Benni Hemm Hemm’s music might be a wistful exploration of the understated, but it requires quite a bit of horn players. At Mercury Lounge there were five of them (switching between at least two trumpets, two trombones, a French horn and a sousaphone). As they waited by the steps leading to the tiny stage, they felt no less than men readying for war. Except, there was no war: as Benni explained some of his Icelandic songs to an English-speaking audience, they were mostly about snow, hills and things they intend to never do, such as (1) make a promise and (2) betray. This the American audience found funny, and Benni smiled along.
Playing before them were Casiotone for the Painfully Alone. When I got there, singer Owen Ashworth was huddled over his electronics, singing heartbreaking tunes by himself. His four-piece band (drums, bass, guitar, keyboards) joined for the rest, though they were barely able to pollute the melancholy in Owen’s raspy voice. His personality (translated superbly into a band name) leads to the kind of songwriting that feels quintessentially American. To top it off, there was an excellent cover of Paul Simon’s Graceland.
Apostle of Hustle played the first of their 3-week bi-city residencies last night at Mercury Lounge. Wednesday they fly to Chicago to play their other residence, Schuba’s Tavern. After I missed the first opener, Murder Mystery, and didn’t pay attention to the second, Ola Podrida, this Broken Social Sceneside-project (that’s an understatement, this is AoH’s second album tour) started out cool and calm, but then rocked out to their album’s title track, “National Anthem of Nowhere.” Apprently there was a scene at the foot of the stage when frontman Andrew Whiteman became a little too enthused in his drumming and knocked a tambourine into his red wine; at which point he requested a new glass (plastic cup) of “le Rouge.”
Dan Deacon sets up his table in front of the stage and tapes a luminous green skull on a mic stand raised high. Amongst other things, his essential setup includes a midi controller, effects for his voice, a small collection of lights he syncs up with the music himself, a disc man he bought from Radioshack and other haphazard-looking electronics. As much as of an unorthodox musician he may appear to be, he’s got a natural way of defying awkwardness. It takes him no effort to connect with the audience and warmly welcome them into his universe as if this were his house party.
Baltimore’s Ponytail is also part of the Wham City collective, which includes Dan Deacon and Videohippos. My guess as to what grants membership: Baltimore, otherworldy energy, the ability to be possessed at some level and unapologetic enthusiasm. Members of the four-piece looked really young but created a big, aggressive sound. Frontwoman Molly squeals frantic gibberish into a telephone, shaking shoulders and wrist between demonic faces and girlish smiles. Drummer Jeremy, sweat-drenched and face red, sported a shirt in which “Videohippos” had been hand-written. He held big steady beats while the two guitarists (no bass!) ran fast licks. The last song, “Celebrate,” was much longer and more elaborate, even somewhat melodic.
There has rarely been so much elegance in a girl in bright red tights breezing her fingers through the guitar, stomping her foot on her kick pad, singing about murder and whimsical, indecisive fancies about marrying John. Talking about a sweet boy who came up to her after a show, asking if the song was about killing her actual baby. Saying yes with a straight face. Humming at a distance from the mic, sounding gorgeous all the time, shaking her guitar, switching between mics, one clean one dirty, and making us understand immediately why these switches are fantastically crucial. Annie Clark, who goes by the name St. Vincent, played an outstanding one-woman show at Mercury Lounge. Don’t miss her at Union Hall. Link to full show review will be posted later.
All photos from the show here:
