Musicians Love a Stage: April Smith and the Great Picture Show's Vintage Contemporary Sound

How good is April Smith and the Great Picture Show?  So good I skipped both a Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band show and a HaSkaLA gig across town to see them again.  That good.  (Steven Schub and his boisterous band can forgive me, because I had already purchased a ticket to see April and her combo at the Hotel Cafe in Hollywood before the ska show was announced and April was making her only area appearance of the year, but if it had been almost any other performer, I would have considered the fifteen dollars a sunk cost and skipped it.  Additionally, the visually arresting Black Beverly Heels were playing downtown.  This is the best kind of dilemma and one of the reasons why I live in this fallen city.)
     For anyone at all familiar with me or my writing, that should be self-explanatory (and for anyone unfamiliar, click on the links, and it will be self-explanatory).  Since I've already heaped accolades on the silky-voiced chanteuse and her versatile band elsewhere, there's no reason to repeat myself, and few had the opportunity to read my previews bon mots, I'll simply reproduce the older pieces below.
     With a slightly different lineup (April didn't introduce the band this time, but bassist Steve Purpuri juggled his upright and electric basses as usual), the quintet crammed themselves and their gear onto the tiny  Hotel Cafe stage once more for a forty-seven minute set similar to the recent area performances recounted below.  The arrangements were similar if slightly slower, with more of a keyboard presence.  (April, who is pregnant and is about  to take maternity leave after this, her only tour this year, mentioned during the set that singing is more challenging with each passing day, which could account for the slightly slower arrangements even though I'd like to think the subtle tempo shift is due to artistic reasons.)  The group did dust off "High School Memory" from April's first (solo) album loveletterbombs (Indigo Planet, 2005).  April (whose between-song patter is as direct and sassy as her lyrics) noted that her father wrote the song for her mother forty years ago (and they're still together, proving the pessimistic trepidation of the title and lyrics unfounded).  She also noted that she wrote the blithe, bouncy "Can't Say No" (from 2010's independent Songs for a Sinking Ship) for her dog (which is so subtextual that the most perceptive listener would never ascertain it without her help).
     After the set, I said hello to April (an old acquaintance from the east coast) at the merchandise booth.  I acquired the recent vinyl pressing of Songs for a Sinking Ship (the group played nine of its songs during the show).  An archetypal example of a twenty-first century album, the Kickstarter-financed label-less platter's vinyl release was long overdue (the band's vintage contemporary sound was tailor-made for a modern vinyl release, and the label of the compact disc version even has the image of a record).  At fifteen dollars, the vinyl couldn't be a better value: it includes a free digital download and a bonus track ("Bright White Jackets" originally appeared on loveletterbombs, but I cannot yet confirm that it is the same recording).
     Reproduced below: a review of their previous Hotel Cafe appearance (a year to the day before last night's) and a review of their November 19, 2010 Bootleg Theater set.  The photos: April and I after the Bootleg Theater set (taken by HaSkaLA's Steven Schub), April's handwritten setlist for the 2011 Hotel Cafe gig, and April's handwritten setlist for last night's show (including new song "Bottoms Up" and Dusty Springfield's "You Don't Own Me") atop the gorgeous vinyl.
April Smith and the Great Picture Show
Hotel Cafe
Hollywood
Thursday, April 26, 2012

Movie Loves a Screen
Drop Dead Gorgeous
Terrible Things
Stop Wondering
You Don't Own Me
Colors
Dixie Boy
Can't Say No
High School Memory
Bottoms Up
What'll I Do
Wow and Flutter (interpolating Whole Lotta Love)

These Musicians Still Love a Stage: April Smith and the Great Picture Show at the Hotel Cafe
Unfortunately, they have outgrown the stages on which they still play.
     April Smith and the Great Picture Show, perhaps New York's finest inchoate musical ensemble, crammed their diverse assortment of instruments onto the cramped, diminutive stage of the claustrophobic and meretricious Hotel Cafe in Hollywood on Tuesday evening.  If they had arrived around a decade-and-a-half earlier, they would have had at least a fighting chance to graduate to the Hollywood Bowl, where they belong.  In 2011, one must take them where one can get them.
     It would be difficult to share too much without repeating myself, as the sassy chanteuse and her versatile backing trio played a set that was disappointingly similar to their last two Los Schmengeles performances (and a bit shorter than the last one).  Whether due to poor acoustics, poor mixing, this reporter's poor mood, road fatigue, or a confluence of the aforementioned factors (and/or others), their effect was not quite as stunning and transcendent, this time.  But it is always a privliege to hear the heterogeneous quartet perform their ebullient, ageless, and timeless tunes in these dank, dolorous, trend-specific times.
     The too-short thirty-five minute set kicked off, after four minutes of some desultory open chords and other warming up,  with the usual opener "Movie Loves a Screen," the first track from last year's Songs For a Sinking Ship (no label, at least not one that can be ascertained from the packaging).  The understated song is a good introduction to Smith's Freddie Mercury-meets-Sixties-girl-groups-meets-forties-girl-groups songwriting and singing style, but it seems to be locked into the opening slot (where it is becoming predictable if not anticlimactic this long after the disc's release after this many return trips to the area).  Much can be said about the artful songwriting, though, including the deft touch of using the song's title only once in the lyrics, in the bridge.  Guitarist Marty O'Kane sported a ukelele for this one (as he would later, to lesser effect).  The title's filmic theme is also apropos for the group's entire ouevre, as their sartorial eloquence and instrumental palette  (bassist Steve "Stevens" Purpuri plays an upright bass, as he often does) conjure images of the class, eloquence, dignity, and articulation of old Hollywood (the way the group's lesser peers evoke the egalitarian everymen and -women of the one we're stuck with now).
     After greeting the audience, Smith asked the sound engineer for more vintage reverb, and the group treated the audience to their lively rendition of Dusty Springfield's "You Don't Own Me,"  the first of the show's two cover versions.  O'Kane and Purpuri successfully switched to Fenders, underscoring the song's sixties edge.  Smith's soaring voice, on this piece as well as her own, must be heard and not read about.  (You may have heard her singing "You Don't Own Me" in a television commercial.  Perhaps you have been so fortunate.)  The other cover, Trey Songz's "Bottoms Up," featured multitasker O'Kane on accordion (which he passed back and forth with multitasking drummer Nicky D'Agostino throughout the show).
     Unfortunately, the truncated concert once again completely ignorned April's first album, loveletterbombs (Indigo Planet Records, 2005), released without the "Great Picture Show" name.  (April's handwritten setlist was longer, and it, too, completely ignored the first album, except for "The One That Got Away," which is on last year's disc as well.)  Yes, nostalgia is death, but acknowledging one's past is not nostalgia.  Songs like "Something" and "The Bells" would have knocked the stereotypically jaded and apathetic Hollywood audience out the door off of stage left and onto Cahuenga Boulevard.  Of the recent originals that were performed, "Drop Dead Gorgeous" was a highlight, wich an arresting if simple solo from O'Kane.  The snark of "Stop Wondering" was welcome even if its composer's melodramatic gesticulating was a tad too ostentatious.  Less effective was predictable closer "Wow and Flutter."  O'Kane's ukelele solo sounded so much like a guitar solo one wondered about the purpose of switching to the smaller stringed instrument simply for the solo than strapping on the Fender Jaguar/Mustang again.  Smith's usual quote of "Whole Lotta Love" during the song's breakdown, solos, and band introductions does not quite work, either (though she sings better than the even-more-feminine vocalist who made the song famous).  The absence of the haunting, harrowing "Beloved," the only song from the newer disc not planned (see below), was keenly felt.
     Judging the performance by the misguided (and short) setlist is a mistake, however.  No matter what songs they play in which order, April Smith and the Great Picture Show are as passionate, dextrous, melodious, and multi-instrumental as you'll find in this musical endarkenment.  Ignoring them is a mistake.
April Smith and the Great Picture Show
Hotel Cafe
Hollywood
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Movie Loves a Screen
You Don't Own Me
Terrible Things
Stop Wondering
Colors
Drop Dead Gorgeous
The One That Got Away
Bottoms Up
Wow and Flutter (including Whole Lotta Love)

April's handwritten setlist: "Can't Say No," What'll I Do," and "Dixie Boy" were sorely missed.

Musicians Love a Stage: April Smith and the Great Picture Show at the Bootleg Theater
In times like these, you will not find the greatest artists, writers, and musicians in the mainstream.  Some of them may lurk on its fringes, but you must know where to look for them.  James Ellroy and P.J. O’Rourke can still be found at the remaining branches of major bookstore chains, but they are generally limited to a few copies each, inconspicuously resting on the shelves, spines outward, far from the copious, covers-first displays near the storefront.  On television, you can hear consummate performing artists with formidable vocal prowess, but not when you watch the glorified karaoke singers on American Idol (if you make that mistake in the first place).  You will hear them anonymously singing unfamiliar songs (which they often write themselves) during commercials for the National Football League and cable series like Weeds.
            April Smith and the Great Picture Show—who, as recently as fifteen years ago, would have been household names—are a pertinent example of the best musicians to be found in the post-label era.  They have independently forged a self- and fan-financed career and captivated a relatively small but growing following who crave competent musicianship and atavistic melody.  And they have arrested the unwitting and apathetic in television commercials: a Lesley Gore/Dusty Springfield cover for a just-released football spot and at least two originals that you may have already heard in others.
            April Smith is that rare gem: a dazzling songwriter with an artful, colossal voice to match.  If that conjures memories of Freddie Mercury, it is surely no accident that songs like “Bright White Jackets” and “Beloved” owe just a little to the plaintive piano ballads of mid-period Queen, but her myriad influences go far beyond, from the Andrews Sisters all the way up to herself.  Indeed, her bouncy personality is even more manifest—and breaks a skeptical audience’s indifference to even greater effect--on her uptempo, jaunty tunes like “Colors” and “Movie Loves a Screen.”
            Last night, she and her band of multi-instrumentalists captivated a gathering of seen-it-all Angelenos at the compact but densely populated Bootleg Theater with a forty-five minute set that galvanized every last spectator into spirited applause, all the way down (or, more literally and figuratively, up) to the Bootleg’s house sound engineer.  (“That never happens,” indicated my dazzled companion, a masterful performer and songwriter in his own right.)
            The versatile band members juggle multiple instruments: the bassist, known as Stevens, equally mans both Fender and upright basses with facile dexterity; guitarist Marty O’Kane switches between guitar, ukelele and accordion; keyboardist Ray Malo has his hands full with violin and the same accordion, as well; and Nick D’Agostino navigates his modest-sized drum kit with understated skill, equal parts jazz and rock.  But no one could take the spotlight off the frontwoman for very long.
            The eleven-song set consisted of the lion’s share of this year’s Songs for a Sinking Ship (no label—how’s that for independence?) and two well-placed cover songs [Smith’s first album, 2005's loveletterbombs (Indigo Planet Records), sadly seems to have disappeared from the repertoire, perhaps because it was recorded without the Great Picture Show--the sole exception, "The One that Got Away," appears on both albums].  The succession of songs—in tempo and attitude—gradually and cumulatively manifested a versatility in their creator (in equal parts songwriting and performing capacities) that equals that of her entire band.  From the mid-tempo, contemplative contentment of “Movie Loves a Screen” (which opened both set and album) to the dismissive snark of “Drop Dead Gorgeous” to the tense cautionary tale “Dixie Boy” to the ebullient love letter that is “Colors” (listen for that one during commercial breaks as well): the singer and band exuded myriad dispositions, but they never strayed too far from the congenial joie de vivre at the heart of the leader and her refreshingly anachronistic melodic flair.  In addition to the Dusty Springfield song, a slower, sparser, affecting rendition of U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” closed the performance with captivating poignancy that almost approached pathos.
            If you hear a sharp, strong voice singing “You Don’t Own Me” between quarters this football season (and recognize it when the original “Terrible Things” is audible on a commercial for Weeds), that is April Smith.  And if you pay attention when she comes to your metropolitan area, turn off your television set, and attend her show, you will see and hear the most exhilarating live music you can find in times like these.


April Smith and the Great Picture Show
Bootleg Theater
Los Angeles
Friday, November 19, 2010

Movie Loves a Screen
Drop Dead Gorgeous
Terrible Things
Stop Wondering
You Don't Own Me
Colors
Can't Say No
The One That Got Away
Dixie Boy
Wow and Flutter (including Whole Lotta Love)
I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

Record Store Day

Record Store Day 2012 was something of a bust.
     I almost skipped it entirely.  A friend invited me to meet him at the beach in Santa Monica.  Recalling long lines, sunburn, and a limited selection of Record Store Day exclusive titles at my local participating record store, Amoeba Music Hollywood (especially by the time I made it to the front of the line), I wondered if it was worth the trip, parking fees, waiting time, purchase prices, and sunburn.  (The only aforementioned snags applicable during a trip to the beach would have been parking fees and sunburn.)  Since Miles Davis's estate/Columbia Records, Bruce Springsteen and Brad (perhaps the best band you've never heard of, even if you read my blogs) were participating with exclusive releases, I had mild, tentative interest.  When my friend texted to say that the beach atmosphere today was disappointing (unexpectedly cool and hazy), the decision was suddenly much easier.  I had been wanting to hear a new Brad song on vinyl before their new album United We Stand drops Tuesday (I have not taken advantage of any of the digital downloads or streaming previews).   I drove to Hollywood.
     Not surprisingly, the Miles LP sold out long before I arrived.  The lengthy, convoluted process of waiting, placing an order, and waiting again is unnecessary to recount here.  King Crimson and T. Rex (not coincidentally, the bands that inspired this blog's title) sets are enticing but too expensive, so I selected Miles (I was unaware it had sold out), Springsteen, Brad, and a limited edition blue vinyl pressing of the rare 1977 Genesis 12" EP Spot the Pigeon (another Record Store Day exclusive).  I stood in line for a few hours, confident that, even in the event that the limited stock of household names like Springsteen, Davis, and Genesis were depleted, the new music by the tragically unknown Brad would be available.
     After, among other things, sweating in the Hollywood sun, staring at the Hollywood smog, and talking to an older man who admired my Yes t-shirt and reminisced about the 1970's (some don't know how fortunate they are), I picked up my order and found that Brad had either sold out or had never arrived.  (For some reason, the store didn't seem to obtain any of the Pearl Jam-related exclusive releases; Brad certainly falls into that category.)  (I should have anticipated that Angeleno "hipsters" would eschew Springsteen as well as Genesis and deplete Miles.  There are advantages to being a Springsteen fan outside of the northeast.  Now that I think about it, there are advantages to being outside of the northeast, period.)  I spent what seemed like an inordinate amount of money for Spot the Pigeon and "Rocky Ground" b/w "The Promise" (live).  Then I spent more on parking (despite a validation from the store) than I did on "Rocky Ground" b/w "The Promise" (live).  Then I came home and tried to play the 7" disc.  On each side of the record, the tone arm on my turntable lifted and returned to its rest position before the side had completed (this is a recurring problem when I play 7"'s on my turntable--perhaps I should have taken advantage of Amoeba's turntable sale).  (I am having recurring problems with my twenty-first century, digital, trendy iPod as well.  Does anything consistently work like it's supposed to in this Endarkenment?)
     But I helped support a dying institution or three (and I'm not talking about Genesis).

Postscript: Spot the Pigeon plays well (and sounds spectacular in this audiophile blue-vinyl pressing manufactured under license by a tiny California lab).  I also forgot to mention that I received a free bag with a Sub Pop sampler disc (and other free discs), plus shampoo and conditioner.  At least the shampoo and conditioner will be useful.  The day wasn't such a bust.

Rushing Headlong Into the Present

The seminal Canadian rock trio Rush perhaps epitomize the changing nature of the music business as much as any overwhelming successful, vintage act.
     Two years ago, the unclassifiable "progressive hard rock" band began work on a "steampunk" concept album that was already titled Clockwork Angels.  Drummer/lyricist Neil Peart, an avid reader who has incorporated innumerable literary themes, allusions, and tropes into his lyrics over the years, had come up with an idea inspired by anti-dystopian science fiction writers from Jules Verne to Peart's friend (and "steampunk" pioneer) Kevin J. Anderson.  As Peart describes the band's outlook at the time in his essay for their 2010 Time Machine Tour (do follow the link and read the entire piece, which couldn't be more relevant to this post or this blog): "Now the typical thing to do would be to start writing songs toward making an album, then launch a tour behind that in 2011 or so. However, these days an 'album' is an abstraction dearer to artists than to audiences, and it didn't seem necessary to follow that timeworn pattern anymore. 'Crisis is both danger and opportunity,' goes the old Chinese saying, and we were kind of excited about doing things a different way."  The band decided to finish and record two songs of their emerging, futuristic story ("Caravan" and "BU2B," the latter's title--"text-speak" for "Brought Up to Believe"--an ironic nod to a disconcerting trend and its technology), release them digitally (though there was a belated, perfunctory CD maxi-single release), then spend the summer of 2010 on the road instead of in the studio.
     The show they took on the road was a masterful blend of the band's past, present, and future: it included both new songs as well as recent songs, long-unplayed oldies, and never-before-performed songs (recent and otherwise).  (Click on the link for my review.)  Consonant with current trends (and perhaps understandable, given their age), they spread the tour out with two fairly brief legs over a period of two successive summers, satiating the arena rock nostalgia of their aging audience but necessarily pushing back work on Clockwork Angels.
     Clockwork Angels is now finished.  It is scheduled for release on June 12, to be followed by a tour tentatively slated to being in September.  And a third song, "Headlong Flight," dropped digitally today, incredibly streaming on the website of the band's longtime critical nemesis, Rolling Stone (here is irony: as I write this, a link to rollingstone.com and its streaming track adorn's the front page of the band's official website alongside those modern, digital advertisements for pre-orders of the album in singular and "bundle" form).
     Given the band's (or, at least, Peart's) initial jaundiced eye on cyberspace (1996's "Virtuality" is an astringent excoriation of the then-inchoate Internet and its culture of seeming isolation and seclusion), the band's complete divorce from their and their industry's past may seem like more irony.  However, this observer and long-time fan expected these three visionaries, traditionally advocates of technology in song and elsewhere, to remember that "the misuse of something is no argument against its use."  This is a band that has typically embraced change wholeheartedly without a backward glance (don't be surprised if Clockwork Angels is not issued in the audiophile vinyl format, which is one ostensibly nostalgic trend I wish the band would follow along with their quasi-nostalgic, annual summer tours).
     "Headlong Flight" is very much cut from the same cloth as "Caravan" and "BU2B."  Musically, it is an amalgam of many songs from the protean band's crunchier eras (1970's: viz., "By-Tor and the Snow Dog" and "Bastille Day," and 1990's: viz., "Driven").  The six minute track is upbeat, dense, and "progressive" (consistent with Peart's comments that their more recent, less sprawling, streamlined music is "compressed complexity") (six minutes being comparatively short when contrasted with much of their work through the early 1980's).  The sinuous bass guitar introduction of Geddy Lee (also the band's vocalist and keyboardist) and the riffing of Alex Lifeson--alternately intense and textured, bludgeoning block-chords and sustained open ones--should be familiarly comforting to long-time fans while still indicative of new directions.  Lee's voice is now largely shed of the piercing falsetto that repelled many critics for years.  You should go listen to it now.
     Perhaps I'll see you on the Clockwork Angels Tour.