaps someday), but for word-constraining purposes I’ll stick to discussing the phenomenon of musical miracles.

As much as it pains my pride to admit, unlike the instant I’m totally in love with this place and am ready to call this home introduction to life in Cape Town, the early stages of my San Franciscan adventure have sometimes been shadowed by the thought that ain’t no place in the world I’d rather be than back in Bethlehem, PA with my best buds. Though feeling the effects of missing my college town and simultaneously the aftermath of a nighttime run gone too long (got a bit lost in the dark and my lungs were hurtin), I rather reluctantly, I mean after all it was a Saturday night, set out for the fifth night in a row to explore the musical offerings of this new-to-me city. Venturing out far away to see energy-demanding tunes like the psychadellic rock I had earlier in the day ever-so-ambitiously planned on was not exactly something I was exactly thrilled about. All I wanted was a bit of live musical relaxation, but that seemed to be a Lost Ark-like challenge.

On this particular night my march towards tunes led me in a road rarely-travelled-by-me (in the week I’ve been here) direction. Before I had time to even decide on a song to stroll out to, I suddenly heard wind of all I truly desired in that very moment. It was the sweetest of sounds. There was live jazz in a presumptively tunes-deprived neck of the woods. An epic turn of the most musical of fates had led me to a neighborhood get-together known as the “Now Year’s Day Party”. The concept of the fiesta, as explained to me, was to question the conventional norm of designating January 1st as the sole day to start living afresh. Anytime is a great time to live the most awesomely of lives. Aside from some ‘nothing asked for in return’ malt wine and dinner, the greatest of musical vibes would be on display for all in this neighborhood now called home (at least until the 15th). I’d been guided all week by the assumption that I’d need to trek out to the Mission or other faraway parts of town to encounter any sort of soothing sounds. As I soon learned, though, everything my ears and soul craved was less than a Ramones song away. Never again will I overlook the potential for soul-melting musicality surrounding my front door.

Upon the homiest of stages, all were invited to spread some musical joy and strut their ‘neighbors otherwise would have no idea existed’ stuff. This was Burning Man in the cosiest of comforts. Though everyone gracing the mic left my jaw somewhat dropped, a couple of acts in particular had me going giddy in my boots. Many-musical-talented new friends of mine, Kevin and Adam, had an even greater role than the hot spiced wine in putting the dorkiest of smiles on my face. All among the outdoor heaters vibed in the happiest of manners along to the duo’s Flight of the Conchords good-spiritedness meets Bon Iver shiver-spreading quality. Aided by the heart-melting sounds of our fellow neighbors, this was a Chrismakkah-spirited affair in latter January. The night’s unofficial (or perhaps official) headliner orchestrated the otherwordly goodness of the evening with her ‘no way the stars even do that’ vocal epicness. Blues-to-folk-to-jazz sounds simultaneously uplifted my night’s faith and left me a little too close to the verge of happy of tears. Though a night filled with tunes grounded in some sort of idolized musical past, all the evening’s happy vibes aligned to aid all in Inner Sunset fortunate to pop by in embracing the epicness of the present. It was indeed just the musical miracle perfect the now occasion.

[liveinthenownow]

Talib Kweli at the Independent (Wed 23 January)

"Get 'em high" are a couple of words I was not expecting to hear on this particular Wednesday evening in San Francisco. But if that night taught me anything it's the potential for epic randomness associated with big city living. In any event I headed out to Divisidaro that night with the intention of checking out a DJish party at some art bar (still not sure what that means) that someone had told me about. Not yet in the fashionably late realm, and recalling that Talib Kweli had just posted that day about a show at the Independent, I figured I'd make a pit-stop just down the block to check out some outside the venue hip-hop vibes. Little did I know Talib's appearance was only announced the day before; and as it turned out not everyone had received word of the legend's stint in town. And so with tickets still available, for the first time since the ninth grade when I saw 'Ye with my mom, I found myself in the middle of a hip-hop gathering.

The way I figured things even if the live tunes turned out to be a disappointment, the cultural emersion aspect of it all would at least be there. As far as crowd-based cultural uniqueness went, this could have easily passed for any ol' indie show. But anyways, now back to the music. The evening kicked off with what I'd imagine as some good ol' fashioned emceeing in the sprit of that tribe they call Quest. In a musical variation of baseball (this will derive from my dad's philosophy on why baseball is the greatest of the sports), the dudes and chica on stage initiated hands in the air through their own solo stuff (akin to stepping up to the plate in a ball game) and yet at other points the whole gang flowed very nicely together with some tagteamish rhymes. In perhaps the most bizarre coincidence of the night, I realized I had chilled out to the mixtape many a time before of one of the 'seemingly unheard of by little girls like myself' emcees on stage. His name, of course, is Duckworth. Though anxious for the man of honor to grab the mic, I couldn't help but enjoy these disciples of the Tribe.

Prior to Mr. Kweli's turn on stage, I beamed with a sense of middle school fulfillment. This night, after all, signified some sort of accomplishment almost a decade in the making, between the first time I heard "Get By" on Chapelle's Show and this very much randomly-sequenced night in California. With that being said, perhaps my expectations were unreasonably high, but throughout the ensuing set I found myself overwhelmed with disappointment. There is no doubt that Talib is a gifted emcee, but the big ego energy that surrounded the sole speaker on stage served as this shield preventing any enjoyment within me. Perhaps hearing these same words (at least those of his earlier rhymes) might have shined as special, but now they just felt unfabulously egotistical. Mr. Kweli's charisma, it is impossible to deny, is quite impressive. Not many men are as capable of commanding a stage totally on their own with the same forcefulness as this guy. Yet over-the-top powerful feeling charisma is not what I was expecting to from a once seemingly undergroundish artist. Perhaps for many of my fellow attendees this accounted for a grand time (most seemed to be loving it). But for me I felt like the good and groovy vibes just weren't aligned. Regardless, though, I left the Independent smiling about the fact that my night turned out as hip-hop as it did.

[liveinthenownow]

Gin Wigmore + Guy Fox at Cafe du Nord (Tues 22 Jan)

Being fresh off a boat in a new town isn't all that bad. Perhaps most awesomely about it, at least for those bound to the religion called music, is getting to fall in love with a wholly new and unfamiliar scene. In the case of Cape Town I fell fast and hard. Anxious for that epiphanical moment of realizing the extent of this city's musical magic for the first time, I sought out some after-work live tunes. And so for the first of many times to come I marched like a music-hungry yet lost in the headlights deer into the unfamiliar world of San Francisco live music. My feet and Local Natives-listening ears brought me over to Cafe du Nord for an evening with two names that meant little to me at the time, but I'll forever remember as the match that lit my affection for Bay Area music-going. With my first step down into this most classiest of basements I could feel myself whisked away by the Parisian salon yet still not stuck-up vibes of Cafe du Nord. But yes, I was trying to get at earlier that embracing the unknown is one of the coolest perks of being a newcomer in town. So many unfamiliar bands and tunes to be heard and give you good feelings many times again. Most importantly, though, free from the enjoyment-constraining pressure of expectations, there should be no barrier to letting loose and having those totally in-the-moment good times. In any event, prior to this evening I had no idea what to expect from SF live music. Opening band Guy Fox, though, most in-the-momently introduced me to the magical flavor of the city's live offerings. There's something special about those dudes which, when I wasn't preoccupied with my dancing by myself 'I don't careness', I struggled to put my finger on. It could be that they cover all spectrums of awesome. My toes, instantly sensing the heavy use that would ensue, felt a sigh of relief with the swag-infused vibes that kicked off this most epically all-over-the-place sets. I say 'all over the place' because all of my musical cravings were filled by these guys, from reggae good feelings to psychadellicness and the blues and even some 50sish harmony. It's sort of like they take all of these really cool niche genres and put an indie spin to it, almost like a Beirut if Zack Condon had the swag to get a whole venue swaying wherever toes drop. The final transition of theirs, though, into the purest of rock & roll forms, left me with a "this is the stuff of legends" melted soul. And so it came to be that a band by the name of Guy Fox aided me one note at a time in releasing all my anxieties about post-grad life in a faraway town. All this musical-meets-biggerpicture satisfaction of course was had even before the big draw approached the stage. My weeklong newness was outdone only by the headliner herself. It seemed like I was one of the only du Norders that night who hadn't yet heard of New Zealand's Gin Wigmore. San Francisco instantly transported into some sort of happy-place (as if it wasn't already...) as soon as the very sailor-shirted kiwi and her nostalgically-clothed musical cohorts tuned up. This wasn't no bubblegum pop affair though. We were in a candyland with tattoos and edge. For a moment I was surprised to see so many dudes, but it was soon clear that this chica had every fella in the joint under her most musical of spells. Enchantment and happy vibes filling the venue, it was clear to all that this was a soon-to-be too small a stage for a presence like that. Despite the encore roars left unfulfilled, I left the cafe as happy as the new kid in school post-befriending the musical pals of his or her dreams.

[liveinthenownow]

Funk in New Places

Ahoy all my friends and fellow lovers of good musical vibes. It’s been a while… For those new to Live in the Now Now, this all began as a scheme ten months ago to get acquainted with the Cape Town live music scene back when I was a pre-ubuntu-infused study abroad student. Over the course of seven months the fellow good time-seeking folks, bands, venues, and rhythms of the Mother City slowly (but actually super quickly) grooved and played their way deep into my heart and musical soul. The lessons, tunes, and times from my South Africa days are still a part me, yet a lot has happened in between my final gig on the African continent (it was the Rudimentals at Mercury) and this MLK Day-day off from work.

For starters, the homesick for Capetown blues kept me down a bit for my first couple of months back stateside. But the cure to the blues, I soon discovered, was just a little bit of funk (a lot of funk). Back in Bethlehem, PA to finish up school, I was joined by a free-spirited partner in live vibes to discover some hidden soul on the Southside. The Funhouse may seem like a hub for the homeless and unemployed to most of our student body, but to us it was the center of everything funky and most excellent about the Lehigh Valley. And thus, many a night during the week we gathered at a little dive bar in the name of live tunes and drink specials. Sundays were jazz; Wednesdays were funk; Fridays and Saturdays were anyone’s guess. It took me three years to discover that true education lay a block away from all academic buildings. Though creepy-looking to the eye, the Funhouse served, and should continue serving for my sistahs and brothers back in B-lehem, as the most musical means of winding down from the pressures of senior year (9 credits for me…) and the life-saving lesson of how to live in the now now (a lesson I had so unfunkily forgotten post-SA).

The other of my life’s developments, and the one with implications as far as the future of this blog is concerned, is that my pursuit to follow the sound in life has recently led me to San Francisco, CA. And thus, once again brand new to a town and seriously anxious to become a part of a city’s music scene, I am hereby resurrecting Live in the Now Now as a space for words on the San Francisco live music scene.

Stay tuned, Deejay

("where fun people meet and party")

http://funhousepub.com/music_page.php

[liveinthenownow]

P for Pinata with Nomadic Orchestra + Touchwood + Luma + The Hedges (7 August)

Whoever from the Waiting Room gave the okay for a bunch of college kids to gather under a very large pinata for a night of squeezed together hips shaking was out of their mind.  Luckily for anyone concerned with broken roofs and cracked floors, these were pretty responsible UCT students doing good by raising some rands for SHAWCO.  None of those damages resulted, but what did transpire was young South Africans proving yet again what musical tricks they have up their sleeves.

The Hedges kicked off the evening on a peaceful note that all sets of ears were thankful for.  If the student body hadn’t yet heard of the harmonious trio yet, well they definitely have now considering how packed it was and the A-game the Hedges brought with them.  Standing admirably calm in front of the packed to the bone Waiting Room, the Hedges played like seasoned veterans of harmony in what may have been the best I’ve seen them.  I even overheard some peeps comparing their sound to Iron & Wine.  

When a violin and an acoustic guitar had taken the floor next, I assumed the tranquilness would continue.  Oh my gosh was I wrong.  Put together a guitar-fueled craze like the younger and more sane brother of Tombstone Pete (as well as the biggest smile a stage has ever known) and a violin-playing that any prince would be wise to throw all his rubies up for, and you get a duo destined for Sunday madness at the Flamjangled Tea Party.  As if things weren’t jaw dropping and head bopping enough, Luma decides to make things just plain magical.  Joining the balkan fest on stage for the final number comes this metal dude looking very out of place in this Waiting Room crowd.  But not even Tchaikovsky could have thrown together strings as powerful, like something in the most epic of theatres, as this unlikely uniting of violin and electric guitar.

It took a while for my jaw to lower after the mindblowingness of Luma, but I needed to get my thoughts collected and find a prime dancing spot because three girls that could get any forest swinging and shaking would be up next.  Touchwood play tunes like the South African energetic sisters of an indie folk trio hailing from Vermont called ‘Mountain Man’.  The three play this upbeat cover of City and Colour’s ‘The Girl’ that could have easily turned the melancholy Dallas Green giddy.  Speaking of Canadians in music, Ruth de Freitas spreads the good vibes and even sounds a bit like a young Neko Case.  These girls have a knack for filling folks with all these groovy feelings inside with their cool quirky jamming that makes me think they’ll be doing big things overseas one of these days.

Last but not least, it was time for the roof to get properly blown off with those never fail to bring the madness guys from Nomadic Orchestra.   I’ll admit though, I could not handle the insanity this time.  A few of us decided to take the party to the balcony for some fresh air.  Fortunately outside we could go berserk to the brass but still breathe.  Inside though it looked like this was a Bar Mitzvah gone completely out of control.  This was sheer madness well surpassing the signs of a successful party.  We reclaimed some territory back inside just in time for the most demanding of calls for an encore.  An absolutely ridiculous best-not-leave-the-night-with-any-energy-left cover of Squirrel Nut Zippers was the perfect way to satisfy this hungry for more fun bunch.  And thus P for Pinata had come to a close with a sheer lunacy that UCT students must have been daydreaming about in class the next morning.

*PS SHAWCO used a Youth Lagoon song in their promo vid & that is way cool!