Kevin Marshall's America » Music

Things I Like That Better People I Know Have Done

kevinmarshall — Thu, 19 Jul 2012 11:30:53 +0000

1. Alan Ilagan’s Jury Duty Journal

Local writer and artist Alan Ilagan recently served on the jury for the trial of the Albany teen who stabbed 17-year-old Tyler Rhodes to death during an altercation that was caught on video. He chronicled his journey and related not only his involvement in the process but the emotional ups and downs of being selected and serving on a jury. Also of interest is the reaction in the courtroom when he discloses that his husband is a retired police officer.

2. Matthew Dow Smith’s October Girl

Another local writer and artist, Matthew Dow Smith is probably best known for his work on James Robinson’s incredible run on the 90s DC Comics series Starman and IDW’s Doctor Who comics. Matt’s art has always intrigued me; he brings a lot of character to everything he draws and everything feels so kinetic and adventurous, as if at any moment the characters are just going to grab your hand and jump off a cliff with you.

He’s making headlines now as part of MonkeyBrain Comics, an independent publishing company founded by sci-fi author Chris Roberson after his highly public exit from DC Comics over what he perceived to be woeful appreciation and treatment of talent and creative rights. On a nerd note, George Perez also recently made his frustrations know and it appears more and more that editorially that place has become creatively stifling and overall a complete fucking mess.

Matthew’s contribution, October Girl, is a fantasy adventure centered on an 18-year-old girl entering adulthood with muddied prospects and a nagging feeling that something fantastic has left her. But then it returns in an unexpected way.

The first issue is on sale now for only 99 cents. I adored it, and I know you will too. Plus, it’s less than a dollar. I mean, c’mon.

3. Jed Davis’s latest release, “Small Sacrifices Must Be Made!”

Jed Davis has put out his latest release, “Small Sacrifices Must Be Made!”, available now for download or snail-mail purchase at http://music.jeddavis.com/.

I haven’t had a chance to listen yet, but I’m eager to sit down and absorb it. I’m an unabashed fan of his work (available on iTunes), especially his work with the Sevendys and 2010’s “The Cutting Room Floor,” which was one of my favorite records of that year.

As you might now, he’s also appearing as the July Troy Night Out event The J/K Follies, providing the J and the music while I host a night of comedy, music, and more.

So buy the damn album and come out and enjoy us both.

Jed’s also performing with The Hanslick Rebellion for a one-shot show with Sgt. Dunbar & The Hobo Banned to help celebrate WEXT’s 5th Anniversary this Friday at 8pm at Valentine’s. Cover’s only $7. More than worth it.

So long, Davy Jones

kevinmarshall — Wed, 29 Feb 2012 19:55:52 +0000

Davy Jones has died from a heart attack. He was 66.

One of my first obsessions with any television show was “The Monkees.” I think it was either VH1 or MTV (or both) that showed them incessantly at one point in the 1980s after it was found that Baby Boomers were finally old enough to feel and crave nostalgia. The show was perfect fodder for a child whose father was rearing him on The Beatles, combining fun and kitsch with genuinely great songwriting.

Of course, I was too young at the time to know or even listen to the cynical explanation of The Monkees as a crass commercialization of sixties culture. As I got older, the uber-cynical part of me actually embraced The Monkees through what some would see as the contrarian view that the project was no more manipulative or exploitative than most other acts from that era. If anything, one could argue they were in a very real way a bit more transparent than many of their “legitimate” contemporaries, in that while Mickey Dolenz aped being able to play the drums, they didn’t pretend to be anything they weren’t.

Then there was “Head.”

I actually didn’t see “Head,” The Monkees’ move to the big screen after the cancellation of their television show, until I arrived home at some absurd hour one weekend when I was 19 and turned on Turner Classic Movies. I’d never heard of it, even, and as I watched I kept mumbling to myself (in-between continued solitary imbibing) “what on Earth?” I woke up the next morning determined to see it again, but sober. It took eight years but it finally happened. I adored how absurd yet honest it was. The film, co-written and co-produced by Jack Nicholson and Bob Rafelson, alternately lampooned and grappled with The Monkees’ role as corporate pitchmen with dadaist humor that went off the rails of the narrative but never became pretentious. It was self-aware but gorgeous, as shown in the video above (“The Porpoise Song.”).

It also highlighted the oft overlooked talents of the group, especially Davy Jones. What an incredible performer he was: charismatic, engaging, genuinely likable. He was such a small guy physically, but carried such a tremendous presence with him. And that voice! One of the things I’ve always felt but don’t think I’ve ever seen expressed is how earnest and believable he was when singing those songs. Of course it helped that he had people like Neil Diamond writing them (though fellow Monkee Michael Nesmith also wrote some tremendous stuff for them), but only Davey could have made the whole thing work.

The news of Davy Jones’ death legitimately bummed me out when I read it. So long, kid.

Fighting passiveness with Andrew Bird at the Troy Music Hall

kevinmarshall — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 13:02:42 +0000

I was excited when news broke a few months back that Andrew Bird would be playing at the Troy Music Hall, but I didn’t get tickets until mere hours before the event.

I was exposed to Bird through a review of 2009’s “Noble Beast,” which was to that point his most accessible solo album. A violinist since age four, Bird has gained a following for his complicated compositions that also incorporate whistling and a highly underrated singing voice that is as graceful as it is earnest. He has name recognition with fans of independent music, but most display their enthusiasm for him in the form of twee; isn’t he so precious, that guy who plays violin, whistles, and brings a sock monkey onto stage with him?

Long story short, I had a desire to go but nobody that was actually willing or able to go with me. So I was going to pass on the opportunity until I received an unexpected and desperate message from a friend of mine asking if I had any interest in getting tickets. It was just after 2:00pm, and with the post-lunch desire to do anything to make the rest of the day go by as quickly as possible, I called her, got online, and bought tickets. I managed to get two seats on the floor. I was shocked that they were available. When I picked up the tickets later that evening at the will call window, the guy manning the window lit up and informed me that I managed to snatch them up just moments after they had become available. I don’t know what the circumstances were. I was just glad to have them.

Before the show, the friend and I had dinner at Holmes and Watson’s on Broadway.

She had moved to Troy from the Mid-West a little over a year and while growing to love the city, had never been to the Troy Music Hall. I told her about my own memories of the Hall and what little I knew of its history. When first constructed at the end of the 19th Century, the Hall was an auditory disaster. Everything sounded awful, which was an unforgivable sin in an era of chamber music. A large organ was installed that covered the entire wall behind the stage and not only fixed the problem, but resulted – accidentally – in creating an acoustic marvel renowned the world over.

It had been about two and a half months since we had last seen each other in person and a bit longer since we’d had anything resembling a meaningful conversation. We talked about the chaos of our lives and, of late, our shared propensity for isolation. Hers was due to a change in profession and pursuit of a goal she set for herself to launch her own marketing company. Mine is more personal and far-reaching. I’ve been unwilling of late to make any connections on a meaningful level. At the age of 29, I have found myself with a dwindling number of friends who don’t have marriages, children, and other adult obligations preventing them from being there in the way they once were. Feelings of inadequacy are sandwiched with pre-existing despair and anxiety, feeding into a vicious cycle of isolation. Most nights are spent going out alone or staying in alone. The latter is not often, but occasionally, preferable. There are times when nothing makes me feel lonelier than other people.

We left understanding each other and where we’ve been, even if our individual issues and situations in life were unresolved. Can’t expect forty minutes to fix that, but it always helps to at least know that you’re not the only one.

The opening act was two or three songs into his set when we finally took our seats. Percussionist and electronic musician Dosh, who frequently accompanies Bird on tour and contributed to songs on his last two albums, strikes an unassuming presence. He wore a pale blue shirt, bore a naturally pale complexion, and had light brown hair. He was also, like so many others in his genre, remarkably thin. It’s as if electronic artists don’t have the time or inclination towards sustenance because it would get in the way of work. His performance space took up a small area of the Music Hall’s wide stage, creating a tight cubicle of soundboards, synthesized keyboard, and a drum set. Trapped inside the construct, sporting headphones and nodding to the beat, it was as if he was blissfully unaware of the presence of an audience. Thankfully, it didn’t come off as being aloof. It was more like were given a glimpse of him at his most isolated, focused, and content.

His compositions are not unlike British artist Jon Hopkins, who himself recently performed at EMPAC. Each song was dense and ambient, broken my moments of quiet reflection. Much of his work, like the headliner, is reliant on looped instrumentals. While constructing his songs he’d occasionally break out in something resembling a fit of tourettes, for example a sudden shaking of a tambourine or beating of drum cymbals. At the moment, it jars the listener and seems out of place, until a twist of a knob and pressing of a button creates a new backing track that melds perfectly into the sonic sculpture he’s melding in front of us.

His performance provided an interesting juxtaposition. Bookings for the Hall are largely pedestrian and unimaginative: chamber orchestras and masters of acoustic guitars who are respected but lack contemporary relevance and play to a much older crowd. But sound and music is sound and music, regardless of its method of delivery. The soundboards and tiny LED lights may have looked alien in front of and below those massive golden pipes, but the latter only enhanced and improved upon the former, the culmination of over a hundred years of evolution rooted in traditional sensibilities and architectural accidents. Dosh completed his set and very quickly waved to the crowd, then sheepishly took his leave as the lights came up for intermission.

The headliner, Andrew Bird, took the stage to thunderous applause that reverberated throughout the Hall. He walked with a purpose, first removing his scarf and carefully draping it over a set piece before taking his spot on the stage. He looked like an incarnation of The Doctor from the UK serial “Doctor Who” that had been trained in the Suzuki method.

Bird performed as a one-man orchestra. He plays his violin alternately as a percussion instrument, mandolin, and in its proper form, using loops to give his songs more depth than anything you’ll hear from a five or six piece outfit. In addition to the melding of traditional instrumentation with new technology, he also crosses genres. His second song, for example, was a fascinating combination of Mediterranean folk and ragtime jazz.

He also played “Passive,” a song about the inherent frustration in arguing with someone who doesn’t care. It’s told from the point of view of the person making the argument, but afterwards Bird revealed that he was actually the target of the hostility. He based the song on his relationships with other people, and in particular a college roommate who once got very angry at him for his passive attitude and lack of reciprocation of the roommate’s attempts at friendship.

“Sometimes,” he told the audience, “doing nothing is the worst thing.”

Halfway through the set, Bird introduced a new song that was originally commissioned for the Muppet Movie. He poured everything into those songs, he told the crowd, but the executives only took the one that was composed entirely of whistling. I ached for him. That fetishizing is an all too familiar theme for Bird, who is sometimes treated as if the whistling and other forms of expression are mere gimmicks. This becomes apparent later in the evening when during an interlude, a man from the crowd yells out “will there be snacks?!” It’s a reference to an inside joke created by those aforementioned fans on the internet (there’s even a Facebook page you can like called “When Andrew Bird says there will be snacks”). Bird held in an exasperated sigh, paused, and relented.

“…there might be,” he announced to a combination of applause from some and utterances of confusion from others.

The abandoned Muppet song, “Lazy Projector,” is heart-wrenching and one of Bird’s best. The executives that passed on it weren’t just inconsiderate of his time. They were completely mad. He followed the song with a cover of “It’s Not Easy Being Green” that emphasized the poetic quality of the lyrics and literally brought tears to my eyes.

Bird ended his set with an energetic riff that would make Springsteen shrink with shame and envy. He came back out for his mandatory encore and performed three covers on guitar: a rural bluegrass piece I didn’t recognize but sounded fabulous, a cover of the Handsome Brothers’ “So Much Wine,” and an old Delta blues tune (Charley Patton’s “I’m Going Home”). He left to his second standing ovation of the evening.

Me and my friend sat breathless for a moment.

“I don’t usually do this,” she said, “but I need to get my picture taken with him.”

I smiled, but winced a bit. Thinking of our earlier dinner conversation, I had put myself in Bird’s position and the last thing I would want to do is deal with the throngs of hipster humanity desperate for his approval. I didn’t say anything, but she read my hesitation.

“I know.” She said. “But that sort of comes with the rock star thing.”

She was right, of course.

We went out to the lobby. The merchandise table was swarmed, manned by Dosh and a crew member, but no sign of Bird himself. Despite my apprehensions towards inconveniencing and putting out the famous with my polite and brief praise, I waited with her until the end. She was eager to meet him, and who was I to deny her that? Also, where the Hell else did I have to be?

He didn’t come out and it became apparent he wasn’t going to, so we took our leave and walked downstairs. We exited the music hall and a short, black-haired kid with facial hair that screamed for acceptance sang with friends circling around him and bopping to an imagined beat. A young girl shoved a flyer in my face and I said, despite my best efforts to the contrary, “oh please, no.” My friend laughed, took the flyer and showed it to me. It was for a show they were going to perform that weekend at a coffee house in Albany. As I expressed some regret at my rude dismissal, I heard the singer behind me transition to the most cringe-inducing, embarrassing rap performance I’d ever heard in person. I burst into laughter as we continued walking towards her car.

We were almost at the intersection of Third and Fulton when she reconsidered. “Maybe we can still catch him.”

“Probably,” I said. Again, I had nothing better to do and her eagerness to meet the man overrode any hesitancy I had.

We went back up to the lobby, where no fans were left and the crew was packing up. I faked, convincingly, interest in buying an LP and fretted not knowing which one I didn’t have (part of the ruse). When those options were exhausted, we waited out by the side entrance. We stood there about fifteen or twenty minutes, waiting with but standing far away from a group of younger enthusiasts. We discussed more of our lives of late, intermittently discussing if and when we would take our leave.

We finally did and I went home, alone. I logged into Facebook and, as is required in 2011, let everybody know the important news that I attended a concert I knew I would enjoy and did, in fact, enjoy it. I dusted off “Noble Beast” (metaphorically since it’s all on iPods and Macbooks now), the album that introduced me to Bird, and listened to it for the first time in over a year. I fell asleep to the instrumental bonus disc that accompanied the deluxe edition of the LP, “Useless Creatures.”

When I spoke with my friend the next day, she told me that Bird had, in fact, gone out the front door and directly across the street to Bacchus after the show and spent the remainder of the evening mingling with fans. Like so many other things, we would have accomplished our goals and not missed meeting someone if only we hadn’t decided to think too hard on it and taken an ill-advised trip around the corner.

From the blood-stained sands of Mali and Algeria, the familiar and fascinating music of Tinariwen

kevinmarshall — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 10:00:32 +0000

Publicity shot for Tinariwen's latest, "Tassili," from ANTI- records.

Ibrahim ag Alhabib was only a toddler when he saw his father abducted and executed by Mali’s government forces, who were working to suppress a Touareg rebellion. The nomadic berber tribe had risen up against what they perceived as government tyranny and suppression against their way of life, and paid a steep and swift price.

In his teens, Ibrahim followed a man with a guitar to his home and listened intently as he played Arabic folk music. The man taught him how to play it, and after several sessions Ibrahim bought the guitar from him. Shortly after, he met other musicians who had developed a passion for music through bootlegs of records from the likes of Jimi Hendrix, Carlos Santana, and Bob Dylan, among others. The music was so far removed from their world as to be alien in its form and context, but not to their ears. In it they heard a kinship and familiarity with their own musical traditions. In 1979 they formed Tinariwen in the South of Algeria. It comes from a nickname given to them by fellow tribesmen: “kel Tinariwen,” or “boys of the bush.” The word “Tinariwen” itself roughly translates to desert, but has a closer connotation to what we would consider the countryside.

The group traveled throughout West Africa, first as soldiers belonging to an army who in turn belonged to no one, then simply as musicians. Word spread regionally through bootlegged cassette tapes recorded in local radio stations, making Tinariwen voices of the Touareg resistance.

At the beginning of the 21st Century, word spread throughout the Western hemisphere of warrior poets who were playing an electric blues that had sprung up organically from their culture and struggles. They gained a dedicated and fierce following from what we consider to be music’s elite, with the likes of Robert Plant and Carlos Santana singing their praises and distributing whatever recorded material they could acquire to friends and family members.

I purchased their latest release, “Tassili,” through Amazon. The irony in downloading mp3s of a band whose roots lie in a desert nomadic culture was not lost on me.

It’s been eight days and I’m still obsessed with this record. It is strange how music rooted in nomadic traditions could be so alien yet strike something in my psyche. I have no idea what’s being sung, but I knew the feelings behind it without even having read the band’s biography.

Others have made the same observation, and the only conclusion reached by critics and those who represent the group is that there may be a distant relation to the blues through an ancestral connection. Tinariwen hails from the Western portion of Africa, which is also where many slaves were ripped from their homes and transplanted against their will to our own shores. From their travails came the blues, as organically as Tinariwen grew their sound out of frustrations and sadness over social injustices and tragedies visited on their families and livelihoods.

On their latest recording (their first for ANTI- records, which also home to local triumph Sean Rowe) the group decided to forego their electric guitars and recorded the album acoustically in the sand and canyons of Algeria near the Libyan border. I mean that literally, as the only walls they had around them came from the occasional tent.

They’re joined on the record by Wilco guitarist Nels Cline and TV on the Radio’s Kyp Malone and Tunde Adebimpe. Also appearing are the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, who lend their instruments to the powerful and foreboding “Ya Massinagh.”

It’s not enough for me to say that “Tassili” is the most fascinating record I’ve heard in years. It has, rather, reignited an appreciation for the role of music in our lives and culture. And by “our” I mean all of humanity, from the young frustrated American teenager growing into a counter-culture sensation to the orphaned child in the deserts of Mali who grows to become a warrior that yearns for peace.

LINKS:

Tinariwen on YouTube – Includes numerous performances, videos, and a brief documentary on the group.
Blues from the Desert, Recorded On Site (The New York Times, 8/31/2011)

Promotional video for the new album from ANTI- records:

Rest Fest review, at long last: two days of fun, sweat, and affirmation of the local music scene

kevinmarshall — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 11:00:43 +0000

Rest Fest 2011 is where I saw the best concert I can ever recall seeing.

Lost in the coverage of the hurricane and subsequent flooding that eviscerated small towns and big-city cynicism over media hype this past weekend, this year’s Restoration Festival at St. Joseph’s Church on Ten Broeck (behind the Palace) included a first day that saw a bigger and more enthusiastic crowd than I anticipated and a second day that saw cancellations of its two national headliners overshadowed by local acts rising to the occasion and one of them putting on the performance of their career.

Of course, the fact that it became free on the second day because of Irene likely helped. With the storm preventing scheduled second day headliners A Hawk and a Hacksaw and The Music Tapes from making it to Albany, the tough call was made to make the event “pay what you will” for those who hadn’t already purchased tickets. This announcement initially brought in a few more people, and even more once the weather started being a bit more cooperative and before news had hit us that immense flooding was putting local municipalities into states of emergency. Even with the cancellations, though, it felt like nothing was lost on that second day and that the trials and travails only made the show better.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

DAY ONE

Titus Andronicus. Taken with my damn Blackberry.

Starting with the headliners, because why not? First we were treated with a life-affirming, fist-pumping performance by Titus Andronicus that, perhaps owing to my enthusiasm for their work, was my favorite concert that I can ever recall attending. It was audio literature in frenetic motion provided with a perfect balance of serious craftsmanship and unhinged mania. The band went full bore for a full hour with an insane pace and a complete lack of bulls*** wannabe rock star pretension or self-consciousness. They left it all on the stage and were dripping sweat for the duration of their set, but they didn’t seem to notice. Or if they did, they didn’t care. In fact, they probably wanted us to drink it.

They were followed by Deer Tick who, in short, I still can’t quite get into despite their best efforts. They had the unfortunate task of following Titus Andronicus, who simply brought it with an energy level that simply isn’t sustainable for Deer Tick’s alt-country-rock sensibilities. I urge you to check them out for yourselves. You’ll probably love them, because I seemed to be the only person who instead of cheering and hooting was staring at the ceiling of St. Joseph’s and admiring the architecture. Which, in my defense, is quite gorgeous, especially in that lighting.

Scientific Maps friggin' brought it. Taken with my damn Blackberry.

The local stars of day one were undoubtedly The Scientific Maps. They were playing when I walked in and man, they owned the stage. Everything sounded tight and better than I’ve ever heard them. Whereas before I heard promise in a band that I liked, this weekend I heard yet another local musical act that I’m genuinely enthusiastic about and borderline obsessed with. Railbird also put out an absolutely fantastic and enthralling set. It made the company I was with remark that he couldn’t understand why more of these acts aren’t nationally renowned, as they’re truly accomplishing something fascinating and listenable that seems to jive, if not rise above, the sort of indie rock fare that gets so much praise from the likes of Pitchfork and others.

Conversation then turned to lament over the fact that people complain about not having anything to do in Albany when all of these fantastic acts are popping up and performing regularly as part of a woefully underrated music scene.

“Anytime people tell me there’s nothing to do in Albany,” he said, “I’m going to tell them ‘you have no right to say anything, because I didn’t see you at Rest Fest’.”

DAY TWO

The Ramblin' Jug Stompers. Picture taken with my damn Blackberry.

After cancellations, announcements, revisions, and efforts by the staff to save the church after it flooded due to the inundation of water left by the beast formerly known as Irene, the day started two hours later with a crowd that was small but enthusiastic, then gradually grew to a level that wasn’t as large as the previous day but still deserves recognition given the circumstances.

Slender Shoulders and Swamp Baby played, providing the perfect soundtrack for the dreary uncertainty of a rainy day. Katie Hammon sings like she’s haunted by a beautiful ghost, and Swamp Baby’s ethereal folk soared in St. Joseph’s, which rewards bands with sparse production and mellow tones. They were followed by the Ramblin’ Jug Stompers, whose love of old music and musicianship carried through in their presentation and performance, unlike so many other bands who seem to fetishize their influences and as a result come across as wholly inorganic, if not hacky. The Stompers are fun, adventurous, and respectful of their influences while not putting them at such a distance as to provide a disconnect. This was real, good, earnest old-time music, and after a performance that included a typewriter solo that made me worry because I hadn’t brought a change of pants with me, they have a new fan in Kevin Marshall.

We Are Jeneric put on the performance of their lives. This was very early in their set, and by the fourth song the area had been overtaken by enthusiastic fans. Taken with my damn Blackberry.

Then came We Are Jeneric, who put on the best performance of their lives. Buzz had filled the room about seeing them all day. More than one attendee I spoke to commented that they weren’t too disappointed in the cancellation of the headlining acts, because they were there to see Jeneric. One even went so far as to suggest the only reason people might have shown up for The Music Tapes and A Hawk and a Hacksaw was in the misguided hope that reclusive Neutral Milk Hotel frontman (and former bandmate of both bands) Jeff Magnum would make a surprise appearance. That wasn’t going to happen, ever, but I also don’t doubt for a second that no small amount of attendees thought this was a possibility before the cancellation.

Either way, Jeneric rose to the occasion. I’d always thought well of them, but on Sunday they were breathtaking. They got an incredible sound out of a purposefully limited arrangement, sort of like the Polyphonic Spree but without the cheesy gimmick or creepy cult factor. They were a welcome respite to all the uncertainty surrounding the day, and a white people dance party broke out to give them their propers. Well deserved.

I unfortunately had to leave at this point. I had received several texts that prompted me to use my phone’s (limited) internet capabilities to ascertain the situation, and it wasn’t good. There were already floods and fear of worse, with dams overtaken and concerns that others could fail. Not wanting to be stranded in Albany since I had to work the next day come Hell or high water (which couldn’t reach us at the apex of the hill that my employer rests upon), I took my leave.

Thankfully, Bryan Thomas took a video of The Matthew Carefully Undone Ensemble performance, so I can live vicariously through that:

The Matthew Carefully Undone Ensemble – ‘Poughkeepsie’ from Bryan Thomas on Vimeo.

And having seen Sgt. Dunbar and the Hobo Banned do their thing so many times and do it consistently well, I can imagine what a fun time I would have had.

And, of course, this was all to help increase awareness and raise money to restore the historic St. Joseph’s Church on Ten Broeck. Completed in 1856, St. Joe’s is as breathtaking for its prominence in the skyline as it is its interior architecture and natural beauty. Even in a dilapidated state, the gothic carvings, stained glass windows, and cavernous buttresses fill one with a sense of awe that brings understanding to those who always wondered why physically being in a structure like this could make one think they’ve been imbued with the strength of a holy spirit. Sadly, it’s become a victim to the inevitabilities of time and a contracting Catholic Church, but there’s still hope in the people invested in bringing it back to its former glory and folks like us who need to continue to spread the word. Restoration of this structure is an aesthetic, historical, civic, and cultural obligation. More info is here.

I’m not going to simply end this by stating that you should attend next year’s Restoration Festival and participate in the celebration. Instead, I’m going to urge you to seek these people out, because they live and breathe and work and perform here all year round. In fact, some of them are included in this year’s refreshing LarkFest lineup, providing a much-needed respite from tired arena rock covers and boozehound hackery. You can see the full list over at Nippertown. Maybe I’ll see you there.

Just look for this guy:

I included this because it was drawn onto a sticker by a caricaturist, Elena Cruzallen, who was walking around the Festival on day two in a cardboard contraption labeled “Sticker-Making Machine.” I asked her if she was a robot. She answered in a robot voice that she was, indeed, a robot. As she continued drawing, I wondered aloud why these scientists would program a robot to have an old 1950s robot voice. It’s best not to think too long on these things, though, for they’ll drive you mad.

Anyway, Elena’s pretty talented, and I thank her for her depiction. Check out her Flickr here, which has more of her work. It’s legitimately interesting stuff. She also wants to be your friend on Facebook.

Team Kevin Marshall’s America profile: Phil Nagle will write a song for you if you donate to Special Olympics

kevinmarshall — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 11:00:53 +0000

This week will be focused on helping our team meet its goal of raising $5,000 for the Special Olympics of NY as part of their “Over the Edge” fundraising event.

Today and tomorrow I’ll be highlighting my two teammates in this effort and what they’re offering in exchange for your donation. Yesterday was Meghan Mae, who is offering a variety of baked goods in exchange for your generosity. Today is local musician and ne’er-do-well Phil Nagle.

Also, you can get a song written about you for donating. More info below.

Phil (right) with Danny DeVito (left)

NAME: Philip Thomas Nagle
HOMETOWN: Scotia, NY
CURRENTLY RESIDING: Scotia, NY
WHAT DO YOU DO? Attempting to become incredibly famous
FEAR OF HEIGHTS ON A SCALE OF 1 to 10: 8.5
WHY ARE YOU RAPPELING? : This is such an amazing cause, and its an incredibly opportunity for a amateur thrill seeker like me!
ANYTHING ELSE YOU WANT TO SAY: I am moving to LA 2 weeks after this thing! Help me leave with a bang!!

Phil, a musician, is making a variety of fun offers in exchange for your donation. Again, from the man himself:

$10 or less: I will mail you a package including a letter and numerous extras, such as stickers, pins, drawings, fun things! The more you donate, the more you get!
More than $10: I will write you a poem about how beautiful you are, and hand draw a full color representation.
$25 or more: I will WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANY TOPIC YOU CHOOSE IN ANY GENRE YOU CHOOSE. Add $20 to one of the above two and I’ll make a theatrical video version.
$50 or more: I’ll make an EP (5 songs) dedicated to any genre/topic you choose, with a hand made cover. -OR – I will make you a piece of art of any topic you choose. It will be brilliant and one day worth millions as I plan on becoming incredibly famous. :)
$75 or more: I’ll make you a DVD of all the short films I have ever made, and will write you a song for the DVD menu screen. Please note, this is embarrassing for me!
$100 or more: NAME YOUR OWN! If it is within reason, i’ll do it. Also, drum lessons, guitar lessons are available upon request.
For a decent sum of money I will recreate 5 minutes of ANY film you choose.

To donate to Phil, CLICK HERE.

——-

Over the Edge is an event where individuals raise money to rappel down the 18-story Crowne Plaza Hotel in downtown Albany. For more information, visit Team Kevin Marshall’s America’s homepage on KevinMarshallOnline.com.

Hello Pretty City, Goodbye Summer: come see Olivia Quillio and Viking Moses live TONIGHT at Valentine’s!

kevinmarshall — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 17:00:36 +0000

Hello, Kevin Marshall’s Americans! What’re you doing after work?

Why don’t you shut your mouth and let me tell you what you’re doing.

You’re going to leave work, maybe get dinner. Hopefully you’ll get it with the special someone in your life, but if you’re like me you’ll eat a can of hot chili alone. Well dump that bowl in the sink and wipe those tears away, because you need to be ready to go at 8:00pm LIVE at Valentine’s.

Only five bucks? Sweet sassy molassy, that’s some cheap entertainment.

Both acts have a lot of buzz around them, and it’s being put on by my favorite over-the-air radio program and my favorite local station.

Come listen to beautiful music with us and bid the summer a fond farewell.

EMPAC announces Fall schedule, including appearance by Album of the Year candidate

kevinmarshall — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 16:44:36 +0000

Upskirt shot, North Hall of EMPAC

EMPAC has released its schedule for the Fall of 2011. Check it out here.

Some of the things that popped out to me:

Guy Maddin: Tales from the Gimli Hospital: Reframed (Thursday September 1, 7:30 PM) features members of Sigur Ros.
Four Tet + Jon Hopkins (Thursday September 15, 8:00 PM) Hopkins collaborated with singer-songwriter King Creosote on “Diamond Mine” which is my pick so far for album of the year and one of the most gorgeous records I have ever heard.
Phantom Limb: 69°S.: The Shackleton Project (Friday September 23 & Saturday September 24, 8:00 PM) What can I say? I love puppetry.
Francis and the Lights: White Room (Friday October 28 & Saturday October 29, 8:30 PM) Rare performance by the acclaimed pianist and songwriter.
The Eternal Return: Terry Gilliam’s “12 Monkeys” (Thursday November 17, 7:30 PM) If you haven’t seen a film yet on EMPAC’s Theater screen: let me just tell you that they showed “2001” last year and it was transcendent.

Best year yet? Possible.

See Hair of the Dog for free at the 10th Annual Concert Under the Stars this Saturday 8/13/11 @ 3pm

kevinmarshall — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 23:35:03 +0000

Tomorrow (Saturday, August 13th) is the 10th Annual Concert Under the Stars and Irish Festival at the Waterford waterfront from 3:0opm until 9:00pm.

The event is free and includes an Irish themed canal tour, food vendors, Irish merchants, family events, and performances by the Scotia Glenville Pipe Band, The Boys of Wexford, and Capital Region stalwarts Hair of the Dog.

More information is at the Waterford Museum’s website.

Head on down!

Bon Iver performs Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me”

kevinmarshall — Tue, 24 May 2011 22:12:17 +0000

In the winter of 2008, I bought an album that received so much play that I stopped counting the number of times my iPod’s battery died in the midst of listening to it, which is (thankfully) the closest thing we have in this day and age to wearing out the grooves in a vinyl record. The album was Bon Iver‘s “For Emma, Forever Ago,” a heartbreaking rumination of singer-songwriter Justin Vernon’s journey into an emotional pit of frozen angst and despair following a break-up with his longtime girlfriend and subsequent retreat into the wilderness. I fell in love with every track on that gorgeous, haunting, and heartbreaking LP.

Seventeen years earlier another album, Bonnie Raitt‘s “Nick of Time,” received continuous play in my family’s apartment courtesy my mother. My musical inclinations mostly come from my father and siblings, as my mother rarely held enough interest in any music or specific artist to actually buy an album, let alone play it. Raitt was the exception and that album played on a continuous loop for weeks after she acquired it. I developed a soft spot for it and some of the tracks that remains to this day.

Just twenty minutes ago, I came across a link from the music blog Stereogum to a video of Bon Iver performing one of the songs from Raitt’s 1991 album, “I Can’t Make You Love Me.” I was skeptical at first, given the potential cheese factor.

I watched, listened, and was awestruck. There’s a lot of music that I enjoy, but it’s rare that I have a strong and visceral reaction to any musical performance in the way I did this. As I listened I felt my heart roll up my chest cavity and inch slowly up my throat. It seems ridiculous, but it happened.

From last night’s episode of “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon,” here’s Bon Iver performing Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me.”