Undivided. That was the attention Kristian Matsson aka Tallest Man on Earth commanded from the well-dressed folk/indie crowd this cold Saturday night. It was a sold out show and highly anticipated return from this unassumingly sweet Swedish singer/songwriter. His intense scrawl stopped even the peanut gallery from the back bar to have a listen.
It can be tough for any solo act to fill out a half drunk crowd on any night, not to mention at the Elmo. Nurses opened the night with an unmemorable set of yowls, tambourines, singalongs and tings that I could have personally lived without.
TMOE ran though his repetoire effortlessly with a powerful voice distinctly familiar to Dylan, Gutherie, Bon Iver, among others. As blatant a similarity to the similarities to the great folk songwriters from the past, TMOE still maintained his own unique European sound that make it his own. Highlights included his passionate “The Gardner”, “Honey won’t you let me in”, “King of Spain” and “Where do my bluebird fly”. Matsson has great energy and movement during his intricate fingerpicking interludes, bouncing back and forth around the stage and making mysterious eye contact with whatever random crowd-folk he’d come across.
What stunned me most was the silence throughout most of the the set. Granted, there were still a few balks and clinks from empties from the back bar, but overall the crowd was here to really listen to TMOE..and I mean listen. This included minimal use of flash photography and blurry cell phone snapshots, or even beer runs.The aggressive shushing and the odd “shut the fuck up” only further demonstrated the miliant attention the crowd demanded. This undivided attention only amplified his music, lyrics and stage presence.
TMOE even ended with a quiet love song, rather than a Dylan-esque power strum finale for his encore. It was a gutsy move, but it paid off in spades. The crowd stayed with him until the very end, uncovering how tall this little man’s music really is.
Sweden’s latest folk singer/songwriter Kristian Matsson from Tallest Man on Earth comes to Toronto this Saturday. Matsson has an immediately stark resemblance folk rasp of Bob Dylan but with intricate acoustic finger stylings that balance this scruffy voice. Although his lyrics don’t match up to the D-man, he brings it all to life on stage. With the show already sold out at the El mocombo, and a 8.3/10 Pitchfork rating on his “Shallow Grave” release, he’s doing something right.
Tallest Man on Earth w/Nurses
04.17.10
El Mocombo
SOLD OUT
Dan Mangan stopped by to perform at CMW on March 12 as part of a BC music showcase. If you like what you see, he’ll be coming back to play a show at the Horseshoe on Apr 22. Here is a clip of him playing “Basket”, dedicated to his grandfather. Fantastic.
When Ondi Timoner’s explosive documentary Dig! came out in 2004, I was hooked. Everybody had heard of the Dandy Warhols, having been flung into mainstream success with the poppy anthem “Bohemian Like You”. If you weren’t listening to the radio anymore, any trip to your favourite watering hole with a relatively current juke-box selection and at least one or two inebriated patrons with too many coins in their pocket would ensure you didn’t survive the evening without hearing this little ditty. Probably more than twice. In short, this song was everywhere.
But who the hell were these other guys?
The documentary: drawing the line between genious and bat-shit insane
The critically acclaimed documentary follows the developing careers of two bands, the Dandy Warhols and The Brian Jonestown Massacre and the bands’ respective frontmen Courtney Taylor-Taylor and Anton Newcombe. On the one hand, the Dandys come across as a fairly vanilla outfit, interested in sealing a record deal and “making it big” in the way every suburban kid in a band dreams to come true. On the other, comes a portrait of Anton as an uncompromising and decidedly bat-shit insane musical genius who is notoriously hard to work with and takes no prisoners. While the Dandys concern themselves with navigating the record business and attempting to get a deal, the BJM seem more preoccupied with just keeping the whole damn thing together. With an ever revolving door of members (allegedly over 40 in a ten year span), the constant in-fighting, the drug fuelled jam sessions and chaotic live appearances, it was nothing short of a miracle that these characters could keep anything together let alone release three (!!) albums in one year. If the Dandy Warhols were making Rock ‘n Roll, the Brian Jonestown Massacre were living it.
Amidst all the insanity came some pretty cool neo-psychedelia and 60s garage punk revival—sounds from an era where the vibe matched the unhinged methods of the band. It became obvious that while Taylor-Taylor was noticeably more level-headed than his counterpart, he was, in fact, a dweeb. More interesting was the story of the BJM. While both came across as complete egomaniacs, Anton’s insanity gave him legitimacy while Courtney seemed just plain old pretentious. With sales representing the barometer of success, the Dandys, in the end “make it” while the BJM are left to toil in relative obscurity. The film concludes, without a hint of irony, that the Dandys “made it” as they are really Big In Japan. Or was it Greece? In other words, besides a few singles, it’s hard to really quantify what that level of success is. The BJM, with minimal radio play, garnered more of a cult status among fans.
Post show mortems
It became apparent from anyone who had seen the film, that it wasn’t enough to just hear BJM, at the time offering all their music free to download online. You needed to see these bastards live. And seeing them live cannot be described as a concert; it must be described as spectacle. With the BJM it was never just about the music, it was about the method, and at the live show the music takes a back seat to the madness. As an experience, the audience is integral to the process. It’s an exercise in sadomasochism. The audience hopes, given the reputation of the band, for the price of a ticket, they will witness the final collapse the Brian Jonestown Massacre. The audience hoots and hollars, hurling creative verbal missives such as “you suck” and “fuck you” at the band and Anton specifically. He is goaded, prodded and abused by the audience in the hopes of evoking a final and destructive reaction from the singer. In turn, the audience may be treated to an argument among band members, a refusal to continue playing, a nine-minute “solo” comprised only of the sound of a lonely kick-drum while the band goes outside for a cigarette. Anton takes his abuse and the audience delights in their respective punishment. The ultimate reward, one supposes, would include a John Lydonesque spitfest, a swift boot to the head from the legend himself, or at absolute best, an epic meltdown marking the band’s Final Show.
So what should we expect after all these years? Who cares.
Five years later, the band is returning to Toronto to play a show at the Phoenix on June 2. The once prolific band seems to have slowed down considerably. With only two major releases in 6 years, where has the band’s time and energy been directed? Perhaps uncomfortable with his portrayal in the film, something which has been well-documented elsewhere, Anton seems to have taken a less visible role in the band. As noted, the last two albums have featured several guest singers, putting less emphasis on Anton and placing more focus on the music itself. Anton has taken a Step Back, if you will. Is it for the better? With the return of founding member Matt Hollywood, and a new record that sounds more Thievery Corporation than it does Rock ‘n Roll, one question still haunts: Are the BJM dead, and if so, does anyone really care anymore? You decide.
Brian Jonestown Massacre returns to the Phoenix Concert Theatre on Wednesday June 2. Tickets $21.50 +Taxes and SC.
