Good Morning, Captain

After nearly four weeks since the show in Louisville, I was excited about the weekend of March 18th-20th. This is the weekend I would see Slint three times, in three days, in two cities. The first of these were the final two of the three shows they would do at Irving Plaza in New York City.

I’ve visited New York City many times and have been to an occasional show, but I had never been to Irving Plaza. Somehow, I had expected it to be… bigger. Not that this is something to lament, for it made for a more intimate experience. Unlike the show at Brown Theatre, it was general admission and one could get as close to the stage as they liked. While this was a definite plus, there was one disadvantage to the venue; the sound was far inferior to that experienced at the Brown. I mean this with regard to volume and clarity. Being a theatre, the Brown was well suited for the projection of sound and the band was able to push the envelope of volume, both in terms of subtlety and torrential wash of distortion without risk of the sound beeing muddled. At Irving Plaza, while it was certainly loud enough to appreciate the nuances of Slint’s dynamic music, the sheer force that could be felt during the crescendo of “Washer” or the closing minutes of “Good Morning, Captain” at the Brown were absent.

On Friday night, a band called PG Six opened the show. They had a sound reminiscent of Neil Young and Crazy Horse in their hey-day, an appropriate choice considering the only song Slint has ever been known to cover was “Cortez the Killer.” While capable, they weren’t a terribly engaging band, either in stage presence or musically. My friend and I sat in the upstairs lounge and talked about the basketball tournament through their set. Slint finally took that stage at approximately 20 after 10.

My friend and I made our way downstairs and found some standing room on the right side. We were underneath the balcony, which unfortuantely provided even worse acoustics. While the songs were still the same as from the Louisville show, they altered the order of the set. They closed with “Rhoda”, instead of “Good Morning, Captain”. Even more surprisingly, they opened with “Good Morning, Captain”. While “Rhoda” was an excellent alternative closer, “Good Morning, Captain” did not produce the same tension in the room as “For Dinner…” had as an opener. With it’s quiet, somber tone, “For Dinner…” moved through a crowd whose anticipation was being gratified. The collective feeling of “Oh my god, I’m seeing Slint” was palpable as the band worked through one of its lesser known instrumentals. By opening with such a recognizable crowd-pleaser as “Good Morning, Captain”, that feeling was lost. It was instant climax without the foreplay.

I was hesitant to bring my camera the first night. Having never been to Irving Plaza, I wasn’t sure how tight their security would be. It became apparent that it was rather lax, so the second night, I dutifully brought along the trusty digital, tucked beneath my jacket. The opening band on Saturday was Tomorrow’s Friend, a co-ed group of 4 chicks and 3 dudes who played a style of music reminiscent of the Pretenders at times, but with more force and mass. With three guitarists, their music was rich and powerful. Of the three opening bands I’ve seen so far, they have been the most enjoyable. During their set, I milled about the venue, trying to determine where the best spot for photographing the show would be. I considered the balcony, but ditched that idea. I wanted to be close. I wasn’t sure what the venues in Boston or Chicago would offer me in the next week and this might be my only chance. At the conclusion of Tomorrow’s Friend’s set, I found myself a nice spot to the left of the stage by the PA stacks.

Slint’s stage presence is purposefully off-center and non-traditional for logisitcal purposes. The precision required through the various shifts in time signature, tempo, tone, and volume necessitates the band members to be able to see each other. Britt Walford’s drum kit sits just to the right of center, accompanied by David Pajo on the far right of the stage, facing left. These two are arguably the band’s core, with Walford its nerve center.

Every reaction from all other instruments are zeroed-in to Walford’s inner metronome, each sound eminating from his trap kit a signal for the rest of the band to perform their part. With Pajo turned toward stage center, he not only can be in time, but provides additional visual cues for the remainder of the quintet, arranged in semi-circular line to the left.

Immediately to the other side of the drums, stands bassist Todd Cook. From his vantage point he is able to lock-in rythmically with Walford and Pajo.

He’s also joined on this side of the stage by the McMahon brothers, Michael and Brian. Michael plays second-guitar (it’s not really fair to call it “rhythm guitar”) for most of the show, freeing Brian to concentrate on vocal duties as they are required.

Brian takes his place on the far left of the stage, with his microphone turned so that he is facing Pajo on the other side. From here, he can see the entire band on some of the more challenging vocal tasks required of the stuff from Tweez.

Other times, Michael will leave the stage and Brian will play the second guitar parts.

This, is the basic stage set-up, with the exception of one song. On “Don, A Man”, Walford comes out from his drums and straps on a guitar, joining Pajo on a set of stools at the front of the stage. Facing each other, they play the two guitar parts while Walford sings the words.

In my review of the Lousiville show, I expressed some disdain for the amount of irreverent chatter and yelling. One reader commented that this was an old, Lousiville tradition. I’ve been to my fair share of shows, in Lousiville and elsewhere. This is by no means some “Louisville tradition”, but a general tradition of the punk and post-punk era of rock and roll, with which I have no qualms. I still maintain that the degree of it encountered in Louisville was bordering on disrespectul and rude. Thankfully, the fans of New York City had a proper balance of respect and whimsical banter during the long, quiet moments between songs as intruments were tuned and swapped-out. Some were predictable (”Play Cortez the Killer!” and “TWEE-ZER FET-ISH!”) and some were amiably irreverent (”Play something good!”). Standing in the dark, waiting for a song to begin, a guy yelled “Thanks for coming to New York. That was real nice of you.” with as much sincerity as is possible in such a situation. The genuine feeling of the statement was met with applause, which after its cessation was countered by Brian McMahon in the dark through his microphone: “Thank you for being here.”

Reviewers have commented on the stoic nature in which Slint approaches their music. If there’s one thing that has bothered a lot of people is the lack of interaction of the band with the crowd in conjunction with the long breaks between each song. I think this has been by-design and I think Michael Alan Goldberg of the Baltimore City Paper said it best when he commented “It became evident as the night progressed that Slint’s mission was not to create peaks and valleys in the set as a whole, or generate a cumulative effect from all 13 songs it played—as one is generally used to at a live show—but rather to present each composition as a standalone, self-contained work of shifting dynamics, time signatures, and textures, and that would have to suffice.” I’m happy to report that the band has become a little looser toward the end of their tour. During “Pat”, with it bouncy, quirky lounge-esque feel, there is a moment when Brian McMahon and Todd Cook have to tune down a string, play another section of the song, then tune back-up the string. The song stops during this moment.

First, Todd strikes his note then tunes the string down, then Brian does the same on his guitar. On Saturday, they both did so with a little flourish… first tuning down too far then bringing it back up a bit. Then they played the next segment of the song as usual. When it came time to tune the string back up, they did it in reverse order, first Brian, then Todd. Brian looked at Todd funny then struck his note again, as if giving Todd the note. Todd attempted the tune-up again then shrugged. Brian walked over and tapped the string on Todd’s bass then turned the key on the neck until it tuned-in. Meanwhile, this was cracking-up Walford and Pajo, not to mention the crowd. It’s the only time I think I’ve seen Pajo smile while on-stage now through the three shows I’ve witnessed. It was fun, and I hope they continue to be a bit more playful. I saw them again last night at the Roxy in Boston. More on that to come as I find time to write about it. I also will be at their final show of the tour in Chicago next Saturday at Park West.

A fan in France has a radio-blog with streaming audio of the Slint show played in the city of Champagne.

Someone has started a “Slint live” fansite. Available there is the complete Louisville show in mp3. Get it while you can.

The Louisville newspaper (Courier-Journal) offered this review of the show: Slint Returns With Sweet Alchemy In Full Bloom

Finally, here is a link to the photos I took the night of the show in Louisville.

Show date: February 22, 2005

The Brown Hotel in downtown Louisville, KY is a historic landmark. It is one of those turn-of-the-century hotels that has survived the motor-lodge chain domination since the introduction of the interstate highway system in the 1960’s. Lore has it that, one spring, the Brown Hotel’s staff chef had his Derby Day culinary masterpiece ruined in some unfortunate kitchen mishap. In a scramble to provide something to be served in the restaurant that evening, the chef concocted an open-faced sandwich comprised of a slice of bread on which he put ham and turkey. He smothered the entire thing with a cheese-based roux and baked it in an oven. It would be topped with tomato and bacon upon serving. This is how the traditional Kentucky Hot Brown came to be.

It’s only fitting, that Slint’s reunion began in their hometown of Louisville in the theatre of the Brown Hotel, a place steeped in legend and myth. The Brown Theatre is not unlike a lot of the grand, opera-house style theatres in this country, with orchestra and balcony level seating while huge, ornate chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings. These cavernous ceilings and the rounded shape of the room provided superb acoustics by design.

My friend Robin and I made our way into this theatre at about 7:30pm. Wading through a sea of uber-hipsters and indier-than-thou scenester rats we made our way to the merch table. On display were four different Slint T-shirts. I told the lady behind the fold-out table to give me one of each. Sanctioned Slint merchandise in-hand, we made our way to the balcony where our seats were located. We were essentially in the last row, but in a concert hall such as this, there really weren’t any poor seats, only slight degrees of distance from the stage.

The opening band was Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti, a highly experimental group consisting of a guitarist, bassist, keyboardist, and voice-effects artist. The keyboardist and vocal-artist sat in the floor on their knees. The vocal-artist had his microphone run through an elaborate series of effects pedals, essentialy making his voice an instrument which he would distort, reverb, phase, or whatever other effect he so desired. The overall sound of the band was comparable to that of a 60’s psyche-garage band fused with 80’s new wave. They were somwhat interesting to watch, but really hard to listen-to.

After their set, I decided to take my shirts to the car and grab my camera. I had asked an usher earlier about photography and had been informed that it wasn’t permitted. I would learn that they apparently weren’t really enforcing it, nor were they doing any serious checks at the door. So I returned to the theatre with my trusty Fuji Finepix tucked safely beneath my jacket. I’ll be damned if I wasn’t going to make an attempt to capture some of this in photograph. I returned to my seat and awaited the big moment.

I don’t think I can adequately put into words the way I felt. I was finally to have the opportunity to see a band who made an album that was deeply important to me. An opportunity that I thought I would never have, yet here I was waiting for the house lights to go down. I imagined how the members of Slint must’ve felt backstage, as well. While they have all been professional musicians for nearly 20 years now in their various bands and projects, I imagine that the most daunting part of this reunion was not re-familiarizing themselves with the music they had created all those years ago, but actually stepping into that cloak of mystique; to wear the mantle of legend. When they were an active band, they were an insanely good band with a great record. They were young, 20-something kids with a precocious ability to think about and create music in a different way. Now they are the elder statesmen of the genre they helped create and mould with their final album, a record bestowed landmark status by the test of time, not unlike their choice of venue for the evening.

When the house lights went down, there was the usual cheering which occurs among a crowd who is restless from the wait. It was a bit more enthusiastic than the average concert, as the anticipation of something really important was beginning to transpire. The stage was mostly dark, lit only be a deep blue light. Just enough to see the silhouettes of people walking onto the stage and strapping on instruments. The crowd cheered just a little louder, for a moment, then the most amazing thing happened. While the shadows on stage, their heads bowed as they looking at dials and LED’s at their feet, tuned their instruments, the entire crowd grew quiet. No one was even talking. The entire concert hall was still and silent. It was a feeling of reverence which permeated the theatre at that moment.

We all sat their together in the dark in slience, watching the shadows on stage. Suddenly, the stage was lit, engulfing the band in red and orange hues. A drumset was slightly off-center, with a guitarist to the right and to the left, another guitarist and bassist. The slow, prodding bass rumbling of “For Dinner. . .” commenced. I will admit, this song was the one that I was most likely to skip on Spiderland. But watching it being performed live has given me an entirely new appreciation for the song and the dynamic tension it can create. With one song, Slint proved their mastery of what has come to be known as “Slint dynamics”; the subtle changes in volume, every drumbeat and percussion deliberate both with respect to timing as well as force, the complimentary (or dissonant) tones and textures of the instrumentation, and the overall precision of every measure. This is not to say that there weren’t small mistakes. There was one glaring “miss” during “Nosferatu Man”, some confusion on how many measures should’ve been played before the vocals began. Again, it happened most notably during “Washer”, a hand off-set one guitar fret for a couple of bars produced an awkward sound as the wrong chord was being played.

Their set of approximately 1.5 hours included the entire Spiderland album. With the exception of playing “For Dinner. . .” first, they played the album sequentially, interspersed with selected offerings from Tweez. From this first album, they played “Ron”, “Rhoda”, “Pat”, and “Charlotte”. Of these I am sure, there may have been others. I’ve never been terribly good at remembering entire sets of music played by a band, and sitting there writing it down just seems wrong. I tend to remember things that weren’t played that I wanted to hear. Since I’m such a fan of the Spiderland album, this is why I know they played the entire thing. All that was present or absent from Tweez in my memory is suspect.

In between songs, the stage lights would return to the dark blue lighting. The silhouettes would tune/switch-out instruments and otherwise prepare for the beginning of each new song in this manner. They didn’t interact with the crowd by speaking, nor did notes leak from speakers during these moments. Like their music, the spaces between the noise were just as much part of the presentation. Not everyone in the crowd seemed to understand this and eager concert-goers would begin shouting things in the dark. Personally I found it rather annoying and embarassing.

The guy sitting two seats down from me was just as perturbed, but a more vocal person than me. He shouted: “SHUT! UP!” very loudly, probably a couple of times, in response to the yelling of our less mannered peers. He followed this by hissing “Respect, bitches!” in a forced whisper. This addition humorously drove home his point, and while I might not have been as glib, he voiced my own thoughts exactly. Sitting there in the dark, listening to the moronic screeching of people between every song, I kept thinking: Would you yell like this in church?

My interaction with this live performance was just like going to church for me. I was there to be reverent, to repect the privilege that had been bestowed up me, and maybe even to worship just a little. There were times when I did feel like this. This in particular happened during “Washer”. My favorite part of the song has always been the crescendo at the end. It’s a perfect ending for a song so well-paced, full of such restraint, and so heart-wrenching. When listening to the song from the album, the crescendo washes over me and I physically feel emotions swell in my chest sometimes. Being present for it live in that dark chamber, with the force of concert amps and the compliment of the theatre’s acoustics it was one of the most satisfying musical moments I had ever witnessed. I closed my eyes and embraced that familiar swell. It must be how fervently religious people feel when they worship in church. I’m so excited that I still have 4 more services to attend!

They closed their performance with “Good Morning, Captain”. You could feel the tension in the room as the song lumbered toward its familiar conclusion of cathartic “I miss you” screaming and distortion-laden power chords. When the moment came, it was executed flawlessly and an entire theatre was enthralled. Some, like me, sat silently in awe. Others could be seen with arms above their heads, their bodies contorting in their seats while they air-drummed through the rhythm. Regardless of each individual reaction to the moment, the response when the final chord was strummed and allowed to reverberate singularly was that everyone hit their feet. Without having been told, they knew this was the end of the show. The stage lights went down and the silhouettes disappeared into the dark. The standing ovation was genuine and filled with “woos”, but different from the ones shouted in the silence earlier. Not like “Woooooo rock and roll!”; these were “woos” of amazement and wonder. The standing ovation lasted briefly then the crowd began to disperse. No one expected an encore. I imagine no one could conceive of anything more satisfying than that final song.

I would have to agree.