Anyone seen Slint

SLINT, MATMOS - 3/10/2005 - Great American Music Hall - San Francisco, CA

re tara jane o'neil [opener] can someone explain to me wtf the drugged out nick nolte lookalike was supposed to be?

http://www.thesmokinggun.com/graphics/packageart/mugshots/noltemug.jpg

http://www.reimeika.ca/marco/data/christopher_lloyd_1.jpg http://www.i-mockery.com/generalzod/media/zod.jpg

..anyway I kinda woke up once I noticed that was Sara Lund behind the skins... (right?)

Britt was on fire last night. I never realized how great of a drummer he was.

as far as loudness goes...i was concerned as i forgot my earplugs [which i normally wear] and thought the ears might take a beating,but aside from "rhoda" i was unscathed . i just wish the crowd would have shutthefuckup during the slower/mellow sections.

...hehheh...as right as i think you are....he still was a distraction...i was hoping when his "curtain" topled over he would just disappear.

SLINT live à la Cartonnerie, Reims, France March 3rd 2005....mp3 192 kbps

Great opening set by Pinback, too.

david wm. sims is an accountant.

only redeeming entertainment from opening act was Hamish Kilgour on drums

i actually thot the friday show was a little better BUT on saturday they played "pam," the unrecorded song that totally shreds. BUT on friday they did the long 10" version of "rhoda," whereas on saturday they did the shortened "tweez" version.

britt walford, playing drums and singing "nosferatu man" at the same time = genius

He contradicts himself in paragraphs 2 (songs "which rely on precisely calibrated shifts in momentum and texture") and 4 ("nearly formless (and nearly tuneless) foundation")... not sure if he was a victim of editing, but the sudden shift in opinion comes off schizo/"formless" in terms of a consistent critical voice.

The only relevant issue is the unanswered question of where indie rock standards have gone. Stupid question, really, but let's just say Slint's poise and grace killed most indie rock then, and it was sobering to see that after a decade they were able to summon that same composure. They way they played with math without letting the numbers show was kind of astounding.

the hecklers were funnier friday night.

Icy Demons suffered one heckle - "PHISH!" - but that was the extent of it.

The band did half the work, secure in the knowledge that listeners would be thrilled to do the rest.

which basically summarizes every reunion tour ever. So it's a fairly harmless review.

"Throw Your Hands in the Air" minus hands in the air = dud, no doubt

Thanks for that link -- after a grinding slow d/l I'll be glad to hear what percentage of labor the Louisville crowd contributed.

OK, I'm hyperbolizing a bit, but there were a lot of people that just felt absolute relief and raised their hands in some sort of spiritual joy as the show proceeded. It was a bit odd, especially when they tried to dance to the songs.. but hey, they were having fun, and they weren't trying to be obnoxious, so I thought it was kinda neat.. though odd. Then again, I'm sure many people travelled hours from either Portland or Vancouver (or Spokane or Missoula or even further, perhaps) to see this show, so I'd have zero basis for complaining, even if I were to complain.

The sound mix was impeccable. Perfect. One of the best sounding shows I've ever witnessed. Perhaps the best.

Brian McMahan was especially heckling of the audience ("Alright, last song, fuckers"... haha) which did surprise me given his very low-key kindness during For Carnation shows.

I still stand by my half-ass My Bloody Valentine live comparison. Musically they were very different of course. But the rather calm stage presence -- excepting the drummer -- versus the brilliant din they created just kinda reminded me of when I saw MBV over a decade ago, das all. (and yeah yeah, Todd Cook was no Debbie Googe as far as energy goes either.. )

1. brashear was orig. bassist, buckler just filled in for him on "tweez."
2. insert asking for female vocalists was in "tweez" (i still have mine).

The request for female singers was certainly in my copy of Spiderland but not Tweez. Maybe the requests appeared on both when they were first issued on CD perhaps?

fucking amazing.

They sounded great. Sounded *exactly* like the records, which was amazing to me. I mean, I purposefully avoided listening to any of those recent live shows floating around on the internet, so I didn't know what to expect. And yeah, as everyone noted above, the mix they're getting on these shows is amazing. It's perfect. Jesus it was so good. Setlist was basically EXACTLY the same as the one gygax! posted. Although I may have the order of some of those Tweez tracks confused.

And actually one interesting thing about the set is that the sound mix kind of smooths over the differences between the two LPs. But I think the overall sound-mix had a very Spiderland-ish flavor. In other words, it made the Tweez songs blend right in with the later stuff seamlessly. The whole thing was definitely of one piece. I love that. It definitely made the Tweez stuff come alive for me in a way that the record has sometimes not. It all flowed together wonderfully. The Tweez stuff ended up sounding less Albini and more Paulson/Spiderland to me; maybe that's just the maturity of the group, i dunno, but i think a lot was due to the obvious attention they paid to the mix.

Man I had no idea Walford sang on "Nosferatu" and "Don"! Did he sing them on the records?? I never knew! Unreal. And who was the third guitarist?? Ok, I just reread gygax's Noize Bored thread (didn't read originally cuz I didn't want no SPOILERS) -- this dude was McMahon's bro? and haha, yeah, gyg was also surprised by the Walford vox. awesome. Did it seem like they added an extra two bars to the last chorus of "Captain" for effect, or was I just drunk?? anyway it gave me chills. I've gotta go back tomorrow, i've just gotta.

perhaps, but what i'm talking about is the first jennifer hartman pressing of "tweez," and it was a little red insert. same pressing also had the hair follicle poster, but different from the touch & go version.

< /nerdingout>

stormy you are a GOD among men.

yeah i never knew that either. i don't think they ever did "nosferatu man" live, at least not with vocals, so that's what makes that even more amazing. britt is fucking awesome.

michael mcmahon actually named "spiderland." he's about a year younger or so than me.

are the chicago shows not sold out? weird.

also, thought of three more quick points --

1) yeah, as Ian mentioned up above, new bassist Todd is totally METAL! loved his stately, eyes-closed presence.

2) everyone upthread talks about how LOUD the shows were, but to be honest, this Chicago show really wasn't taht loud at all! I mean, I brought earplugs, and was prepared to use em, but I really didn't need to! everything was just right (and I don't say that as a masochist "WHAT YOU CAN'T TAKE THE VOLUME?" kind of hard-ass, I really mean that it just wasn't all that loud)

3) the lights were totally cool! Like, amazingly synched up to the different songs. This is something that I don't think anyone has referenced -- and maybe it's just really lame to talk about something like LIGHTS, I dunno -- but man, I think the use of the different colors and shadows (especially when McMahon would get a shadow-producing straight-on white light) were a REAL integral part to the overall affect of the show...

todd cook is the fucking MAN. i love that guy. he was really the only choice, as far as replacement bassists go. i was so psyched to see him, last time was at a wedding like 3-4 years ago (at keeneland in lexington, oddly enough).

also, rereading this thread it's funny to hear a lot of posters saying 'wow never knew Walford was so good'; whereas I've always really respected him, but the guy I suddenly realized I never respected ENOUGH was Pajo! Man that guy is good. I totally need to investigate the Ariel M stuff; I feel like such a bum for not really paying much attention to his stuff under that moniker!

Not really into the other Papa M stuff.

2. I also second what Stormy said about it not being that loud. It wasn't, at all.

3. Live From a Shark Cage is a kind of pretty, ambient post-rock record: I like it, but I wouldn't be surprised if people found it boring. Papa M is basically Will Oldham-lite.

more awesomeness. OPENING with "Captain" this time round; figures, those crazy pranksters. As other people have noted above. Maybe they have two setlists? One that OPENS with "Captain" and one that CLOSES with "Captain"? Who knows. Ended with that feedback freakout thing.

GREAT MOMENT:: during the lull late in the concert, in between a couple of songs -- possibly in between the lull between "Don, A Man" and the other stuff, when the musicians have to change instruments -- everything is really, really quiet, and then some idiot yells "Freebird"!! The greater crowd collectively, without prodding, registers a chorus of boos...

..after a couple of seconds McMahan says, completely deadpan, " We are all geeks here, but .... that was surprising"

ROFFLES

brian is a funny guy.

"Hey check it out, vintage indie rock on The Original Soundtrack! I saw the Slint reunion the other night and I'm sorry to report that they bored me out of my skull, a few spellbinding moments of luminosity aside ("Good Morning, Captain" being one of them). I haven't listened to Spiderland since I was 17, though, which is perhaps telling. Excellent light show--stark, chilly blues and greens shooting like lasers through heavy thickets of fog, plus these weird corkscrew/spiral patterns projected onstage that made me wish I wasn't supremely sober. I felt really unsettled the entire time I was at the show, and then I realized why: no one was moving, not even an inch. Er, well, you can't dance to Slint, but even the rock-ish shows I've been to lately (Animal Collective, Gang Gang Dance, No-Fun-Fest style noize assault) have had some kind of writhing or weird undulations or slam-dancing involved. But Slint: the band was completely immobile, and the audience was transfixed in doe-eyed adoration bordering on total paralysis. I've read varying ecstatic accounts of their reunion shows, and I can only guess that a) the sound wasn't nearly loud and enveloping enough at Irving Plaza that night; b) it was Irving Plaza, and therefore sucks rocks; c) Slint just looked exhausted, drained. Every labored chord change, every intricate Jacob's ladder of a guitar line -- it sounded exactly like the records. I don't mean this as a diss on Slint, necessarily, but more on reunion tours in general. Death to reunion tours! Long live the new flesh!" http://www.theoriginalsoundtrack.com/blog/

Does Geeta also write for the NY Times? I seem to recall her writing a review of the Sonar festival a few years ago but perhaps I'm hallucinating.

yeah, um, I went to the Slint shows TO DANCE. Jesus.

I also went to the Phill Niblock thing at 6Odum a few weeks back TO DANCE

That said, I wasn't seeing Slint to spazz out to them. I was too mesmerized and happy to do much moving.

www.stylusmagazine.com

the initial night i saw Slint i focused very, very little on the crowd at the show... and i got to thinking, i wasn't there for the crowd, i was there for the band.

i went to a dance performance a couple days ago, i paid no attention to the crowd either. same goes for my friend's stage performance the week previous.

so what is so important about the audience in rock performance? should the audience/their reaction play any part in the critical analysis of the show? esp. in relation to other performance arts?

Not to take the subject off Slint (Milton linked to my brief thoughts on one of the SF shows way upthread), but the rhythm/tempo of Slint's music is so far removed from dance music (the 2 most popular songs off Spiderland are the only songs in conventional/even time signatures), it's kind of an absurd comparison.

and it's also a thumbnail ethnography of sorts. most of these observations aren't welcome in rock criticism, although it panders to academic sophistication elsewhere in all modes of chinscratching.

While the emphasis should clearly be on the band, if a crowd is stiff or overly talkative, or dancing up a frenzy sometimes that does add to putting everything into context. But it's not always accurate to hold a band responsible for how active or passive or obnoxious or respectful or whatever an audience is. I've seen African artists play in front of older Smithsonian/Kennedy Center types and in front of younger immigrant audiences from their home countries and the performer did an equally striking show in front of both audiences but the reaction by the audience was very different. Also, as a number of people have said some music isn't dance-oriented, and Geeta would have just been better off saying simply why the music did not captivate her. I often like her writing and posted her description based in part on my respect for her views (I missed the Slint show in DC / I do have Spiderland).

http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/chi-0503280160mar28,1,4799907.story

(may need to register, use http://www.bugmenot.com )

error will be fixed. thanks guyjax.

SLOW FADE
by SASHA FRERE-JONES
The afterlife of an indie band.
Issue of 2005-04-11
Posted 2005-04-04

In the summer of 1989, a band called Slaughterhouse played at the Pyramid, a club in the East Village. The band was generically noisy, and hostile in a manner that was common at the time, especially among groups that performed in the neighborhood. David Pajo, a young guitarist with Slint, a Louisville band that was scheduled to appear later that night, watched the show from the bar.

“Slaughterhouse had many televisions onstage with them,” Pajo recalled. “I remember a video loop of a girl opening her mouth while a guy pissed in it; a girl fellating a mule in a barn; and a woman putting her footless leg into another woman. Quite disturbing.” Partway through the set, Pajo left the club to check out the homeless people living in Tompkins Square Park. While he was gone, Slaughterhouse’s lead singer set his hair on fire and vomited. When Pajo returned, it was Slint’s turn to play. Brian McMahan, the group’s singer and second guitarist, carefully wiped the vomit from the microphone. The band’s members were wearing shorts and looked wholesome, as though they were on loan from a private-school squash team.

They performed songs from their album “Tweez,” and some longer, slower numbers, all executed with unusual precision. Few of the tracks featured singing, and what vocals there were seemed like an afterthought. As unlike each other as two rock bands could be, Slint and Slaughterhouse had roots in a subgenre of nineteen-eighties independent rock which was sometimes called “pigfuck” by the music press, and which was exemplified by Big Black, a band known for its harsh sounds and shock tactics. (The first edition of Big Black’s 1987 EP, “Headache,” came sealed in a black vinyl bag containing two photographs of a man who had recently removed his head with a shotgun blast.) But Big Black had also created some smart music, inventing a gloriously discomforting, trebly howl that made you feel as though you were being rubbed down with hot stones and ammonia.

Slaughterhouse must have looked at Big Black’s icky photos; Slint had listened to its music. “Tweez,” which was released in 1988, had been recorded by Steve Albini, Big Black’s singer and guitarist, who was also a contributor to Forced Exposure, a widely read fanzine. Albini was the Jackson Pollock and Clement Greenberg of eighties indie rock: he made important music and told people how to talk about it. When Albini announced in Pulse!, a free magazine put out by Tower Records, that Slint was the new band he was most excited about, fans paid attention.

By the time Slint appeared at the Pyramid, however, indie rock was undergoing a transformation. Big Black had broken up in 1987, and major-label bands like Nine Inch Nails were taking aggressive noise and violent subject matter into the mainstream. Slint had outgrown its noise-rock beginnings, and the slow, nearly wordless songs that the band performed that night were something new.

In the fall of 1990, with the help of an engineer named Brian Paulson, the group recorded a new album. But in January, 1991, a few weeks before it was to be released, and three months before Slint was to embark on its first European tour, McMahan quit the band. The tour was cancelled. Slint, it seemed, was history.

Then the album, “Spiderland,” appeared. On its cover was a black-and-white photograph of the musicians swimming in an abandoned quarry, their smiling faces hovering above the water. But the record was not the product of feckless youths; it was a foray, both brave and frightened, into adulthood. Just six songs and thirty-nine minutes long, “Spiderland” was sui generis, a series of compositions so studiously arranged that they sound as though they might have been notated, like classical music,though they retain the rawness and intimacy of improvisation. Several of the tracks feature clean guitar arpeggios rotating over slightly dissonant bass pedal points, and build to glowing codas of resonant sound. All but one song is anchored by Britt Walford’s drumming, which rides the back edge of the beat but never falls off, creating a delicious tension. The few lyrics are nearly inaudible and sound like excerpts from short stories: a boy takes a girl on a roller coaster; a man leaves a party, thinking about what he should have said; and, on “Good Morning, Captain,” the album’s final cut, a sailor awakes after a shipwreck and is confronted by a small child looking for help.

During the nineteen-nineties, “Spiderland” sold steadily, a rare feat for an obscure, independent band that no longer existed and had performed live fewer than thirty times. (According to Nielsen SoundScan, forty-eight thousand copies of the album have been bought in the United States to date, but since not all independent record stores report their sales to SoundScan, the number may be much greater.) In 1991, Albini reviewed “Spiderland” for Melody Maker, a popular British weekly, calling it “flawless” and awarding it “ten fucking stars.”

Slint spawned so many imitators—Mogwai may be the best known—that the band became a genre within indie rock, a style in which boys, choked with emotion and capable only of murmurs or shouts, play each song more slowly than it wants to be played, and find deep significance in their every utterance. “Spiderland” deserves the overheated praise, but it was partly responsible for the enervation and increasing insularity of independent rock music during the nineties, a decade in which hip-hop, teen pop, and dance-hall, by contrast, became ever more formally omnivorousand pleasurable. The problem was that Slint did not create a simple, easily imitated beat like Bo Diddley, or an elemental song like the Sex Pistols’ “Anarchy in the U.K.,” which anyone could learn to play. Slint—or “Spiderland,” because the two had become interchangeable—was like that grilled-cheese sandwich bearing the face of the Virgin Mary: an unlikely and irreproducible marvel.

After years spent dodging disappointed fans, the band’s members were persuaded by Barry Hogan, a British concert promoter, to perform together at a music festival in Camber Sands, England, in February. That appearance led to a twenty-two-date tour in the United States, during which Slint played before approximately twenty-four thousand people.

The reunion was strictly temporary; officially, Slint remains broken up. In mid-March, the group performed a three-night stand at Irving Plaza, in New York. The mood in the audience on the night I went was reverential and slightly tense, like a prom at which only boys—the crowd was disproportionately young and male—have shown up. There was some earnest shushing during the painfully quiet songs, the faithful apparently wanting to commune in peace with the human beings who had made that record.

The band played all of “Spiderland” and much of “Tweez.” The set began with Slint’s most satisfying song, “Good Morning, Captain,” a creepy vamp held down by a drumbeat that could readily be turned into a hip-hop sample. For six minutes, the track inched along until—in one of the evening’s few traditional rock moments—it exploded with two enormous, distorted chords, each separated by tiny pauses, as McMahan screamed, “I miss you!” The words seemed, in the context of the show, to be a proxy for all the stuff that boys don’t talk about: that excruciating weekend with your new stepfather; that scary walk in the woods; that rift with your best friend, whom you haven’t seen in years. As the band played, I scribbled down names and associations, few of them related to music: Samuel Beckett, imagined movie dialogue, and snippets of vaguely recollected episodes of “Wild Kingdom.” Instrumental music demands this kind of coloring in, and Slint’s triggers an ever-changing series of mental slides.

In the middle of the evening’s tumultuous closer, “Rhoda”—a song from “Tweez”—Walford twice screamed “One, two, three!” to cue the band back in. It was thrilling and a little startling, like watching an actor break character to pick up a stray prop. As Walford pounded away, McMahan and Pajo used their hands to make the only sounds that night which truly resembled singing, manipulating their guitars to create a noise like birdsong. The number ended abruptly, and a white screen came down, concealing the musicians. As the audience shuffled dutifully toward the doors, a faint echo of guitar feedback lingered in the air, and then died.

But in the brisk buzz around all that Slint bringback, I don't think there was nearly enough mention of Rapeman. During those years in Chicago, there were countless bands thumbed under the shriveling spell of Albini: Bastro, first Jesus Lizard, Tweez, Arsenal, Dolemite, Tar, Wreck, hell in their own way Ministry... Slint were too cool/uncool to be intimidated, they just took Rapeman to heart and made a good thing astoundingly good. Two Nuns and a Pack Mule is the second-best Spiderland.

Now lest you think this reunion will stretch into next year, Slint's selling its gear on ebay, by the way. Search in description for: "This piece of equipment was purchased by a member of the legendary independent rock band Slint and used on their historic reunion tour that took place from February 22 through March 26, 2005. The group has now disbanded permanently as intended and select pieces of gear are being made available at auction. Items will be autographed by the individual band member who used them upon request of the winning bidders."