Recording: John Milner You're So Boss

Artist: John Milner You're So Boss

Song: unknown^*

Recorded at The Great Hall, November 18, 2010.

John Milner You're So Boss - unknown

My notes for this set can be found here.

^* Does anyone know the title to this one? Please leave a comment!

Gig: No Age

No Age (Lucky Dragon / John Milner You're So Boss / Henri Fabergé and his Naval Academy Marching Band)

The Great Hall. Thursday, November 18, 2010.

Even though it might have been at odds with the tone of some of the music being presented, there was an enthusiastically celebratory vibe at The Great Hall on this night. As I entered, an actual DJ was playing actual dance music, and though there weren't too many takers, it helped to provide a relaxed vibe as the room began to fill.

Taking things even further into the realm of spectacle was Henri Fabergé and his Naval Academy Marching Band, whose name was wholly self-descriptive. Not being of a temperament to let his musical ambitions be constrained by the normal method of being a guy in a band — his self-titled album with the Adorables came out back in '06 and there's been nothing since in the way of conventional releases — Henri Fabergé (the nom de guerre of Henry Fletcher) has instead channelled his energies into such avenues as wildly extravagant pageants celebrating his fictional life story¹. This particular project is an offshoot of that, as far as I can tell, and before the show, I didn't know how literal this name was — but I learned quickly.

Hanging out near the front of the room, I heard the roll of drums in the distance. Then, a shout of "make way!" as the head of the column entered from the doors at the back of the room. Armed with a bullhorn, the leader of the march issued a steady stream of shouted instructions and authoritarian asides ("Do not trust your instincts! Do not believe in your impulses! Society's rules and regulations have been put in place for a reason.") through a cacophony of horns and drums as the band marched a few circles around the edge of the room before settling in in front of the stage.

Introduced as the naval academy's most promising student, Fletcher manifested himself and quickly whipped up the crowd. Contradicting the authoritarian edicts of the bandleader, an electric guitar kicked in and the parade band was suddenly a large-format rock'n'roll combo as he sang a song about the virtues of pleasing oneself, all the horns and marching drums amping it up. And when the song was complete, the band marched back out the room — the whole thing here and gone in under ten minutes in a burst of, "wha'happened?"

Listen to the "song" part of this performance here.

That would be followed by another spasm of similarly short duration by John Milner You're So Boss, playing on the floor in front of the stage. Vocalist Danielle LeBlanc was a bit more archly amusing than I recalled, joking at the outset, "after this show we're gonna break up, because what else are you gonna do after playing with fucking No Age?" Having been previously exposed to the band's brand of noiseburst chaos, I was perhaps less taken aback this time round, so either I was getting used to what they were doing or the band was actually stretching out a little, leading off with an "extended" (read: two-minute long) burst of swirling noise before the songs began. Or at least I think so, going by when the drumming and shouting started.

It was sometimes hard to tell when the songs started and ended but they were quick. There was one discrete burst of shouting that was less than twenty seconds — but why devote thirty seconds to saying "fuck you!" when you can do it in fifteen? Some stretched out into slightly longer bursts of noise diddling. Topics included "weak dicks" (it was alleged that you have one) and taquitos (sample lyrics: "Taquitos! Taquitos! Taquitos! Taquitos! Taquitos!"). All told, not the sort of thing you want to analyze too deeply — but somewhat entertaining when compressed into such a quick burst.

Listen to a song from this set here.

After JMYSB cleared their gear from their space on the floor, people were quickly pushing forward, jockeying for position near the stage. Such linear thinking actually put them further away from Lucky Dragons, who were setting up right in the middle of the floor. A lot of people didn't even seem to notice the preparations, or even when the music began with quiet glittering oscillations. Normally a duo, the band was performing as a singular dragon on this night, with Luke Fischbeck on his own.

My first encounter with the band was quite truly memorable for the innovative way that the musicians got the crowd involved in the most literal way, using audience members as circuit paths to create ever-shifting musical patterns triggered by physical contact. Bringing a different bag of tricks, the interactive element this time involved a projector at floor level pointed toward the back of the room, casting a shifting light pattern. Fischbeck handed out old CD's for audience members to hold in front of the projector, creating reflected beams of light dancing across the ceiling while he used his laptop and thumb piano to guide the music's slow build. After ten minutes, a beat slowly rose up, as well as more glitchy noises at the fringes of the sound.

This felt like less of a phenomenon than that last time. It's harder to be as surprised the second time around, I suppose, but more crucially here the crowd was less into it. Far from being a unifying experience that pulled everyone in, this was very much just background noise for most of the audience. I was right up close, in about the second rank of people watching, and by the end, there were conversations going on on both sides of me — not just of the "what's going on?" variety, but mostly general chitchat. So this was nice enough, but there was a failure to engage compared to what I had seen before.

I also had pretty fond memories of the first time I had seen No Age, at Lee's almost exactly two years previous. I left that show impressed with the duo's entertaining physicality and ability to suggest an intense presence while still having fun. To their credit, I should think, the band has evolved in the interim, transforming themselves into something more forward-thinking than bashing out punkish songbursts, instead becoming more interested in Everything in Between (as their new album is called) — most notably the spaces between the songs, filled with ambient loops and samples. Fittingly, ensuring that that more elaborate sonic sensibility wasn't left at the door of their live show, they'd enlisted a third touring member (William Kai Strangeland-Menchaca, from what I could find online) who worked in front of a table of samplers and other electronic gear off to one side of the stage. That meant that guitarist Randy Randall and drummer/vocalist Dean Spunt could focus on their instruments.

With abstract, melty visuals being projected behind the band, they took the stage with a hazy instrumental that segued into "Life Prowler", the first cut off the new one. That was followed by a shouty "Teen Creeps" (arguably as close as the band has gotten to a pop hit), "You're a Target" (from the Losing Feeling EP) and "Every Artist Needs a Tragedy" from 2007's Weirdo Rippers. That was all in one burst before the band paused to say hello to the crowd. The more extended gaps between songs (where Randall built up guitar loops) were filled in by segues of sample-based collage-y loops, and one got the notion that the band took those as seriously as the songs.

Mind you, tearing into "Fever Dreaming", the band showed they can still toss off something relatively catchy when they want to. And not beholden to the songs' recorded arrangements, there was a run through of "Common Heat" that was much more ripping and aggressive than the album presentation. "Valley Hump Crash" would also get a more snarling re-versioning later on.

This all worked out well enough, but for whatever reason, there wasn't the same lift as when I saw 'em before. Even beyond the success or not of particular songs — "Cappo" felt kind of flat, but it lurched into "Glitter" which was far more spirited — there were less fireworks here. Perhaps the band is just more invested in the newer, textured stuff — or even the very idea of textures. When Randall broke a guitar string and was out of action for a couple minutes, I thought the set might lose all momentum, but Spunt tossed off a couple "Night of the Living Rednecks" riffs while noodling on a little drum/loop improv to pass the time. And that pause actually led to a relatively energetic finale, including the still-fresh "Sleeper Hold", with Randall climbing up on the tall speakers at the edge of the stage to power things along.

"No encores," warned Spunt before "Miner", which the band closed with. Like most the of hour-long set, they thrashed away at it with vigour to but it didn't lift. Which I guess is an apt metaphor for the whole set. On the whole, not a bad night, but not pushed out of the realm of competent entertainment.

Listen to a song from this set here.

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¹The final monthly instalment of his Feint of Hart "serialization" will be running at Hart House on April 7. I've heard that these are quite the spectacle to behold.

Gig: Dan Deacon

Dan Deacon (Lightning Bolt / John Milner You're So Boss)

The Great Hall. Tuesday, October 10, 2010.

Apparently there was a discount on hard-assed bouncers that The Great Hall got in on. "Any sharp objects?" asked one as he rifled through my bag. His partner peered at my ID through squinted eyes, like he was deep in concentration. Charmers.

Things were friendlier inside, with a healthy number of folks on hand before the show's listed 9:30 start time. And not an entirely regular crowd, either, as there was a small number of folks in masks and costumes circulating around. There was also a band's worth of gear on the floor in front of the stage — a drumkit and guitar, plus a heap of stuff including some pedals, toy instruments and a telephone receiver plugged into a little mixing board.

All of that belonged to locals John Milner You're So Boss,¹ who opened things up. They exploded for a short set of noisy, shouty stuff — not a lot of vocals to be made out here. Vocalist Danielle LeBlanc had a propensity to wander as far into the crowd as her mic cord would let her while the zlblerbling toy keyboard and flailing guitar thrashed behind her. The music was not, um, melodically structured and it was formally untethered from the rigours of hardcore. One might categorize it closer to "I had an accident in my pants" — and leave it open to interpretation if that's a sad or happy turn of events. There was a sort of cartoon-y aspect to it, so if the aim of the noise and spasms was catharsis it didn't quite get there.

It was often unclear when songs started or ended. There was a setlist with about a dozen titles written on it, and the whole thing came and went in eleven minutes. Was it good? Or, more precisely, was it entertaining? In an eleven-minute burst, it had some charms, though I suspect more than that would generate diminishing returns.

And then, attention turned from the floor to the stage, with a large glowing skull mounted on an extended mic stand looming over the crowd² while the masked ghosts, on the balcony above the floor, were dropping down streamers and balloons to be batted around. From the get-go the whole point was to create more of a spectacle than a show.

In that spirit, Dan Deacon attempted to lead the band, as they emerged, in an off-mic acapella version of "Get Older", that didn't get off the ground, as Deacon joked, "a magic moment could have been made, but drummers are embarrassed coward men." His gibe at his bandmates masked another thrust of the show — aiming for transcendence and grandiosity is okay, even if it doesn't work out. And it was with that in mind that his intense rhythm machine chugged to life. It was, all told, a ten-man ensemble, with the musicians shifting around, but at any given time, there were usually two guitarists, three drummers, two vibraphonists and three keyboard players. Deacon's vocals were massively vocodered/pitchshifted and more an element in the mix than the focus. The band was mostly playing material from his most recent album Bromst, interspersed with a few newer ones.

The vibe was mainly celebratory craziness, and in service of that there was a few stunt-like moves. At one point, Deacon called for the creation of a giant circle in the centre of the floor for a dance contest, which was soundtracked to a song inspired by Konono N^o 1.³ At times, it felt like the songs were almost more distinguishable by their extramusical qualities — this one gets the green strobelights, that one gets the dance contest, etc. Which is also to say that the whole thing was clearly more geared as a get-into-it participatory dance party.

To judge it as a set of tunes feels rather beside the point, though musically, our own Holy Fuck comes to mind as a point of comparison, though Deacon's tone was usually a bit warmer and less distanced. But there was definitely a love of arpeggiation, especially the kind found in electronic music, repurposed for this live ensemble. Or to pick another point of comparison, when you see four guys shoulder-to-shoulder playing vibes at the same time, you realize that the gap between this and, say, the Blue Man Group isn't so big.

There was certainly a propensity to stretch things out — the last three songs took up about half of the hour-long set, with closer "Baltihorse" going more than twelve minutes. The best of the bunch was probably "Wham City" (from his 2007 album Spiderman of the Rings), a tribute his own Balitmore cultural milieu. This was enjoyable stuff — arguably moreso for the people who were there to just let go and sink into the more celebratory aspects of the show.

Listen to a track from this set here.

There would be a different vibe after that. Though Dan Deacon was the night's headliner, there was one more band to go after him. That would be Providence's Lightning Bolt, making music since 1997, and apparently well regarded — though they were new to me.

When I came back towards the stage after the break between sets there was an almost absurd wall of amps being built. And looking around, it seemed like the crowd has changed considerably. Whereas before it was fully mixed, now there were largely dudes pressing toward the stage, and a lot more of 'em in punk gear than I'd spotted before.

Meanwhile, there was a protracted bit of setup taking place on stage, where drummer/vocalist Brian Chippendale was quite particular about getting each drum individually mic'ed. Once that got settled, I wasn't sure if they'd started playing, or were soundchecking or goofing around, with Chippendale — who was masked, and vocalising with a mic built from a telephone receiver that was held inside his mouth — doing a sort of deranged beatboxing while bassist Brian Gibson kept getting ready.

The band were on stage for more than ten minutes before getting going, and it soon became apparent that all of those amps weren't just for show, as this was an intensely loud set. The band tore off into some muscular shredding aggression, and the crowd that had packed up in front of the stage responded. I needed to move back pretty much right away.

Although the music wasn't generally tuneful it wasn't undifferentiated noise — there's obviously chops and technique here. Call it pummel-core, I guess. Adding to the disorienting gutpunch of the instrumental attack, Chippendale's vocals were run through all sorts of weird effects. I guess I could sort of appreciate this, but I wasn't sure I actually liked it. Plus, it was a worknight and I was getting tired. I hung around for about a half-hour, then cut out early.

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¹ I must admit that I'm not cool enough to immediately be able to tell if the band is named after the hot-rodding American Graffiti character or the '70's slugger for the Mets (a/k/a "The Hammer" — 112 OPS+ on his career). Or, perhaps less likely, the controversialist 18th century Catholic bishop.

² This would be the souce of what might be this show's most notorious legacy: apparently a personal icon and longstanding stage prop for Deacon, the skull was stolen after his set, leading to a threat from Deacon that he would never play this town again until it was returned — which it was, a couple months later.

³ In fact, I believe Deacon called out the title as "Konono Ripoff No. 1".