Kings of Leon, ‘Only By the Night’

I’m a fan of the Kings of Leon’s progression as a band over the past several albums, going from down-and-dirty semi-garage rockers to down-and-dirty spacey rockers. Their latest release, “Only By the Night” continues that evolution; it definitely sounds more like the last record, 2007’s “Because of the Times” (my KOL favorite) than 2004’s “Aha Shake Heartbreak.”

“Only By the Night’s” first half is particularly compelling in its variety, moving from arena-ready opener “Closer” to the one-two punch of grab-you-by-the-throat “Crawl” (one of the band’s best-ever tracks) and sinewy lead single “Sex on Fire.” “Use Somebody” is another winner, a chiming mid-tempo anthem that sounds like KOL’s take on U2’s “Beautiful Day.” “Manhattan” is catchy as all get-out with its off-kilter bass/percussion rhythm, and “Revelry” is probably as pleasant a ballad as the band can write.

It’s the second half of “Only By the Night” where things start to slip. None of the remaining five tracks are bad, necessarily, but they don’t do much to stand out from the pack, either. They’re the kind of songs that wouldn’t get skipped if they shuffled up on my iPod, but wouldn’t do much to keep me awake on a long car ride—all a bit slow and dirge-like. “Be Somebody” is probably the best of the bunch, especially when it breaks down into something reminiscent of Soundgarden’s “Jesus Christ Pose.”

Overall, the album still holds together well, and marks a continued transition for the four bandmembers (three brothers and a cousin) as they begin to leave their raucous and reckless 20s behind and figure out how to settle into their 30s and still write music they like. I’m looking forward to seeing where they go from here.

Grade: B

Second-Handers

"Look at them. The man who cheats and lies, but preserves a respectable front. He knows himself to be dishonest, but others think he's honest and he derives his self-respect from that, second-hand. The man who takes credit for an achievement which is not his own. He knows himself to be mediocre, but he's great in the eyes of others. The frustrated wretch who professes love for the inferior and clings to those less endowed, in order to establish his own superiority by comparion. The man whose sole aim is to make money. Now I don't see anything evil in a desire to make money. But money is only a means to some end. If a man wants it for a personal purpose—to invest in his industry, to create, to study, to travel, to enjoy luxury—he's completely moral. But the men who place money first go much beyond that. Personal luxury is a limited endeavor. What they want is ostentation: to show, to stun, to entertain, to impress others. They're second-handers. Look at our so-called cultural endeavors. A lecturer who spouts some borrowed rehash of nothing at all that means nothing at all to him—and the people who listen and don't give a damn, but sit there in order to tell their friends that they have attended a lecture by a famous name. All second-handers. …

"In the realm of greatest importance—the realm of values, of judgment, of spirit, of thought—they place others above self, in the exact manner which altruism demands. … It's so easy to run to others. It's so hard to stand on one's own record. You can fake virtue for an audience. You can't fake it in your own eyes. …

"[Second-handers] have no concern for facts, ideas, work. They're concerned only with people. They don't ask: 'Is this true?' They ask: 'Is this what others think is true?' Not to judge, but to repeat. Not to do, but to give the impression of doing. Not creation, but show. Not ability, but friendship. Not merit, but pull. What would happen to the world without those who do, think, work, produce? …

"Second-handers have no sense of reality. Their reality is not within them, but somewhere in that space which divides one human body from another. Not an entity, but a relation—anchored to nothing. … Opinion without a rational process. Motion without brakes or motor. Power without responsibility. … He's not open to reason. You can't speak to him—he can't hear. …

"Notice how they'll accept anything except a man who stands alone. They recognize him at once. By instinct. There's a special, insidious kind of hatred for him. They forgive criminals. They admire dictators. Crime and violence are a tie. A form of mutual dependence. They need ties. They've got to force their miserable little personalities on every single person they meet. The independent man kills them—because they don't exist within him and that's the only form of existence they know. Notice the malignant kind of resentment against any idea that propounds independence. Notice the malice toward an independent man."

‘Dance Upon the Architecture’: The Gaslight Anthem, Live in Virginia Beach, 10.18.08

In the current issue of Alternative Press, The Gaslight Anthem frontman Brian Fallon says the music he writes is intended to help lift people’s spirits in these turbulent times and remind them life is something to still be enjoyed.

Those aren’t empty words.

Saturday night Fallon and his bandmates put on an incredible live show at The Jewish Mother restaurant in Virginia Beach, the most fun I’ve had at a concert since Fallon’s musical hero, Bruce Springsteen, brought his Seeger Sessions Band to the D.C. area two years ago.

Gaslight have been the opening band of a four-act punk tour this fall headlined by Rise Against, so they used this off night in the schedule to, as Fallon put it, “get a workout” as headliners again. The Jewish Mother, a longstanding Va. Beach establishment, is the smallest place I’ve ever seen a concert—there couldn’t have been more than 150 people crammed into the tiny room (if that), and the place could barely contain the band. Seeing such an accomplished group in such a small place was a rare treat. I can’t wait to hear these guys again through a soundsystem that actually works.

One of the things that struck me the most about Saturday’s show was how much fun the bandmembers seemed to be having. Fallon, of course, was into it—he’s a terrific lead. But we were standing just off the corner of the stage next to bassist Alex Levine, and he was grinning widely the entire night; once I glanced back at drummer Benny Horowitz (who at one point flung a splintered drumstick that hit my wife—a well-earned souvenir), and he was singing along for all he was worth … and he didn’t even have a mic!

And the music … wow. The new songs are incredible, and this show cemented a notion I’d already basically acknowledged: “The ’59 Sound” is even better than the band’s 2007 debut, “Sink or Swim”—and the three tracks they didn’t play off the new album are a trio of my favorites (wherefor art thou, "Meet Me By the River's Edge"?). I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that all of the 18 songs played Saturday night were excellent; there was simply no letup the entire way as they powered through a 75-minute set. Forced to pick a favorite section, I’d definitely point to the three-fer of “We Came to Dance”/“Miles Davis and the Cool”/“The ’59 Sound.” “Dance” is my favorite track from “Sink or Swim,” and it kills live; the final minute of “Miles Davis” simply exploded off the stage; and, my goodness, “The ’59 Sound” is just … amazing—it got the strongest reaction from the crowd last night and was one of the most powerful moments of the show.

Other favorite moments include:

• Throwing a snippet of The National’s “Start a War” into the middle of “Old White Lincoln”
• “The Patient Ferris Wheel”—This might be my least favorite track on the new album (it's kinda like asking to pick your least favorite child …), but it is insanely good played in front of an audience
• Fallon’s intro to “Blue Jeans & White T-Shirts” was honest and unassuming (a description that could be applied to the entire night—what a refreshing change to see a band set up their gear in 10 minutes and just play); he said he spends more time than any normal person should visiting New Jersey haunts cited in Springsteen songs and trying to recreate for himself what The Boss saw in those places—this song was written for the Asbury Lanes bowling alley
• “The Backseat” is a brilliant set closer, the final minute building to a perfect climax for both the record and the concert.

And then there’s “Senor and the Queen.” At just two minutes long, this song comes and goes so quickly it’s easy to miss what a finely written lyric it offers; Fallon’s vocals were very clear during this one last night, and the second stanza stood out as particularly brilliant:

And in every sad, sad country song
Is there a little bitty piece of ’em still hanging on?
You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine, my dear
Then we’ll bury these old ghosts here

No better summary could there be of what The Gaslight Anthem are all about, both on record and in concert. Saturday night was just pure, authentic, unadulterated … joy.


The Gaslight Anthem
The Jewish Mother
Virginia Beach, Virginia
10.18.08
Running Time: 1 hour, 15 minutes

MAIN SET
Great Expectations
Wooderson
Casanova, Baby!
Old White Lincoln/Start a War (snippet)
We Came to Dance
Miles Davis and the Cool
The ’59 Sound
High Lonesome
Angry Johnny and the Radio/What Becomes of the Broken Hearted (snippet)
Blue Jeans & White T-Shirts
Drive
Senor and the Queen
I Coulda Been a Contender
The Backseat

ENCORE
The Patient Ferris Wheel
Here’s Looking at You, Kid
1930
Say I Won’t (Recognize)


***On a final note: Fallon hung around outside the venue for a little while after the show, chatting with friends and fans. The guy could not have been nicer or more down to earth; talking to him, you’d never know he’s fronting one of the hottest bands in the country right now. We talked for five minutes or so and he was just, you know, a regular guy. Again, refreshing.

'Attack and Release,' The Black Keys

I was all ready for producer extraordinaire Danger Mouse to take The Black Keys' hardcore blues sound into the stratosphere with this new album. That didn’t happen, which makes “Attack and Release” a bit disappointing at the outset.

It seems Mouse was content to, for the most part, let the Keys do what they do and add a few little touches around the edges. They work more often than not, like fiery lead single "Strange Times," the ruminating “Psychotic Girl,” or blues-with-flute rocker "Same Old Thing." Elsewhere, not as much, like the dreadful two-fer of “Lies” and “Remember When (Side A)" that turns the middle of this record into a black hole.

My instant negative impression may actually be a result of poor sequencing. With hopes so high, starting the CD off with one of its weaker tracks—country ballad "All You Ever Wanted," which doesn't really get interesting until the final 30 seconds—was not a good choice. It sets a poor tone right away. Perhaps it would have been better to open with the album's second track, "I Got Mine," which is the most traditional, straightforward Keys track here—give the listener a baseline, a touchstone of the familiar for the more experimental stuff to come.

In the end, "Attack and Release" suffers under the weight of its expectations. It's certainly a fine album, but Mouse played it a little too safe; I don't finish listening to this record with a "wow" on my lips the way I do, for example, with 2004's incredible "Rubber Factory." Rather than adding little flourishes here and there (though I really like the chiming tone in "Oceans & Streams," for instance), I'd have rather seen him go all the way and really shake things up. Instead, the album feels disjointed, a little constrained, and lacks the energy and suppleness of the group's previous recordings.

Still, put three people of these considerable talents in a room together and it'd be nearly impossible not to come up with something really good, which they have (despite my, rereading now, rather negative review). I guess I'll just always be wondering what might have been.

Grade: B+

The Airborne Toxic Event

The Airborne Toxic Event? Really? That's your name? The Airborne Toxic Event? Come on …

Ordinarily this is the type of screaming-indie band moniker that would send me in the other direction, but this California band caught my attention (and the attention of many others) last month when they took a freakin' scalpel to the ridiculously harsh review of their debut self-titled record by Pitchfork. Anybody who will stand up against those insufferable snobs with such class and craft has to be doing something right, I figured.

Ironically, "The Airborne Toxic Event" couldn't be a bigger misnomer when it comes to the band's music; it's anything but toxic—downright gorgeous in spots, actually. The Pitchfork reviewer was right in citing the band's obvious influences. The CD's opening notes do sound quite reminiscent of the intro strains of Arcade Fire's "Funeral," and about half of "Toxic Event" follows in that vein. But let's be clear: It's not like following in Arcade Fire's footsteps is the easiest feat in music. As the band says in its rebuttal, there are much worse bands to be compared to. The best song along these lines—and the best song on the album—is the swirling "Sometime Around Midnight," with its mournful violin intro and soaring climax.

When they're not working in Fiery territory, The Airborne Toxic Event offer up a lo-fi, uptempo, rather thrashy sound that mixes Franz Ferdinand and the Strokes with a dash of The Clash around the edges. The top song in this category is sinewy rocker "Gasoline," but there are several here worth your time ("Happiness Is Overrated," "Missy").

Two such distinct styles make for a rather disjointed experience as a whole, but each are good in their own respects, and they're not merely aping other bands' sounds, either; "Gasoline" and "Midnight" are two of the more memorable songs I've heard this year. There seems to be an intelligence and sense of endeavor at the core of this band, and that's enough for me.

Screw Pitchfork.

Grade: B+

HR

Before you can do things for people, you must be the kind of man who can get things done. But to get things done, you must love the doing, not the secondary consequences. The work, not the people. Your own action, not any possible object of your charity. I’ll be glad if people who need it find a better manner of living in a house I designed. But that’s not the motive of my work. Nor my reason. Nor my reward. …

I think it’s a worthy undertaking—to provide a decent apartment for a man who earns fifteen dollars a week. But not at the expense of other men. Not if it raises the taxes, raises all the other rents and makes the man who earns forty live in a rat hole. That’s what’s happening … Nobody can afford a modern apartment—except the very rich and the paupers. Have you seen the converted brownstones in which the average self-supporting couple has to live? Have you seen their closet kitchens and their plumbing? They’re forced to live like that—because they’re not incompetent enough. They make forty dollars a week and wouldn’t be allowed into a housing project. But they’re the ones who provide the money for the damn project. They pay the taxes. And the taxes raise their own rent. And they have to move from a converted brownstone into an unconverted one and from that into a railroad flat. I’d have no desire to penalize a man because he’s worth only fifteen dollars a week. But I’ll be damned if I can see why a man worth forty must be penalized—and penalized in favor of the one who’s less competent. Sure, there are a lot of theories on the subject and volumes of discussion. But just look at the results. …

I don’t believe in government housing. I don’t want to hear anything about its noble purposes. I don’t think they’re noble. But that, too, doesn’t matter. That’s not my first concern. Not who lives in the house nor who orders it built. Only the house itself. If it has to be built, it might as well be built right.

The Springsteen Effect: The Gaslight Anthem and The Hold Steady

Last month Bruce Springsteen put the wraps on an outstanding summer tour with the E Street Band, and if rumors are true, perhaps his last with that group. If so, he couldn’t have gone out with any more style. Want proof? Just check out a couple of the outstanding setlists from August alone.

I don’t believe he’s done writing, recording, and touring with the E Streeters, but there is something to be said for going out on top. He certainly would be doing that, closing out, I would argue, the most exciting decade of his career since the 1970s.

Consider: 2000 saw the conclusion of the E Street Band Reunion Tour, complete with a 10-night stand at Madison Square Garden. In 2002 he was back in the studio with the band for the first time since the mid-’80s and released what is still, for me, the definitive post-Sept. 11 rock and roll work, “The Rising.” After a worldwide tour, he went back out on the road in 2004 for the ill-fated (and ill-conceived) Vote For Change tour, then surprised most everyone just a few months later in 2005 with the solo effort “Devils & Dust” (a mixed bag, yes, but the good stuff on that record is really, really good). Springsteen then embarked on his first full-fledged solo tour in years, which saw him pulling out rarities night after night after night.

In 2006 conventional wisdom said it was time for another E Street record—but wait! What’s that? A horn section? A banjo? Yes, “We Shall Overcome,” Springsteen’s rockabilly take on Pete Seeger folk songs was a gigantic curveball, and led to some of the most inspired, exciting music he’s ever created. And the tour—wow.

So that brings us to last year’s “Magic,” which while standing as Springsteen’s most overtly political record yet also marks a more cohesive return to E Street form than “The Rising.” When I’m able to ignore the lyrics, there’s no denying the album rocks.

Just as Bruce has reemerged this decade, so has his influence on younger artists. It seems you can’t read a rock record review these days without seeing at least some reference to Springsteen—and deservedly so. I’ve done it in my own reviews for the likes of Pearl Jam, The Killers, and Ben Kweller, to name a few off the top of my head.

Some of the comparisons are stretched thinner than others, but there’s no denying The Springsteen Effect on two excellent releases this summer: The Gaslight Anthem’s “The ’59 Sound,” and The Hold Steady’s “Stay Positive.” I’ll examine the latter first.

The Hold Steady have been one of the most blogged-about bands for the past several years, especially after their 2006 CD “Boys and Girls in America” was one of the best reviewed releases of the year, hailed by some as basically an instant classic. Springsteen’s name was dropped repeatedly, based on the band’s wide-open rocking style and intricate storytelling lyrics from frontman Craig Finn. Hype like that will typically keep me wary of anything, of course, but I ignored The Hold Steady more for the CD’s title than anything else; I couldn’t help but think the use of “America” was somehow an indictment of the Bush administration, this country sucks, yada yada yada, and I had basically had my fill of that line of thinking by that point.

So fast-forward to 2008, where the New York-via-Minnesota band’s fourth album, “Stay Positive,” received a good, but not quite glowing, reception. With the bang and the clamor calming down a bit, I figured this a better time to get acquainted. And, surprisingly, I was not disappointed.

“Stay Positive” is as solid a rock record as you’re likely to hear this year. It’s full of loud guitars, straightahead pounding drums (a la Max Weinberg), yet changes pace often. I certainly see where the Springsteen comparisons arise, especially with the piano high up in the mix like it’s 1975. Finn’s gravelly voice is probably a love-it-or-hate-it situation for most people; it reminds me a little of Screamin’ Cheetah Wheelies frontman Mike Farris, and Finn often delivers his lines in a staccato rhythm that would fit in with the Dropkick Murphys (on the rollicking title track, especially).

Lyrically, though, I would compare Finn’s wordy style more to Dylan than Springsteen (confirmed, I guess, by the band’s contribution to last year’s “I’m Not There” soundtrack of Dylan covers). Like Dylan, listening to The Hold Steady for me is more an academic endeavor than a spiritual experience. I recognize the quality, but it just doesn’t make it past my head to my heart. If forced to compare Finn to Springsteen, I would go right to The Boss’ debut, “Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J.,” where Springsteen was basically doing his own Dylan interpretation, too. The difference is, Springsteen quickly broke out of that mold and figured out how to tell intricate stories with memorable characters, but give his songs enough room to breathe so the music reaches right through the speakers and grabs your heart and soul in an iron fist. The Hold Steady haven’t mastered this yet, as far as I can tell.

That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with being favorably compared to Dylan. There are some real gems on this record, particularly the haunting “Both Crosses,” which evokes acoustic Led Zeppelin—think a darker version of “Bron-Yr-Aur,” with lyrics. And speaking of Led Zep, “Joke About Jamaica” is another keeper from “Stay Positive”; not only does the title reference Zeppelin’s “D’yer Ma’ker,” but Finn drops other titles from the catalog throughout the excellent track (which has a bass/piano line that reminds me strongly of another track I just can’t place—it’s been driving me crazy).

If spiritual revival in the Springsteen tradition is what you’re after—and who isn’t?—then I give you … The Gaslight Anthem’s “The ’59 Sound.” Now this is a record that captures the essence of The Boss' best work.

It’s been quite a year for this New Jersey pop/punk band. They blasted onto the scene last summer with “Sink or Swim,” one of the best, most accomplished debut albums I’ve ever heard. Then earlier this year they dashed off a four-song EP, “Senor and the Queen,” that is better than most bands’ full-lengths; that release, said frontman Brian Fallon, was meant as a transition from the more straightforward punk of “Sink or Swim” to the new album, which embraces a wider range of styles and tempos.

One thing I like about Fallon and his band is they wear their influences right on their sleeves; they don’t try to hide anything, and instead of sounding like a ripoff, their music comes off as the genuine homage it’s intended to be. On “Sink or Swim,” Fallon wrote a song directly to Joe Strummer, and this time around he spreads his repertoire to include legends like Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, Marvin Gaye, Miles Davis, Tom Petty, and Elvis Presley.

But no one artist is better represented here than Springsteen. If “Sink or Swim” was the Anthem’s “Born to Run,” with its dancing girls and late-night power drives of hope and promise played to a soundtrack on the radio, then “The ’59 Sound” is the band’s natural progression to “Darkness on the Edge of Town.” The new album, like Springsteen’s under-appreciated classic, is more rooted in the realities of death, lost and unrequited love, and the struggle to remain hopeful despite difficult times.

Nowhere is this more apparent than the stirring and splendid title track, where Fallon asks simply: “Well I wonder which song they’re gonna play when we go.” The chorus perfectly captures the album’s bittersweet tone, as the singer wonders whether we all get one last chance to hear our favorite song “when we float out into the ether, into the Everlasting Arms.”

The other dominant theme of the album finds Fallon dealing with the universal problem of actually achieving rock-and-roll success. It’s right there on the title track, where he laments missing his friend’s passing because he was “playing a show down the road.” Throughout the record he wonders if it’s possible to “go home” again, now that he’s seen the bright lights and big cities of America. He seems to reconcile this dilemma by the end of the record in the spectacular “Meet Me By the River’s Edge,” a song rife with Springsteen references that concludes: “No retreat, no regrets.”

So while Fallon’s lyrics are even better this time around, it’s the band’s songwriting that’s really grown since their debut. Working with a producer for the first time, Gaslight Anthem shot for a retro sound on this record. Rather than the wall-of-sound guitar chunk of “Sink or Swim,” the leads are pulled way back in the mix this time to make more room for the rhythm section and Fallon’s vocals (again, much like ’70s-era Springsteen). Fallon’s voice is drenched in reverb for the entire album, which is off-putting at first but eventually adds to the overall throwback feel of the recording—like something you'd hear on Grandmama's radio.

This intention is reinforced right away, as the galloping “Great Expectations” opens the album with a skipping, popping LP before blasting off into one of the Anthem’s best, well, anthems. Though the band's pop/punk origins are certainly well represented throughout, they move beyond the genre, as well, exploring riff-heavy blues on two standout tracks, “Film Noir” and “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues.” They even drift into a little country with the playfully acidic “Here’s Looking at You, Kid,” in which Fallon metes out a little vengeance on the girls who wouldn’t give him the time of day—before he became a rock star, of course.

When it’s all said and played, “The ’59 Sound” is certainly one of the best CDs I’ve heard this year. It accomplishes what I thought nearly impossible—holding its own against “Sink or Swim.” The band wisely doesn’t try to copy that record, but takes what worked and implements it in something that sounds fresh, new, and different. As a result, “The ’59 Sound” may not be as immediately catchy as “Sink or Swim,” but I’ve listened to this album at least a dozen times since it came out last month and I can’t find a mediocre track—it definitely rewards multiple listens, as any great album should. It also proves that, in just one year’s time, The Gaslight Anthem have clearly and boldly established themselves as one of the best rock bands in America—worthy bearers of the Springsteen flame.

Grades:
The Gaslight Anthem, “The ’59 Sound,” A
The Hold Steady, “Stay Positive,” A-

Robert Ludlum

Having read about a third of the late Robert Ludlum's novels, I have a pretty good handle on how he operates. From what I can tell, the legendary suspense/thriller author has two kinds of main (male, always male) characters: The military/covert intelligence type, and the Average Joe who's being manipulated by the military/covert intelligence types.

1974's "The Cry of the Halidon," which I just finished, is one of the latter. It is not my preferred Ludlum style. In fact, "Halidon" is without question the worst Ludlum novel I've read; it took dogged determination to get through this rather messy, unfocused work. In the preface, Ludlum makes the rather candid admission that his wife basically had to drag him out of Jamaica, where the novel is set, so he would stop "researching" and get to some actual work. The book reads like it. Convoluted, lacking in intensity (a rarity in Ludlum novels, be they great or mediocre), and, as a result, difficult to follow. Leading man Alexander McAuliff has to be one of Ludlum's shallowest main characters, what with glancing hints at a murdered wife and time spent in the jungles of Vietnam. I won't bore with any more details of why this novel isn't worth your time.

No, I much prefer Ludlum's very non-Average Joe leads, such as Jason Bourne. It's through these characters Ludlum really expands his imagination; these characters routinely accomplish feats that make me wonder how the author even came up with/knew about the tactics of covert warfare, much less execute them in such engaging fashion. Names like Bourne, Beowulf Agate, and The Man from Lisbon, are etched permanently into my brain. If you've never read any Ludlum, "The Bourne Identity" is obviously a good place to start (the film adaptation has very little resemblance—oddly, both still come off well). But my particular favorite Ludlum novel is 1979's "The Matarese Circle," which includes some of the most compelling action storytelling I've ever read. To think Ludlum wrote this novel and "The Bourne Identity" in back-to-back years is a stunning achievement. The man was a machine.

So, if the excellent "Bourne" film trilogy got you thinking about reading Ludlum, trust those instincts. Just be sure to read the back of the book first—if it says anything other than "special agent" or "undercover operative," I'd keep looking.

The Reason I’ll Be Back: Eddie Vedder, Live at the Warner Theatre in D.C., 8.16.08//8.17.08

Eddie Vedder spent two nights in my town this weekend—and, to think, I was only going to see him once.

I was one of the few lucky ones last month who managed to score a fan club ticket to the first of two immediate sellout performances at D.C.’s intimate Warner Theatre (about 1,800 seats, the smallest venue on this brief East Coast tour); there couldn’t have been more than a few hundred available, and they were gone, literally, in seconds. Having paid attention to the somewhat static setlists from his West Coast swing in April, I figured one night would be enough.

That is, of course, until I pulled a fourth-row seat for Night 2 on Saturday afternoon (thanks Red Mosquito!). With that ticket waiting right there on my screen, I couldn’t turn it down.

Definitely the right decision.

As he’s gotten more comfortable with this whole solo gig thing, the setlists have started to open up quite a bit. During Sunday night’s performance, Ed mentioned he’s worked up about 60 songs in total for this “experiment” as he calls it (hence the lab coats); during his twofer in D.C., he played 38 of them, and if I were to have missed either show, I’d be kicking myself today.

And wow, even with 16 repeats from Night 1 to Night 2, the two shows were quite different in feel and tone. Saturday night, Ed was very loose, gabbing it up heavily between songs (thus you get a nearly three-hour show). There was quite a bit of political banter, as expected (he told one heckler the second night: “If you didn’t think you were gonna get a heavy does of this, what the f**k were you thinking?”). Both nights Ed introduced Paul McCartney’s “Blackbird” by commenting on its roots as a civil rights anthem, and how he’s adapted it to his vision of Obama as president (Ed’s supporting Obama—shocker). “Masters of War” was its usual stellar self (Ed absolutely nails this song), made even more potent by the venue’s close proximity to the White House (which Ed mentioned). Sunday night featured Ed’s lame rendition of folk protest song “Here’s to the State,” and both nights’ sets included his own (poor) anti-war anthem, “No More” (Saturday’s performance did feature a touching intro about the song’s inspiration, injured Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, whom Ed said has taken an unfortunate turn for the worse in recent weeks).

My favorite politically oriented speech came Saturday (I forget the song), when he mentioned how ridiculous the whole political realm has gotten in this country, where it’s like we’re all rooting for our favorite sports team. He went on to say you should never say “I’ll never vote for a Democrat, or I’ll never vote for a Republican” (even though he DOES say that in “Even Flow,” but whatever …). He referenced the departed Johnny Ramone, a dear friend of Ed’s and a staunch Republican; Ed said the conversations they had were important, and beneficial to them both. I always bring up Johnny whenever someone asks me how I, a conservative, can be a Pearl Jam fan, so it was nice to finally hear that from Ed himself.

But there was plenty other great stuff in there, besides politics. I don’t take notes when I go to shows, but at a given Pearl Jam concert I can typically remember most of the unique highlights; I had no chance after these two shows back to back, though. A favorite moment from Saturday included his explanation of the whole “experiment” mentality of this tour. He said he saw a photo of a Beatles recording session and the producers were standing at the board wearing what looked like lab coats, which inspired him to adopt them for him and his crew. He also provided a lengthy discussion of his involvement with “Into the Wild” and, specifically, his posthumous love for the man that film was based on, Chris McCandless. It was a touching preface to the mid-concert suite of “ITW” material.

I love how he’s put the batch of songs off the soundtrack together to basically tell McCandless’ story; on Saturday, he even mumbled, “And his story starts like this …” leading into “Setting Forth.” When I wrote about this album last year, I was disappointed several of these songs weren’t fleshed out more and simply edited down to fit the movie. He doesn’t alter them in the live setting, either, but they do take on extra power because you can see, hear, and feel how important they are to him. Quite remarkable.

The “ITW” run was definitely a highlight of both nights: He attacks “Far Behind” with all the vigor captured on the album, while “Guaranteed” and especially “Rise” are beautiful, the latter featuring brilliant work by Ed on the mandolin (the only song he knows on the f***king thing, he told us Saturday).

***

Let me take a moment here to address “Guaranteed,” in particular. As the final song of both the album and the film, it serves as Ed’s summary of McCandless’ life. The fourth of six verses goes like this:

Everyone I come across, in cages they bought
They think of me and my wandering, but I’m never what they thought
I’ve got my indignation, but I’m pure in all my thoughts
I’m alive

Performing this song live, Ed really hits that “I’m alive,” and I realized he could have written “Guaranteed”—and especially this verse—about himself, too. One of my favorite Pearl Jam moments of all time was Ed’s discussion of “Alive” during 2006’s “VH1 Storytellers,” where he said a song he’d originally written about pain and betrayal has been transformed into one of hope by the band’s audience. This verse could be his way of putting that feeling into song—making “Guaranteed” a companion piece, or an answer to, “Alive,” 17 years later. Chris McCandless was trying to escape what he felt was an oppressive, predetermined life, while for decades now Ed's been trying to escape a painful childhood that could have so easily predetermined his path—and probably would have, had it not been for music. Consider some other scattered lines from “Guaranteed”:

“All my destinations will accept the one that’s me/So I can breathe” (“breath” is a recurring theme in Ed’s writing)
“Circles they grow and they swallow people whole”
“Holding me like gravity are places that pull”
“Late at night I hear the trees, they’re singing with the dead” (“Release,” anyone?)

Matter of fact, the entire “Into the Wild” album could be read as Ed subtext. How about this verse from “Rise”:

Gonna rise up
Burning black holes in dark memories
Gonna rise up
Turning mistakes into gold

Or this stanza from “No Ceiling”:

I been wounded
I been healed
Now for landing I been
Landing I been cleared

And, finally, the last line of the entire record, from “Guaranteed”: “I knew all the rules, but the rules did not know me/Guaranteed”. Like “I’m alive,” he really hits that last word, as if it’s a proclamation.

***

Anyway, back to the shows … So, so many great moments of music. Just about all of the choices Ed’s made for these solo gigs have been spot on, fitting his voice perfectly. While his guitar playing has obviously greatly improved over the years, his vocal performance over the course of these two nights was amazing. I’m having trouble keeping my list of favorites to only 10:

• “I Am Mine” was a surefire standout, and has this summer—upon hearing it live for the first time—become an all-time PJ fave. On record, it’s a little too simple an arrangement for the full band, and leaves me feeling like they didn’t have enough to do. This is mostly solved in the live setting due to the energy they always bring to every performance, but “I Am Mine” is most at home with just Ed and a guitar, including some furiously fast strumming on his part.

• “Forever Young” is a tremendous cover choice from deep in the Dylan catalog. Ed’s version is slower, more serious, and, yes, superior to the original, from Dylan’s 1974 “Planet Waves.”

• “Far Behind”/“Rise”/“Millworker” was my favorite run of songs from Night 1. I still can’t get over how good “Rise” sounds on that mandolin, and “Millworker” rivals “Forever Young” as my favorite cover from the experience, for basically the same reasons.

• I was desperately hoping for “Throw Your Arms Around Me,” one of my all-time fave Vedder covers. The two-man version with Liam Finn is excellent.

• My love for “Hard Sun” is well documented at this point, so it comes as no surprise this show-closer was phenomenal. Ed uses a reel-to-reel deck on stage to play the main backing track, then adds Finn on drums and straps on his own electric guitar for the accent parts. It’s perfect. Exhilarating doesn’t even come close. Spiritual is more accurate.

• I was actually in the building when “Parting Ways” made its live debut back in 2000. I’ve grown to appreciate the “Binaural” finale even more since, and Vedder’s electric version with Finn is, well, electric.

• Winning the award for Surprise of the Weekend was the totally unexpected “All Along the Watchtower,” made doubly cool when Ed told Fugazi drummer Brendan Canty to put down his video camera (Canty was part of the crew filming the show for, hopefully, an eventual DVD release) and get behind the drum kit for this roof-raiser. Two “Watchtowers” in two months—and both shockers!

• “Driftin’” feels like a throwaway Christmas single jaunt, which, yeah, it is. Except for the fact that when Ed plays it, he throws every ounce of effort into it and just nails the thing. I love this song.

• And, finally, the no-question-about-it highlight of both nights: “Arc,” which closes the first encore. Here Ed records a series of wordless vocal strains and loops one over top of the others so they fit together perfectly and fill the theater with about a dozen different variations on his voice. Sunday night I was sitting only a few feet from the speakers, and when he added a bass hum to the mix, it rattled my chest. He then moved back to the main mic and adds an insurgent howl part similar to what you hear on “The Wolf” from “Into the Wild,” which gave me goosebumps. Finally, he finishes the recordings and walks the front of the stage, shaking hands with everyone (I missed him by a few feet, but oh well, I’ve had my moment for a PJ lifetime), while the symphony of Eds continues to play. It’s the most inspired moment of an inspirational evening.

But as is always the case with Eddie Vedder, you have to take the good with the bad. His freewheelin’ vibe invited a barrage of loud, ludicrous comments from a handful of drunk or otherwise obnoxious cretins in the crowd. In a venue this small, even the people at the back of the balcony could easily be heard down at stage level. Take that intimacy and mix in a good bit of alcohol, and you have a recipe that’s anywhere from annoying to nearly disastrous. Saturday was especially bad, as people just WOULD. NOT. SHUT. UP. Yelling out the most ridiculous things, too: “Vedder for president!” some harpie right behind me screeched; when Ed played “Sometimes,” some former frat boy over my other shoulder hollered “No Code!”—uh, yeah, we all know the album that song’s from. The cries of “I love you, Eddie” were ubiquitous. (If you want more examples, go here.)

For his part, I thought Ed could’ve handled the situation better, maybe taking a cue from Springsteen’s solo tour a few years back and laying down the ground rules early. A stern “shut up” to the most annoying hecklers probably would have helped, too, but it’s just not his style to come down hard on people who come to see him—he was one of us, too, and, really, still is. Instead—especially Saturday—he tried subtlety; unfortunately, drunk people do not take hints, and it did detract from Ed’s performance somewhat. Early on, he seemed to get pissed and flustered, flubbing several songs before locking into a groove midway through the set.

Sunday was better, as he seemed to come out of the blocks more focused and closer to the take-no-prisoners mode I've seen at previous PJ gigs. It helped changing up the show to open with “Sometimes,” thus getting the “Why isn’t he playing Pearl Jam?” crowd off his back right away. Ed addressed that particular moronic subset Sunday night, too, quipping “we were just here, what, six weeks ago?” Oh, and in case you were wondering, “Sometimes” was tremendous—much more forceful and angry than its original recording, complete with Ed using a “stomp box” for a rhythm section (basically a wooden box with a mic inside). I’ll give the crowds credit for one thing: During the actual songs everyone was deadly silent, except for the appropriate places for cheers. On Sunday Ed cut down on the between-song chatter significantly, reducing the amount of downtime for those unruly “fans” to make their mark. What really got them quiet, though, was Ed’s metaphor that the shouts sounded, to him, like a mangy dog trying to hump his leg.

In the end, what impressed me most about the two-night stand in D.C. was what I’ve always liked about Eddie Vedder for all this time: Despite his fame, fortune, and success, he still seems like a regular guy. He’s never wanted to be or acted like a rock star, and he certainly wasn’t even close to pretending to be one this weekend. He was just a guy with a batch of guitars (and his beloved uke—another great story about how much he adores that “happy little instrument”), and some songs he loves. One of my favorite little moments of the weekend came when he strapped on his electric guitar for "Parting Ways" and the spotlight reflected out into the crowd, catching his eye. "Oh, I can do that," he said, and like a kid with a new toy proceeded to bounce the light around the venue—even spotlighting the guy who apparently requested the song earlier in the day (nice choice!).

When I first fell in love with Pearl Jam, it wasn’t Ed’s lyrics or even Mike McCready’s guitar heroics that drew me in. It was the feeling their music evoked in me. It tweaked all the right buttons in my teenage self. Over the years, Pearl Jam’s music still does that—I can pogo with the best of ’em when so moved—but what’s kept me with the band all this time is their passion. Despite our difference of political beliefs, our musical ethics are right in line, and that’s the most important thing.

Regarding Ed specifically, I’ve never thought he was an exceedingly gifted lyricist (though, to be fair, poetry was never my strong suit). His most meaningful songs for me come when he’s writing from the heart; for the past decade or so, though, his material’s been predominantly from his head, leading to an overly wordy, workmanlike effort (contrast “Life Wasted” with “Marker in the Sand” from the most recent album, for instance).

Eddie Vedder’s ability to emote and connect, however, both on record and onstage, is unparalleled. He's a man who truly does live in the moment. The words may come out rough around the edges—or downright wrong—sometimes, but the intent for honest expression, interaction, and experience is always there. It’s obvious from the humble way he carries himself, how respectful he is for his fans, his peers, and his musical elders and heroes (hence, he’s the best cover artist of this—or maybe any—generation). I feel like I saw a real human being laying himself out there this weekend, warts and all, not a self-aggrandizing performer—when he called himself “a professional,” it was with tongue firmly in cheek.

This is why after the unexpected and overwhelming success of “Ten” and “Vs.” in the early ’90s, he led the band in pulling back, keeping a shred of normalcy and reality about them. This is why he esteems others’ talents and music well above his own. This is why his band’s shows continue to exceed expectations. And this is why he continues to draw thousands of fans like me, selling out arenas big and small worldwide.

So I guess the best way to wrap this whole amazing experience up is with the man’s own words. Again from “No Ceiling”:

I leave here believing more than I had
And there’s a reason I’ll be
A reason I’ll be back


Eddie Vedder
Warner Theatre
Washington, D.C.

8.16.08
Main Set:
Walking the Cow (Daniel Johnston cover)
Trouble (Cat Stevens cover)
Sometimes
I Am Mine
Dead Man
Man of the Hour
Masters of War
[new song—“Unknown Thought”?]
Setting Forth
Guaranteed
No Ceiling
Far Behind
Rise
Millworker (James Taylor cover)
Soon Forget
Goodbye
Broken Hearted [this was on the widely-circulated fan setlist, but I don’t remember it being played]
Driftin’
You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away
Lukin
Porch

First Encore:
Blackbird (Beatles cover)
Wishlist
Small Town
Society (w/Liam Finn)
Parting Ways (w/Liam Finn)
No More
Arc

Second Encore:
Hard Sun (w/Liam Finn)

Running Time: 2 hours, 45 minutes


8.17.08
Main Set:
Sometimes
Trouble (Cat Stevens cover)
Girl from the North Country (Bob Dylan cover)
Around the Bend
I Am Mine
I’m Open
Man of the Hour
Setting Forth
No Ceiling
Guaranteed
Far Behind
Rise
You’re True
Driftin’
If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out (Cat Stevens cover)
Forever Young (Bob Dylan cover)
Porch

First Encore:
Here’s to the State (John Ochs cover—sorta)
Blackbird (Beatles cover)
Society (w/Liam Finn)
Throw Your Arms Around Me (w/Liam Finn)
No More
Arc

Second Encore:
All Along the Watchtower (w/Brendan Canty of Fugazi on drums)
Hard Sun (w/Liam Finn)

Running Time: 2 hours, 20 minutes



***One final note: As I mentioned earlier, the D.C. shows were being taped, and Ed made mention of a future “document” of this tour. If this does come to pass, I will most likely be visible at least some of the time, based on my position Sunday night. I make no claims to any kind of cool-looking decorum during that show. I’m sure I looked like a complete crazy man at times. Wouldn’t have it any other way.***

'Spook Country,' William Gibson

"Obscurity is much praised by elitists, but I disdain it. The audience starts out knowing nothing about your story. It's your job, as a storyteller, to let them in on it. … What takes talent is clarity." —Orson Scott Card

Well, William Gibson don't do clarity, and that's the primary reason why I'm one of the only people I know who loves his novels. He is, almost exclusively, purposefully and doggedly obtuse. He drops you into his novels like you should already know what's going on, which, of course, you never do. I take long gaps between Gibson reads, because my mind has to be sharp and in tip-top shape to keep up with them.

All that being said, his latest novel, 2007's "Spook Country," stinks. The second novel he's written in the present (as opposed to his uncannily imagined future), this work is marred by too much intention. It's easy to imagine a situation where Gibson heard the news reports about "illegal wiretapping" and decided to write a novel about it. Or, in the least, that's the idea that set him off into "Spook Country," which deals tangentially in government conspiracies, no-bid contracts, and the like. For the first time, a Gibson novel reads along the lines of a DNC talking points memo. In a book that is so disjointed, murky, and impenetrable (even for Gibson), these obviously political references stick out like a black-helicopter strobe light in the middle of a pitch-dark night. (Speaking of "dark knights" (OK, sorta), the brilliant Christopher Nolan film does a much better job engaging this issue of surveillance than Gibson's book does).

The most egregious fault of "Spook Country," though, comes back to Gibson's actual writing. The story centers around three central characters, and Gibson devotes a chapter to each back-to-back-to-back almost exclusively until the book reaches its conclusion and the individual plotlines begin to merge. The chapters are quite brief, many less than two pages, so you never really get to know the characters at all or feel anything for them, which has always been a strong point for Gibson. One of the three (I won't tell you which one), serves almost no purpose whatsoever, and having read through the entire novel I still cannot figure out why he receives so much ink.

It's less than 30 minutes until the first Redskins' preseason game begins, and I feel I'm not being very clear, and certainly not very poignant, in my criticism, so I should just end here. "Spook Country" simply tries too hard, even for Gibson. In identifying so clearly the target of his paranoia, Gibson in turn forfeited his ability to pinpoint cultural phenomena, a skill he has been so freakishly accurate with in the past. It's the first book of his I haven't enjoyed at any level, no matter how difficult he always is to read.

Grade: C-

Class: Defined

Is it any wonder I love Art Monk?

I didn't think I could be a bigger fan of this man before this day, but his humble, classy, heartfelt, sincere, and downright bold Hall of Fame induction speech reminded me why I looked up to him as a kid, why his was the only jersey I ever wanted (which I wore today and will continue to wear every Sunday all season), why I cheered for him and rooted for his success, and why he was one of the first pop culture figures of my youth who, through his example, showed me being a Christian was OK.

Ever since he retired I had planned on going to the induction ceremony, but the details just didn't work out. I sure wish I could have been a part of that four-minute ovation, though. It was emotional just watching it on TV. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy—and, unfortunately, it rarely does. His speech made me wish I was friends with Art Monk the man, not the football player. It was simply tremendous, and like so many Redskins fans, for the last—and, perhaps, greatest—time, I am proud to call myself one of his admirers.

The long wait was definitely worth it.


Oh, and Darrell, you were great, too.

L.I.P. Tony Snow

Though I am not surprised, I am nevertheless disappointed with the coverage of the death of Tony Snow, former reporter, columnist, radio talk show host, TV anchor, and, most recently, press secretary for President Bush.

For those who don't know, on Saturday Snow, at just 53, finally lost his long and difficult bout with cancer. The coverage of his death has been all positive, from what I've seen, but every report/commentary has missed the central point of Snow's life: His faith in Christ. All these people come out to talk about how humble he was, or how good at his job, or how compassionate, one excruciating reporter called him "humane," and never has the word sounded so creepy. But none of them—not even the news story on FoxNews.com, mentioned his Christian faith, even though it was Snow's faith that informed all of the good qualities people are praising him for.

This morning my pastor preached a sermon on Barnabus from Acts 11 (one of the first apostles). He highlighted Barnabus' self-effacing humility, a man who just wanted a job done and done the just and moral way, and didn't care if he got the credit or not. It reminded me of Snow, whom Vice President Cheney called the best press secretary he'd ever seen. I believe one of the reasons Snow was able to so effectively deal with the chaotic environment of the White House briefing room is he knew no matter how those vultures came after him, what they said or wrote about later, Snow's perspective on it all was clear: God was his No. 1 priority, and everything else came a distant second. Yes, he wanted to do his job to the best of his ability, but with his faith-centered perspective, I think it took some of the pressure off him. He didn't allow himself to get bogged down in the muck, because he was confident in his salvation and his moral standing before God. When you have that going for you, nothing else matters quite so much anymore. Contrast Snow's integrity to that sniveling weasel Scott McCellan. Enough said.

But don't take my word for it. The best eulogy I've read comes from Fred Barnes, not coincidentally a fellow Christian.

Or, even better, take Snow's actual words from this beautiful and frank piece he wrote last year.

Tony Snow is not resting in peace, he's Living in Peace in Heaven. I'm just sad to see him go so soon, for there aren't many like him.

R.I.P. 'Deadwood'

Yes, it seems my favorite TV show of all time has finally—like so many of its characters—met its untimely demise, and will remain frozen forever for posterity. It's not a surprise, of course, but it does frustrate me a bit—it's not like HBO has had any barnstorming hits since "Deadwood" left the air two years ago (even as Showtime has gotten better and better). It kinda reminds me of the Green Bay Packers rebuffing Brett Favre to "move on." I just don't understand.

That being said, I don't think creator/producer/writer David Milch left "Deadwood" in all that bad a place. What has now become the series finale certainly didn't tie everything up, but it was satisfying in its own right. Do I really need to see the town I've come to love burn down in order to have closure? No. Better to think those hustlers, murderers, whores, and gamblers maybe made something of themselves after all. A couple of movies would've been nice, I guess ("Serenity" certainly was for "Firefly"), but I don't think it would've felt quite right. "Deadwood" was always a slow burn with surprising moments of utter violence and brutality. I doubt that same vibe could have carried over quite right in another shorter format.

But it doesn't matter now, anyway. HBO, in all of its infinite wisdom, has moved on. Fine. Better for "Deadwood" to burn out than fade away, and it certainly walked out of town on its own terms. It's the way Al and Bullock would've wanted it.

R.I.P. Schooly's iPod

After more than three years of steady and dutiful service, my iPod finally missed a step this past week. I don't know exactly what happened (I blame my computer at work), but when I went to disconnect it the other day, the little guy freaked out.

When I finally revived it, I discovered a big chunk of my playlists were missing; all the music was still there, but now my various computers couldn't read the iPod's hard drive anymore. I let it sit for a couple days, tried the manual restart—nothing worked. So I finally decided to do what Luke Skywalker couldn't bring himself to do to C-3PO and R2-D2: The Doomsday Option. I wiped its memory.

And it seems to have worked, for now, which is good. But there was so much stuff on there, I'll never get it back to the way it was. There are a few things I'll miss most, most notably the "Play Count" and "Last Played" columns. If you had picked up my iPod last week and looked at those two columns, you'd be able to tell a lot about me. It was basically a history of my musical journey for the past three years. You'd see that Pearl Jam's "Life Wasted" and The Dropkick Murphys' "I'm Shipping Up to Boston" are two of my favorite songs of all time, because they'd been played more than 30 times, making them the dueling entries for Play Count Champion.

You'd see that for awhile I was absolutely obsessed with AFI's "Decemberunderground," because just about every song on that album had been played upwards of 25 times. You'd see that U2's UK single version of "Walk On" was a song I went to when in need of inspiration, or that The Bouncing Souls' "So Jersey" when in need of re-energizing, or … well, I could go on and on. I'll miss being surprised when I click onto an old favorite and realize it's been more than a year since I've listened to that album; my iPod was a constant reminder of not only how fast time seems to slip by, but also how much great music there is out there—how else could Johnny Cash's "American V" not been played in many, many months?

The other thing I'll miss most are my playlists. One of the iPod's best features is the ability to mix and match songs into any kind of order and grouping you want. I had Pearl Jam and U2 mixes on there that I'll never be able to remember, like the perfect re-tracking of "Binaural" I spent an hour on a couple summers ago (how did they ever leave "Sad" off that record?!?!).

And probably the worst part is the little songs I had stored on there that I have no idea where they came from. Live cuts from web sites long since forgotten, and the like. Can I really find all those old bootlegs again? Here's hoping. But the truth is, I'll never know how much I lost.

So if there's a silver lining to this event, it's this: My iPod now has a fresh start. I maxed out my capacity long ago, so for years every time I added something new I had to delete something old. And there was some stuff on there I just couldn't erase, even though I may not have listened to it since 2005—or, sometimes, not at all. Well, that problem's solved. Now I don't have to figure out what to cut so I can drop The National's "Alligator" on there (holy crap, that album is incredible—go buy it!). And I don't expect Coldplay will make it back in (OK, well, maybe just "Clocks").

Matter of fact, I already had some CDs on my computer, just waiting to be plopped back onto my (hopefully) renewed little friend. The first four songs I played on Schooly's iPod II pretty much sum this whole wretched experience up nicely:

"Your Long Journey," Robert Plant & Alison Krauss
"Alive," Pearl Jam
"Rearviewmirror," Pearl Jam
"Stop Your Sobbing," The Pretenders

Here's hoping this was just a one-time thing and all will return to normal now. That little droid and I have been through a lot together.

‘Hancock’

Why all the hatin’ on “Hancock”? I’m sorry, but I just don’t get it. Will Smith’s take on a half-drunk hero strikes the perfect balance between comedy, action, drama, and even a little sci-fi mixed in that all adds up to a thoroughly enjoyable 90 minutes at the multiplex.

The first half is downright hilarious, some of Smith’s best comedic work yet, and he’s been around that block a bunch of times. But unlike the moronic comedies from the likes of Will Ferrell or Ben Stiller—where they have to introduce some form of inane conflict just so their films can mercifully end—“Hancock” moves from shtick to drama so deftly you don't even notice how much you're sucked in until the movie reaches its climax. It wisely never attempts to go back to being funny, either, so the whole thing flows quite well. This works because the film’s three leads—Smith, Jason Bateman, and Charlize Theron—are so effective in making their respective characters real and relatable. Bateman especially shines, anchoring the entire operation in his droll wit and keeping the more fantastic elements you’d expect in any superhero movie somewhere in the realm of relative normalcy. And then there’s a doozy of a twist that I never saw coming, and the film takes off in a whole new direction that exposes at a deeper mythology to the whole storyline. Not all the questions are answered and the connections aren’t always exactly clear, but there’s really no need; the fact that such depth exists—if only in the filmmakers’ heads—adds credibility to the story.

So I must credit director Peter Berg (“The Kingdom,” “Friday Night Lights”) and especially screenwriters Vincent Ngo and Vince Gilligan for keeping their film free of cheese. By establishing Hancock as such a jerk right from the get-go, they don’t have to go very far to start him on the path to redemption, and thus Smith gets to play the superanti-hero just about the entire time.

The only thing I can figure regarding the overwhelmingly negative critical reaction to this film is that they all went way too easy this time last year on “Transformers” and wanted to “redeem” themselves for Independence Day 2008 by cracking down on another surefire crowd-pleaser. The only thing is, they’re wrong again: “Hancock” is a delight. I enjoyed it every bit as much as “Iron Man”—in some ways, even more.

Grade: B+

The National: ‘A Skin, A Night’

Since I caught their set at Messiah College, I’ve been listening to The National obsessively for the better part of the past two months. The band’s most recent album, 2007’s “Boxer,” has been particularly high in the rotation, so imagine my excitement upon sitting down to watch “A Skin, A Night,” a documentary filmed during the recording of that instant classic.

I couldn’t help but have high expectations: I was thinking somewhere along the lines of the Wilco film “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart,” where filmmaker Sam Jones was fortunate to be in the right place at the right time as the band recorded its landmark “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot”; or at least I would get something akin to Pearl Jam’s 1998 mini-documentary “Single Video Theory,” which chronicled the writing process for their stellar 1998 effort, “Yield.”

“A Skin, A Night” is neither of those two things. Not even close. In short: It’s a stunning disappointment. First-time director Vincent Moon delivers the most clichéd piece of moody art-school trash you can imagine. Painfully long shots of musicians noodling aimlessly on their instruments with no context are broken up only by even more painful long shots of stereotypically mopey images of subway trains or cityscapes. You’d think it would be impossible for a film only an hour long to have any fluff, but “A Skin, A Night” is filled almost entirely with expendable scenes. The only rationale I can think of for this type of work is an attempt by Moon to capture in film what The National do with music: belying specifics in favor of weaving together pieces of images and letting the audience decide its meaning for themselves. It works for the band, but definitely not for the movie.

I learned almost nothing about The National or their process from this film. There are a few scattered scenes of frontman Matt Berninger working on and discussing the lyrics for “Green Gloves,” but even that storyline is never brought to a close. At one point, one of the band members mentions offscreen how sometimes they’ll work and work on a song and something will then just “click,” and will come together in a flash; you’d think a moment like that would find its way into the film, but, sadly, no. There’s not even any investigation into the motivations and inspirations behind “Boxer.” One member of the band mentions late in the going how this could be a landmark period in the group’s career; that statement obviously proved true after the album came out, but the film ignores it.

“A Skin, A Night” is a massive failure due to such a glaring missed opportunity. I gained much more insight on the band from this 20-minute NPR interview (which I highly recommend) than from this entire film. The only thing that remotely saved the movie was, of course, the music, but there’s not even that much live material included here, either. “A Skin, A Night” disappoints in basically every possible way.

Grade: D


On a side note, the saving grace of this DVD is that it comes packaged with a new batch of material from The National. Dubbed “The Virginia EP,” it’s actually no EP at all, clocking in at 45 minutes. It has several new songs, several more excellent demos (including an early version of one of my faves, “Slow Show”), and a few great live cuts. The best of the latter is the band’s amazing cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “Mansion On the Hill” (I like their version better than Bruce’s!). The DVD/CD combo is only $15 on Amazon, so the CD alone is worth the price. And, who knows, maybe you go in for the art-school schlock this film offers.

Take a Bow, Gentlemen—We Earned It: Pearl Jam, Live in D.C., 6.22.08

There are certain cities Pearl Jam fans will travel to from far and wide to see their favorite band play. These locales—I’m thinking specifically of New York, Boston, Philly, and Chicago—have hosted some of the band’s best-ever shows, and they almost always bring their A-game to these towns.

But over the course of a Pearl Jam tour, there are always—always!—a few epic shows that pop up in unexpected places, where the crowd and the mood and the timing are just right and mixed in just the perfect way to create something special. Sunday night in D.C. was one of those nights.

For some reason, leading up to the show I had a good feeling about it I couldn’t quite explain. After a few songs, I figured it out: This was Pearl Jam’s first indoor show in a week. Don’t get me wrong—half the PJ shows I’ve seen have been outdoors, and those shows typically have a fun, easygoing vibe to them, which provides a unique atmosphere (where else can Eddie see the moon from the stage?). But these guys just seem to feel at home in an arena; something about the hot, enclosed surroundings leads to greater intensity. And if they happen to get matched with a great crowd, well, there’s no telling where they might go.

Such was the case Sunday night in D.C.

Things got off to a great start with “Hard to Imagine,” which offers the same type of twinkling opening strains of my all-time fave opener, “Release.” And then “HTI” hits its bigger, fuller second half and proves a perfect segue into the night. Pairing it with “Severed Hand” is a brilliant combo, as the latter’s extended intro picks up on the “HTI” vibe and then explodes into pure energy to kick everything off. This is a downright perfect way to start a show.

An all-time favorite, “Hail Hail” is always a welcome addition to any set, keeping the momentum at peak level. And I absolutely love “Do the Evolution” up early in a set, before the band gets too ragged to pull it off correctly. Hearing guitarist Stone Gossard’s unmistakable crunchy opening riff to “DTE” at Slot No. 4 was my first signal that tonight could be something special. It was take-no-prisoners time.

And then … whoosh … just like that, “Small Town” pops that intensity like a balloon. I simply do not understand why this song keeps appearing so early in the shows this tour; I get the fact that it’s a crowd favorite and a great singalong moment, and frontman Eddie Vedder probably wants to ensure everyone’s involved early. But there are so many other songs he could go to if he wants to accomplish that task that won’t kill the momentum. “Small Town” is just too, well, small to hold such a prominent position. I much prefer sets that feature somewhere in the neighborhood of seven or eight consecutive uptempo numbers before we’re allowed to take a breather.

All turned out well Sunday night, though—ironically, through the biggest Pearl Jam flub I’ve ever witnessed. Following “Small Town” was “Evacuation,” which came out of a five-year hibernation at my previous show Tuesday night in Virginia Beach. Here it was again, but we only heard the first verse because soon thereafter someone’s guitar went completely dead (some say Stone, some say lead guitarist Mike McCready), and everything started to unravel. Ed looked back over his shoulder to try and determine what was going awry, attempted to soldier on for a few more bars, then gave up the fight and brought the song careening to a halt with a screeched “Eeeevvvaaccccuuuuuaaaaaattiioonnnnnn!!!!!” The moment was reminiscent of the explosion of feedback in Philly back in ’05 that brought “Crazy Mary” to an abrupt stop, but that time they pulled themselves together and went on. Here they just gave up and moved on, with not even a word about it.

So what do you do when a song you hardly ever play completely falls apart on you? You answer with a song that’s always there for you, every single night, and always sounds great, no matter how many times you play it: “Corduroy” got things back on track right quick. Some bands may have been flapped by such a huge meltdown. Not PJ. The crowd loved it, the band handled it like it was no big deal. In fact, it seemed to galvanize them once more and ratchet up the intensity another notch.

What followed “Corduroy” was the song that made the most impact on me in two shows this week, the song that I’ve been humming more than any other, the song that, having never heard it in person before, went from “pretty good” to “great”: “I Am Mine.” Eddie started it off with a snippet of “I’m Open” from 1996’s “No Code”—it was him on the guitar and repeating the chorus a few times. The snippet also served as first installment of what I’m informally referring to as the “I” trilogy.

It was Ed’s explanation of “I Am Mine” Tuesday night that really got me thinking about this song; somehow I had never heard he wrote it the night before the Va. Beach show back in 2000 as a way to process the emotions of playing the band’s first show after nine fans were killed in June of that year at a European festival. Go back and read the lyrics now in that context and lines like “We’re safe tonight,” “All the innocents lost at one time,” and “There’s no need to hide” hold a new significance. I just finished Ayn Rand’s amazing “The Fountainhead” (more on that at a later time, I promise), and this song is surprisingly very much in line with her Objectivist philosophy, though I’m sure Ed would never want to hear that. But here he’s reclaiming his life as his own, no matter what pain circumstances have given him or what expectations others have held him to. It’s a song of sorrowful, quiet, but pure defiance in the best possible way. If there’s one thing I can say of Ed, no matter what, he’s always tried to be his own man, come hell or high water.

Completing the “I” trilogy was “I Got Shit,” which has become rarer over the years, making it all the more welcome whenever this gem is played; it brings the house down, especially with that pounding drum part from Matt Cameron. It’s one of those “tweener” songs that PJ do so well—not quite a hard rocker but not soft, either, “I Got Shit” strikes the perfect balance. And as if it wasn’t apparent already, yet another sign of how into this performance the band was came during the next song, “Daughter,” which saw Mike pogoing on his side of the stage. I don’t know exactly when Eddie felt that tonight’s crowd was really into it, but that time may have occurred here, as we perfectly mimicked his take on the Ramones’ “Blitzkrieg Bop” during the tag, no matter how difficult he tried to make it.

Following “Daughter” was a rather unusual run of songs that didn’t quite flow well one into another, but somehow the band made it work. “Light Years” was, as is usually the case, a beautiful entry into the set, and perfectly placed alongside “Daughter” in a nice breather section of the main set (“Small Town”—where are you now?). Up next was “Even Flow,” the old battle ax that Pearl Jam never seems to tire of. As a longtime fan and concertgoer, I can’t help but feel a little blasé about this song, which Pearl Jam has played more times than any other song in its catalog (616 times, to be exact, which means nearly every single stinkin’ time). But just when I start to drift into that snob-fan territory I try so hard to avoid, my wife reminds me why this song is here every night: While I was watching the band, she was watching the crowd; she got a chuckle out of how all the fan club members on the floor gave absolutely zero reaction to the song, but all the non-Ten Clubbers in the rest of the building went absolutely berserk when the opening riff went off. Yes, there are several more thousand people in the room than just us. I guess my one wish is, if they’re going to keep trotting it out every night, does it really have to get longer each tour?

The solo section of the song has gotten so fat now, Ed has taken to drifting offstage (even he can’t take it! (no, actually, I think he wants to give the rest of the band—especially Mike and Matt—the full spotlight)). Maybe during that time he was gathering his thoughts for what came next: The first big political rant of the night (and, sadly, not the last). This being D.C., I was prepared for this, so I just smirked and waited for it to be over. This one happened to be about drilling for oil, but if you want more you’ll have to buy the bootleg; and I won’t get into my political relationship with Pearl Jam here, as I've covered that territory before. Ed did have a good line leading into “Green Disease,” though—something like “maybe we can get a little color in the White House this time.”

As the main set began to draw to a close, Ed introduced a new trilogy: “This one’s all about YOU,” leading to the tour debut of “You Are.” An impressive version, to be sure, as this song’s unique arrangement must be one of the band’s most difficult to pull off in a live setting; I’ve often hoped since hearing this on “Riot Act” that they’d try to do an entire album of this more technical material (a la U2’s “Achtung Baby”), but at the same time I just don’t see how more songs like this would mesh with the rest of their live show. This one certainly doesn’t sound like anything else they do.

Much like the “Man” trilogy (“Nothingman”/“Leatherman”/“Betterman”), Ed might want to rethink these types of moniker-themed groups, because they don’t really flow all that well together. I was glad to hear “U” simply because I'd never seen it live before, but it’s a rather forgettable song. Now “Who You Are,” on the other hand, is a whole different story. This excellent change-of-pace from “No Code” hadn’t been played live since former drummer Jack Irons left the band in 1998 (the beat is a decidedly Irons-influenced shuffle), but Pearl Jam finally broke it out again for this tour. I was certainly glad to hear it, if only with a slight critique that “Who You Are” by its nature doesn’t have quite the energy required to really ramp up to the close of a main set (little did I know what they had planned, though). The band followed with another drum-heavy cut to close the set, “Why Go,” which since reintroducing at our show five years ago they are playing in fine form these days. Why go home, indeed?!?!

I’ll have to check the bootleg in a few weeks to be certain, but I’m pretty sure Ed addressed the crowd directly when he came out for the first encore. One of the things I love is that he’s always genuine—he doesn’t pander for cheap crowd pops night in and night out. If he says a crowd has made an impression on him, I believe it. Sunday night he was perplexed at how raucous and responsive we were, saying he didn’t know what exactly they’d done to deserve such a reaction, but that he was glad for it. And then, something to the effect of “We aren’t goin’ anywhere.” Ahh, and now we’re really off and running!

Though the lyrics of “Comatose” may give me pause, from a musical standpoint this song is raw, primal power. That opening blast of chords is like a punch in the chest, and it’s a great way to kick off an encore. Up next was an unexpected treat: “Sad,” one of my 10 favorite PJ songs, b-side or otherwise. I don’t know how this masterpiece was left on the “Binaural” cutting-room floor, but better late than never. It should be heavy in the live rotation, that's for sure.

Unlike “Even Flow,” “Given to Fly” has remained taut throughout its 10-year lifespan, and the song remains just as momentous today as it was a decade ago. This is without question one of the band’s best songs and, like “Corduroy,” it seems to fit just right no matter where it pops up in a set. The band then brought things down a touch with “Come Back,” one of my favorite cuts off 2006’s self-titled tour de force. With the right crowd (read: attentive and well-versed), this one’s a big highlight. Ed nailed it, and kept things humming right through what shaped up to be a fabulous encore with an excellent version of “Grievance” (“Binaural” is probably Pearl Jam’s most underrated effort).

And then we hit “Black.” This is one of the band’s “classic” songs, but I’ve never been all that big a fan. While I freely admit its quality, perhaps I’ve just heard it too, too many times since 1991 for me to dredge up much passion for it. Not only was it repeated constantly on the radio, but it’s the third-most played song in the band’s history (419 times, but who’s counting?). I’ve always felt “Black” was overused in concert; because Ed has to go to such a deep, emotional place to really sing this the way it’s meant to be sung, putting it on constant repeat over all these years has diminished it somewhat.

Recently, though, “Black” has become slightly more rare. Not actually rare, mind you, but at least it’s not an every-night guarantee like it used to be just a few years ago. As such, it seems the song has regained a bit of the prestige it always deserved—if Sunday night was any indication, anyway. The first half was pretty standard stuff, but everything began to change when it hit the big mid-song solo by Mike and the crowd basically ripped the “do-do-do-do” vocal refrain from Ed and claimed it as our own. We kept the chant up all the way through, even as Ed drifted away from the mic and over to the side of the stage. A couple minutes later, as the song was winding down, Eddie started moving back toward centerstage. I thought he was just going to let it end, but the crowd persisted; shrouded in semi-darkness, Ed clung to the microphone for several heartbeats, unmoving, silent. Then he picked up on our chant and continued on into the longed-for “We Belong Together” tag; I don’t know when this coda first appeared, but the first time I heard it was on PJ’s legendary 1992 “MTV Unplugged” performance. Point is, “We Belong Together” is the perfect capper for “Black,” and this was probably the best version of this song I’ve heard in person.

And that led into what many who were in attendance are calling the best version of “Rearviewmirror” they’ve ever heard. I can’t go there, as I’m not a devotee of this particular track, but this iteration was tremendous and featured one of the best mid-song jams I’ve heard; as the music began to crescendo out of the break, Eddie moved back to the microphone and vamped a few lines about forgiveness—but instead of leading to the dramatic finish, he went back to the group gathered around the drumkit for another round of jamming, allowing the music to ebb and swell once again to the finale. It was the perfect choice to end this passionate and forceful encore.

By this point the band was at about the two-hour mark and rapidly approaching what I assumed was an 11 p.m. venue curfew. But this was one of those nights where Pearl Jam just doesn’t give a crap about the rules and they’re just gonna keep playing. When they’re feeling like this, there’s no telling what can happen, and it can lead to a bit of a freewheeling, nearly whiplashed feel as they just go wherever the mood strikes them. I was reminded of that great scene in last year’s concert film “Immagine in Cornice” where it shows the guys huddled backstage, breathless and keyed up plotting their future concert course.

Ed opened the second encore with his second major political speech of the night before playing, as I expected coming into the night, his pedestrian anti-war jangle “No More.” His heart is definitely in the right place with sympathy for a disabled soldier whom he has gotten to know, and the guitar part isn’t bad, but the lyrics are mediocre at best (which is usually the case when he puts message above the music—“Worldwide Suicide” notwithstanding). He comes off as some hippie reject from the ’60s with this one, and it just sounds rather silly at times, belying the serious and sad inspiration for the piece.

But such is my relationship with Pearl Jam that they can go from irritating to endearing in the few seconds between two songs. They followed “No More” with “Last Kiss” performed behind the stage facing those fans who paid the same money as everyone else for the worst seats in the house. PJ did this when I saw them in Philly, too, and it’s such a nice touch.

OK, so now we’re blowing past 11 p.m. and I’m thinking this has got to be the end—here comes “Rockin’ in the Free World” or “Ledbetter.” But, no, the house lights surprisingly stay down, and they kick into not just any song, but “Crazy Mary”—one of the longest pieces in their repertoire with its extended solos for both Mike and keyboardist Boom Gasper (BOOOOOOOMMM!!!!!). Curfew? What curfew!!! By that point I was into full-on no-idea-what-to-expect-anymore euphoria. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this cover, either; it fits Ed’s voice so well, and the Mike/Boom combined solo is stellar.

Right on its heels comes another monster, “Alive.” I refuse to be cynical about this song. Though it may not be my absolute favorite, this is Pearl Jam’s touchstone, their “Where the Streets Have No Name.” Eddie’s description of how its meaning has changed over the years from a song of desperation to a song of hope—thanks to the fans—makes the individual verses almost inconsequential at this point—it’s all about the chorus and the connection between band and audience. Rather than climbing the walls and rafters like in search of something real like the old days, now Eddie just stands still at the front of the stage, microphone extended, and drinks in all the goodwill exploding his way. I like its positioning this tour as the penultimate song of the night—“Alive” deserves such a prominent and special position.

So after “Alive,” the house lights come up and now it really is time to go. Now I’m really thinking “RITFW," but I see Ed has a guitar strapped on, and he doesn’t play guitar on that song. What’s going on? And then they rip into … “ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER”!!! I don’t know why I forgot about this cut (which Ed covered for the Bob Dylan-inspired “I’m Not There” soundtrack), but it was such a welcome surprise—made extra special when Ed brought a young kid up on stage to play his guitar (Ed, Stone, and bassist Jeff Ament all gathered around the lucky fan to help him along). I hope this one stays in the regular end-of-show rotation.

Only, it wasn’t quite the end of the show. Tonight was one of those shows where the band clearly didn’t want to leave the stage and capped things off with “Yellow Ledbetter,” as if to tell themselves as much as us that it really was time to go. Playing their second song to a fully lit building, Mike topped it off with a full version of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” care of Jimi Hendrix.

When all was sung, strum, and done, Sunday night in D.C. came in at 31 songs and 2 hours, 45 minutes. Of the dozen PJ shows I’ve attended, on first blush I would put this in my top three. It was a special night that added up to even more than the sum of its impressive setlist. And the band knew it, too. As the crowd continued its deafening roar of approval and thanksgiving, the six members of Pearl Jam gathered at the front of stage, arms around one another’s shoulders, and took a bow, seeming to thank us just as much for the experience.

Hard to imagine how they continue to exceed even the loftiest expectations time and time again. But when these men take the stage together, they just soar.


Pearl Jam
Verizon Center
Washington, D.C.
6.22.08
Running Time: 2 hours, 45 minutes

Main Set:
Hard to Imagine
Severed Hand
Hail Hail
Do the Evolution
Small Town
Evacuation [stopped]
Corduroy
I’m Open [snippet]
I Am Mine
I Got Shit
Daughter/Blitzkrieg Bop
Light Years
Even Flow
Green Disease
You Are
U
Who You Are
Why Go

First Encore:
Comatose
Sad
Given to Fly
Come Back
Grievance
Black/We Belong Together
Rearviewmirror

Second Encore:
No More (Ed solo)
Las Kiss
Crazy Mary
Alive
All Along the Watchtower
Yellow Ledbetter/Star-Spangled Banner