Does any one have a three sided coin?

How do you make a choice of great shows? This long and involved thought process always befuddles me, the complex equation of weighing all factors is an interesting one. What’s the crowd going to be like? House or Club? Openers? Cost? Hype? Company? All this comes to mind when forming the excel spreadsheet to accomplish this. This night in question was Mt. Eerie and Why? V. Daniel Johnston V. The Dirty Projectors. Allow yourself to take this trip with me: The Vera project is way downtown, and walking through a sketchy neighborhood late at night, plus Why? causes some(lame) people to flip their shit, nix; Daniel Johnston is so dissociative in his old age, and without some one at my hip prob won’t be the best, nix; Dave Longstreth has endearing rock moves, the three part harmonies are spot on in the record, do they translate live and I can kick it by meself, bam, winner. As I approached Chop Suey, which I am slowly growing to hate, I came across Will, a new friend. Asking him about how he battled such crushing weight of the shows his only reply was, “I’m Fanaticsaurus-Rex,” and to this I lift my hat and a reply with, ‘in the late Jamtastic Period.’ It’s the only way to behave, really. Rafter opens the show, a sweet little band that promises to make this a cute little indie show. They came from San Diego, and are signed on Asthmatic Kitty, so there is some power behind them and with some culling they’ll get their own tour. They are a five piece, playing intelligent, throw back rock. Some soul, some soft talk from the side of the moth, some Unicorn’s likeness, some smooth cuts. Solid set, nice and easy to get the night going, and the kid side of the venue loved it. Me, on the other hand, didn’t love it. More retro white kid rock to eat up the air-waves. I didn’t hate it, could have gone worse, but I definitely didn’t love it. Eye gouging cuteness, plethora of passed around instruments with awkward interactions, all commonplace. But the crowd was good, and the place was filling up despite hearing the reports of Why? selling out and DJ selling tons ‘Hi! How are you?’ re-issued tee’s, soon to be witnessed all over the hill. No Kids, a three piece joining this tour from our great northern cousins, Vancouver, took the stage next. No Kids just had a huge write up in The Stranger in defense of indie rock being to white. http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/Content?oid=557629&ms The article was awash with comparisons to R&B and the Stevie Wonder references of them and Hot Chip. As ego boosting as it is to be talked about with the likes of Hot Chip, your not going to discredit the whiteness of the genre like that. Yes, I can hear the roots R&B of them both, and I like the new juxtaposed take on the style of music. But, no, your not gaining any creditability in the fact that your not going to turn the world upside down with a hit radio, tin-ey chains and snare beat, and some, snide, tongue in cheek, 60’s and 70’s R&B popsters references. I’m not trying to open this can of worms into a full blown race debate of packaged and sellable music, but I’m just mentioning the fact that even the fuckin’ glow polished band Vampire Weekend has a little bit of credit for incorporating African beats and such then bringing it to the mainstream. Let alone bands closer to some of these aesthetics like Dengue Fever or even the DP‘s, which I might get into latter. But for now, here we are, on No Kids. Wearing the uniform: tight, black and white, checkered, button up, Nick Krgovich played his synth with style, invoking Tay Zonday, by throwing his head to the side to grab some air, before releasing it with out the deep bass of Tay, but breathy, sing-songyness of white inde rock, yup. So before I catch more flack for being too judgmental, I want to note that I do like No Kids, they’re just not the champions they are being quite made out to be. I loved the performance of ‘For Halloween,’ great connection to the crowd with dreamy eye contact, and cooing out the “oooo’s.” Nick knows how to put on a show. Equally Julia Chirka is a great compliment and the dueling keys is fun to watch, she may not have the bravado showmanship of Nick, but knows how to fill the in-betweens, while he does his little five to eight note flourishes. Well played, No Kids, but it always sucks when the hype machine gets ahead of you and implements ideas without any of your input. Here though, is what I’ve been eagerly waiting for, to watch Dave, Amber Coffman, and Angle Deradoorian hit those notes. I’m still totally in awe that a ‘conventional’ band has captivated me, and continues to do so. By conventional I mean a two guitar, bass, and drum outfit, but the way this has been arranged is nothing close to conventional. I’m really impressed with the vocal talent of these two little ladies, sporting a blaze orange stocking cap and fantastic retro dress respectively, Angel and Amber are just as GPS accurate with their voices live as on all the albums. I wasn’t privy to see Dave’s semi-famous guitar jerk-off’s, but he did Raptor, making his predatory, larger than life, character even more impressive. His doodling is relentless, but to make a entirely new universe for Damaged to live in, it’s entirely necessary. They played album worthy versions, song after song, of ‘Spray Paint(The Ceiling),’ ‘Six Pack,’ and ‘Depression.’ What else could I have expected, really, they are artists for gods sake, of course it was going to spot on. The total immersion of all different styles to reinvent once envisioned works on so many levels. Just having the advanced knowledge of Imbal is enough to turn heads, let alone putting it in fair sight of neophytes? Spectacular. Keying in on two angelic harmonies, with one vibrato driven voice, that on it’s own would barely be noticeable as anything other than an art-rocker? Hitherto, never in anything as ambitious. I know people I will talk to in the future might question the choice of which show I went to, but I believe that as good as either of the other choices might have been, neither of them would have provided me with so much to think about, and such incendiary topic matter. Why? might have made me wonder more into the nature and future of indie hip-hop, and Daniel Johnston may have proved that a comet doesn’t end an era, but I made my bed, bitches. And I am more than happy to sleep in it, wrapped up in dreams of Dinosaurs, Blacksplotation, and teeth shockingly sweet candy hills.