By Robert Bergin

Last week, Sean Manning posted about a bunch of lame-o’s protesting the usage of Beatles anthem "All You Need Is Love” in a diaper commercial. Whether the lame-o’s in question also knew about next month’s blockbuster film/Beatles tribute/Boomer-nostalgia epic Across the Universe remains in question, but I think it’s safe to assume that anyone who bothers to research Luvs’ marketing campaigns for instances of song-sullying probably didn’t let this flick fly under their radar.

The variable, then, must be artistic integrity - a quality dubiously associated with rock musicals. Mamma Mia and Tommy have their fans, but those productions succeed mostly because their audience has an emotional attachment to the show before the lights even dim. All the story has to do is not suck.

(I once saw a play called Steven’s Last Night in Town, which was essentially a flimsy excuse for a bunch of actors to sing Ben Folds songs. My favorite part was probably the intro to “Uncle Walter”: “Blah-blah-blah - here’s a conversation that has nothing to do with your uncle Walter.” Awkward silence. “Hey, remember your uncle Walter?!” Seriously, that’s, like, exactly what they said. Verbatim.)

Anyways, go watch this. Back? OK, so director Julie Taymor is clearly sitting on something new, right?

Blessed be to the advances in technology that allow alert concertgoers to capture performers at their most uncouth.

Most recently, Faith Hill upbraided a front-row fan for gettin' too gropy with hubby and tourmate Tim McGraw's private parts (TMZ has the video here). And of course there's the now-famous Beyonce tumble (TMZ has it here).

Who needs concert videos when the between-songs shit is so juicy? Anyone who owns a copy of Having Fun With Elvis On Stage -- no songs, just banter, some of it quite rambling and surreal -- knows what I'm talking about.

By Molly Freedenberg

Remember way back when a group of disillusioned Burners decided to challenge the status quo by forming their own version of the Burning Man Organization (BORG)? They called it BORG2, and they planned to unseat BORG 1 – or at least inspire a change in its art funding policies – through their “anything you can do, I can do better” approach. Thing is, BORG 2 just couldn’t quite get its act together, and the project unceremoniously fell apart.

Well, it seems the reggae world is now hosting its own version of the BORG2 madness, where fun-fur-wearing desert rats are replaced by dreadlocked dubsteppers. On the left? Reggae on the River, the penultimate reggae festival of longtime repute that seems to be almost as much a mecca for the steel drum crowd as burning man is for DJ Lorin lovers. On the right? Reggae Rising, the BORG2 of this particular conflict, led by former Reggae on the River contributors. The issue? Both want to throw a reggae festival. At the same place. On the same day.

In honor of the late Lee Hazlewood, here is Edward E. Crouse's unfiltered conversation with the great singer-songwriter, from the Guardian in 1998:

Love Lee
A duet over the phone with Mr. Hazlewood.

By Edward E. Crouse

LEE HAZLEWOOD writes, produces, and sings ambrosial pop songs. Ambrosial in both senses: the Greek (what the gods ingest) and the American (that picnic mystery made of canned fruits in heavy syrup and whipped cream). Hazlewood claims never to have met Serge Gainsbourg — a Gallic strategist with a similar dark, drunken heart and thick basso profundo–bizarro pipes who shares his knack for perverse idioms and knocking out hits with boy-girl, Beauty-Beast arrangements. Hazlewood is by no means as fashion-ready as Gainsbourg, which means that clubs won't charge a premium for lacquered and booted neo-modistes to frug on his birthday, and the prospect of cats aping Hazlewood's trademark stealth fighter–shaped mustache is doubtful.

Anticipating the 10-year anniversary of qawwali vocal legend Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's death on Aug. 16, San Francisco label Six Degrees recently released the Pakistani giant's latest dub-laced collaboration, with London producer-composer Gaudi, Dub Qawwali. Get a listen here to the opening track, "Bethe Bethe Kese Kese":

Meanwhile, here's more on the project from Six Degrees:

"Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan was and is still very much considered to be one of the greatest Qawwals (singer of qawwali music) in the world. Not only recognized as a legend in his native Pakistan he also took his
musical messages of peace, love, and spirituality to the international stage, earning him the title of Pakistan’s premier ambassador of Qawwali music. The origins ofthe genre trace back over 700 years to the spiritual Samah songs of Persia and the mystical faith of Sufism.

Help, I hate it, but I'm a slave to the forthcoming Girls Aloud single (Sept 3 release).

It's killing me. No official vid yet -- but here's the recordholders for most consecutive UK top 10s debuting the song at T4 on the Beach. I'll really regret pumping this when I can't escape this little ditty in the Castro this fall .....

Don't forget: Life is...Too $hort.

Every once in a while it happens, and this time he comes courtesy of Sneaker Pimps' buy-trade-swap event at Mighty on Saturday, Aug. 11. Also performing live: Kid Capri, J-Billion, and Selecta Trasha. Art installations by Bigfoot, Misk 1, David Lee, Peekaboo and Angrywoebots will be up, and FTC and Western Edition will give a live skate demo at this 21-and-older event at 119 Utah St, SF. $17 advance. Now explain to me what a "sneaker lifestyle show" is, exactly?

By K. Tighe

No logo? Photo by Cambria Harkey.

Ted Leo himself seemed a bit apprehensive about playing under a corporate logo at his afternoon performance on Aug. 3. The political punker lost his footing at the start of his set, falling onto the deck of the Myspace stage. I'll try to suppress the symbolism in all of this. Once he got back to his feet, he and his Pharmacists plowed through 45 minutes of pure rock, pounding out poly-agit hits like "Bomb Repeat Bomb" and "A Bottle of Buckie" to an enthusiastic crowd. Closing the set with "C.I.A.,” Leo managed to use his guitar to rain a pound the hell out of the stage for a few minutes.

Tim Delaughter's cultish Polyphonic Spree offered indisputable proof that many bodies in motion do not make a movement. Having abandoned their trademark white robes for black military MASH jackets, the gimmicky horn section was joined by an off-key choir and a band of tap dancers. The spree had the crowd for the first part of their set, which was loaded with old favorites and tracks from their recent album, The Fragile Army. By the end of the set, after several promised that "this will be our final song,” the crowd's energy had fallen away from the band and the audience made its way to other stages.

By Sean Manning

Ah, the end of summer. A time to wake back up to reality - be it the impending school semester, a new work opportunity, or simply the realization that you’ve been lying face down in a pile of your own dirty laundry for the past few months. It’s the year’s second wind, a time for renewal and our last chance to come out on top.

It’s also, as you may have noticed, as great time for stuff in general. From movies trying to land their way onto Roger Ebert’s goo-rag to a flurry of albums being unleashed on an unsuspecting public, our wallets never seem too deep. Here’s just a few things to salivate over in the coming weeks.

Liars, Liars (Aug. 28): Every guy I know loves the Liars, and each guy’s respective girlfriend seems to hate them. What’s the deal with that? These guys are heavy, though, and this new one proves that Drum’s Not Dead was no fluke. In addition to the face-melting stuff, you get a couple of nice melodic tracks, including the bouncy “Houseclouds,” which is everything Beck wishes The Information was.

Animal Collective, Strawberry Jam (TBA): This band came back on my radar in a big way earlier this year with Panda Bear’s terrific Person Pitch, so there’s plenty of expectation surrounding this release. While not quite as joyously blissful as that album (or even Feels), Strawberry Jam is an adventurous album that further expands Animal Collective’s range (wait til you hear “Unsolved Mysteries,” which sounds like it was pulled straight of Super Mario Sunshine).

Thurston Moore, Trees Outside the Academy (Sept. 18) Good old Thurston Moore is going unplugged on this one. Gasp! Does that mean he’s winding down, getting ready for his golden years John Denver style? No, it pretty much sounds like Sonic Youth, with some nice folkly flourishes. And a gem of a recording of Thurston at age 13, experimenting with a tape recorder, hitting random objects, and narrating for your listening pleasure.

By Molly Freedenberg

Mash-ups are a special kind of math: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. While I like dancing to Britney Spears (her early years) as much as the next thirteen-year-old-masked-as-an-adult, and while Bon Jovi fills me with a juvenile joy few other bands can evoke from me, hearing the two mixed together is something else entirely: I wouldn’t say transcendent, because I have no illusions that pop music (and dance music, for the most part) is best when taken at face value. But when two songs are combined, I find a supreme satisfaction – and, at the very least, entertainment – in the audial surprises that are born of the alchemy. And if each individual track is one I want to hear anyway? All the better.

Photo by Leo Herrera
DJs Adrian & the Mysterious D

By K. Tighe

The Lolla crowd gives it up for Kanye West. Photo by Cambria Harkey.

Notorious for delivering live sets that sound nothing like their album cuts, New York/Philadelphia indie rockers, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah translate surprisingly well to the festival environment. Sure, most songs were unrecognizable, but still enjoyable. Frequently compared to David Byrne, Alec Ounsworth laced his nasally vocals over deconstructed disco-folk instrumentals and the people, well, they rejoiced.

The other side of the park was packed to the brim, with concert-goers eager for a much-needed dose of hip-hop. The Roots delivered. Horn players usually lack street cred, but not under the tutelage of these legendary wailers, who delivered one of the day's best sets by somehow managing to keep their massive crowd grooving with their trademark big-band spastic sound, all while suggestively flexing their rock muscle. Earlier in the day, Chicago native Rhymefest had gracefully overcome sound difficulties to merge his blue-collar sensibilities with big band grandeur in a powerhouse hip-hop set. Although Lupe Fiasco is scheduled for tomorrow, it's apparent that Lollapalooza could do with more hip-hop.

With a distinctive, fluid voice and some hard-earned chops as a pianist, Regina Spektor's performance was sweet, but underwhelming. Chalk it up to timing, as she had the misfortune of performing after the Roots, or perhaps the awkwardness of hearing such intimate tunes at a corporate festival, but the much-anticipated appearance of this lovely chanteuse missed the mark.

For a hefty serving of old-school geekiness, no one need look any further than a set by the Hold Steady. These boozy intellectuals have come a long way in a short time, vocalist Craig Finn took a moment in the set to explain: "We started this band four years ago to have enough money for beer and an apartment, and now we're going to Dublin (next month) to open for the Stones. There is so much joy in what we do here, God bless you. " Judging by the sea of hands punching at the air through the duration of the set, there was a whole lotta joy in what they crowd was doing there, too.

Despite the fact that Karen O was gussied into a get-up that would make some Folsom Street Fairers blush, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs put on a strong, primal performance.

Try as she might, Ms. O just can't hold a candle to Ms. Patti Smith. The rock and roll poetess has enamored me in the past, and never disappointed. Even on her Rock 'n' Roll hall of fame induction, when every other word was bleeped, she was enthralling. Still, no amount of Patti-worship could have prepared a person for the lady's performance tonight, Aug. 4, when the heavens aligned to split open.

Poor Ladybug Transistor. The NYC band suffered the demise of their drummer San Fadyl this spring, around the time of the release of the chamber poppers' latest album, Can't Wait Another Day (Merge). The band got through it and they'll be here once more tonight, Aug. 9, at Bottom of the Hill. And check out this track from that album, "Three Days From Now":

Ladybug Transistor play tonight, Aug. 9, 9 p.m. Still Flyin' and Pebble Theory open. Tickets are $8 at Bottom of the Hill.

By Robert Bergin

Dear Jascha Ephraim,

Stumbled across your CD a couple days ago. I was going through my collection, looking for stuff to sell to Amoeba because I’m broke and I needed a copy of Pootie Tang. If you haven’t seen Pootie Tang, you should. It’s right up your alley. But yeah, I came up with three or four CDs I didn’t want anymore and some promos, which I figured would be enough. Who needs Softies full-lengths when you’ve got the 7-inches, right? Anyways, no fucking way did I sell your self-titled. True, I haven’t spent time with it in a while, but that doesn’t change the fact that my roommate and I listened to you almost daily during the spring of 2006. You don’t part with that.

So what happened man? Where’d you go? Your Web site is bare. Your MySpace
has a wall post that hints that you might have left SF for Kentucky - WTF? - but other than that, nada. The world needs more of your tunes. “Goldfish Euthanasia” was for my little brother what that Offspring song about road-rage was for me. We need your sharp-witted synth-pop vulgarities. Or maybe just a status update? Hope alls well.

XOXOXO,
Robert

By K. Tighe

The Lollapalooza Chicago skyline: don't stare at it too hardit might bite. Photo by Cambria Harkey.

Dear readers, I have failed you.

I've been attempting to experience the whole of Lollapalooza, which of course includes after-parties, and their obligatory next-morning results. However, while Lupe Fiasco and Amy Winehouse were playing on day 3, Aug. 5, I was stretched out on a yoga mat, trying not to hurl.

Lucky for you, I have spies everywhere. The little birds told me that Fiasco - Chicago's resident geek-rapper - delivered a stellar, irreverent performance that left his crowd wanting more. In contrast, the petite Ms. Winehouse fell short. During most of her set, she appeared to be consumed by boredom, and even the infectious strains of "Rehab" couldn't shake her out of it. A crowd hoping for a train wreck of some sort continued to watch, but Winehouse never turned it up. Hey, at least she showed up, right?

The punk rockers are old. The alt-rockers are old, too. Hell, even the electro-clash kids are showing some wear these days - though it's nothing a cowbell couldn't fix. Age be damned - the highest energy performance of the weekend belonged without question to Stooges frontperson Iggy Pop. With raggedy long hair sticking to his bare back, Iggy charged the stage like a sinewy beast and didn't pull back once during the set, prompting hoards of fans, young and old, to get Iggy with it.

Saviours' first 'un, Crucifire.

This in recently from Kemado Records:

"Explosive, Oakland, CA outfit Saviours has inked a deal with NYC label Kemado Records. The self-described "piss-angry metal band", known for its ferocious live performances and original stamp on the classic power and thrash metal of decades past, will enter Los Angeles' A&M/Henson Studios in late August with producer Joe Barresi (Melvins, Kyuss, Tool) to record its sophomore album.

"Merging howling lyrical venom with an endless arsenal of corrosive guitar orchestrations, harmonized leads and runaway locomotive rhythms, Saviours have been rapidly garnering international attention as one of the best heavy bands active today. Fresh off a red-hot tour of the United Kingdom as hand-picked direct support to progressive metal giants Mastodon, Saviours have launched a fourteen city road jaunt that will see the band's "not-to-be-missed" live sets including many of the new songs that will comprise the new full-length. The as-yet-untitled album is expected to see an early 2008 release.

It’s gonna be one of those crazy too much weekends on the club-freak circuit again. Luckily, I’ll be chasing drag queen Jackie Beat’s voluminous tinfoil skirts and jamming to Morris Day and the Time at fab street fest Sunset Junction in LA -- somebody bring me a mirror! -- so I don’t have to choose. But for those not hoofin’ it to Silver Lake, here’s a few picks -- a l’il rundown on the run-up, as it were. Run around! Got a party I missed? Give it up. I’ll add more as the weekend approaches if poss. I’ve got a lot of makeup to do.

Oh, and if you haven’t seen Avenue Q yet, get yer ass down to the Orpheum Theatre, quick. As America’s premiere queer Arab American leather disco hip-hop muppet whore, I highly recommend the work of my fellow monsters (especially the Bad Idea Bears ! My people!).

Bad Idea Bears rule

I also wanna plug one of my fave haunts – Club 222, which has far too much good stuff going on all for me to remember. Stop by for a drink, dance all evening, wonder where the hell you are in the morning. Then tell me when you find out.

Now, on to the klubz:

Yes, dears, I know Perez fricking Hilton posted this earlier today -- but the thing's gone so viral, my inbox has gotten overloaded from rabid, hyperintellectual fans! Plus, I use more exclamation points!!! So here I repost it for you (and for me -- I really can't stop watching it.) Plus it's kind of a personal triumph. It's, in a way, vindication. And isn't that what blogs are for? Self-obsessive revenge?

Meet the boys of Bearforce1:

Ta da!

The best part is that they're from The Netherlands! Hairy from Holland! Hottt!!! Exclamation points!!!

A little while ago I wrote a Super Ego column about how the new bear generation -- Bear 2.0 -- is more in touch with its feminine and techno dance sides. I got a lot of shit for it. But .... proof! Hot hairy holland pastel-shirted proof! Sweeeet.

By Molly Freedenberg

Yeah, yeah, I know, your sister’s in a band too, and she plays at local venues and has Myspace stalkers from Wisconsin, just like mine. But does your badass bass-playing sister have a nationally distributed album coming out on August 21? No? I didn’t think so.

Photo by Romy Suskin.
Sally Hope does wear shoes on stage, I swear.

See, my sister’s in this band called Poets and Pornstars. They’re classic rock-n-roll, in the vein of Joan Jett and the Rolling Stones, with a little G’N’R thrown in for good measure, and they’re actually really fucking good. And yes, I may be biased, but if I didn’t actually like her music, I wouldn’t lie about it on a public blog – I’d just buy her album and shut the fuck up.

Photo by Jeff Clark.
Me and sis, who's just pretending to be drunk and passed out.

Instead, I’m telling you to go to their Myspace page, check out some tunes, and then, on August 21, visit your local record store and purchase their self-titled debut. Or keep an eye out for them while they’re on tour with Tesla. And yes, I know, Tesla, ha ha. But is your sister touring with Tesla? No? Suckers.

By Robert Bergin

OH SHIT.

Only four more days people. To talk too much about the joke is to ruin the joke, so if you’re not clued in, get your crusty, no-Trapped-havin’ ass down to the nearest video store and buy yourself a copy of Kells’ ruminations on love and infidelity. His message is clear and essential: The closet in which Sylvester initially takes refuge is nothing compared to the emotional closets we trap ourselves in every day.

We have all fucked and fought, loved and lost. Trapped in the Closet reflects that pain: Bridget’s tears are our tears. The midget’s dookie-stained pants are our dookie-stained pants. R. Kelly knows that life is but a revolving door of pleasure and pain. He just dressed it up with a bumpin’ beat and lyrics stuffed with metaphors that border on Shakespearean. (“A fish with titties”? Didn’t he crib that from Falstaff?)

And that’s art, man. To hold, as t’were, the mirror up to nature. Can the second installment possibly top the first? Out-heroding Herod never sounded so sweet.

(The next five chapters are already up at ifc.com. The site is releasing a new chapter each day, so if you simply can’t wait for Tuesday, pop on over there.)

By Todd Lavoie

Patti in the raw, back in the day. Photo by Robert Mapplethorpe.

Oh, twitch-twitchy fingers, still trembling and stumbling over the keys, 24 hours after spinning out of the Fillmore, poster in hand and blazes in my heart! That's right, my little shit-starters - Wednesday's spilling into Thursday, and I'm still racing to find the words for Tuesday! Tuesday night, Aug. 14, to get right to it. For good reason. I mean, this doesn't just happen every day, now, does it? It, of course, being Patti Smith. The Fillmore. Church.

Well, I'll call it church, anyway. What with me being an eye-rolling skeptic-of-everything atheist and all, the sheer unstoppable deliverance of a quasi-orgasmic rock 'n' roll experience is the closest my scripture-wary ass ever comes to ecstasy, and who better to carry me over to the Promised Land for a few hours than the one for whose sins Jesus never died in the first place? Rapture, you say? Rupture, more like it.

Once again, thanks to a much-needed throttling of Mind and Spirit doled out from the righteous grip of a mic and a choke of feedback, I'm torn to pieces, forced to redefine. Ain't nothin' like putting all your tissue back together again while shaking the loose sweat free from the 6-inch square you've been boxed into by all the other bright-eyed believers, the final squalls of "Rock & Roll Nigger" still careening against the usual drone-loop you've assembled for yourself to get through the day-to-day naggings of things. A good shake-up in the bone-frame ain't bad when it's coming to you in fits and sparks from the High Priestess of Hippie-Punk know-how - feel me?

Who did we spy over at the ballpark lot on Saturday: Public Enemy, playing the latest Rock the Bells. Here's just a taste with more images to come.

Hot weather, hotter music. Scott Ian of Anthrax joins Public Enemy. Photo by Ben Hopfer.

Guardian staffer Ben Hopfer caught it all on Saturday, Aug. 18, in SBC Park's parking lot. Hot, hot, hot.

Wu-Tang goes off with a bang. All photos by Ben Hopfer.

Zion I eyes the crowd.

The Roots throw down.

The Coup speaks to the Bay.

Talib Kweli comes on strong.

Rage happens!

Public Enemy teams with Scott Ian of Anthrax.

Lo, Heiro.

Cypress Hill attack.

The crowd out loud.

The Toronto International Film Festival posted their schedule today, and among the docs is something called Heavy Metal in Baghdad -- a behind-the-scenes look at Acrassicauda, "the only Iraqi heavy metal band." (And, I'm guessing, one of few Iraqi bands, period, these days.) Watch the trailer here. As you can see, co-directors Eddy Moretti and Suroosh Alvi (Vice magazine co-founder; the film is produced by mag affiliate VBS.tv) went the distance for the story. Which is, you know, totally metal of them. Before it became a feature, parts of the doc comprised a YouTube series of the same name.

METAL is a universal language!

Listen to clips of Acrassicauda -- according to the band's website, "a Latin term for one of the most dangerous and unique kind of black scorpions [that] lives in the Iraqi deserts" -- here or at their MySpace page.

TIFF is pretty reliable insofar as booking the big music docs that soon make their way to San Francisco -- Metal: A Headbanger's Journey in 2005; American Hardcore in 2006. I'm definitely gonna catch it when I head to the fest in a few weeks...stay tuned.

by Deborah Giattina

Last night I saw Imaad Wasif's latest band Two Part Beast open for Brian Glaze and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at the Fillmore. The trio includes drummer Adam Garcia of Timonium and a really cool bass player named Bob.

During their set, someone yelled out "You have awesome hair!"

I've been watching Imaad thrash around on stage for, gosh, at least 10 years now and I can attest that his hair has always been truly awesome, whether he was playing in Alaska!, New Folk Implosion, or that Cars cover band I saw at a party one night.

And, apparently, his early days playing weird angular-sounding chords in Lowercase, a really intense kind of old-school emo duo with drummer Brian Girgus, has served his songwriting well. The show was passionate, the songs a mixture of beautiful and moody hard rock. Check out some demos on myspace.

Imaad has been touring with the Yeah Yeah Yeahs as a second guitarist since last year. It was my first time seeing the fasttrack-to-fame Brooklyn band at all, and I couldn't take my eyes off of the magnetic Karen O, so don't ask me what everyone else was doing for the rest of the night.

From upon high: Tallis Scholars.

As summer melts into fall, symphonies, singers, and fine classical music purveyors shift into high gear. Contributor Ching Chang delved into a few Philip Glass performances, and offered an array of classical and opera picks in his fall arts preview - here are a few more selections.

More Philip Glass Works

Music for Two Pianos

This benefit concert for the Other Minds festival highlights Dennis Russell Davies and Maki Namekawa in a recital of works for two pianos by Philip Glass and JS Bach, as well as new works by Balduin Sulzer, Chen Yi, and San Francisco composer Adam Fong.

Oct. 11, 8 p.m. (panel discussion 7 p.m.), $20-$50. Herbst Theatre, 401 Van Ness, SF. (415) 934-8134, www.otherminds.org

Synesthesia: Bridging the Senses

San Francisco Conservatory of Music’s BluePrint presents a performance of Philip Glass’s Facades, with projections by local video artist Elliot Anderson.

Oct. 13, 8 p.m. (discussion 7:15 pm.), $15-$20. Concert Hall, SF Conservatory of Music,
50 Oak, SF. (415) 503-6275, www.sfcm.edu

More Classical Music to Look Out For

Strauss's Alpine Symphony

Young Swiss conductor Phillippe Jordan is quickly emerging in Europe as an exciting interpreter of Richard Strauss. For his SF Symphony debut, he leads the Alpine Symphony, a massive tone poem scored for an orchestra of 120 musicians, which the composer uses to capture the epic feel of a journey through the Alps.

Oct. 25, 8 p.m., at Flint Center for the Performing Arts, 21250 Stevens Creek, Cupertino. Oct. 26-27, 8 p.m., at Davies Symphony Hall, 201 Van Ness, SF. $25-$125. (415) 864-6000, www.sfsymphony.org

Tallis Scholars

The finest a cappella ensemble in the world, the Tallis Scholars pay a visit to the Bay Area in their latest US tour, performing renaissance motets by Palestrina, Mouton, and Josquin, and other 15th and 16th century works centered on the Virgin Mary.

Nov. 30, 8 p.m., at First Congregational Church, 2345 Channing, Berk. Dec. 1, 8 p.m., at Grace Cathedral, 1100 California, SF. $48. (510) 642-9988, www.calperfomances.net

Magic time with Bert Jansch. Photo courtesy of bertjansch.com.

By Todd Lavoie

First off, I gotta ask this: have you ever sat in the Swedish American Hall, waiting for a show to begin, sipping your tea (and wishing it was a cup full of glogg, just to get in the spirit of things, y’know) and soaking up all of the woodcarving wizardry of the place, only to find yourself staring up at that pseudo-Masonic crest posted over the stage, wondering what it means? No? Well, I do, dork of dorks that I am.

“Fylgia,” it reads on the top of this oh-so-captivating piece of cryptic craftmanship, and every time I catch a show at the hall, I brood over the significance of the word, telling myself that this will be the night when I go home and look the damn thing up and put the question to rest. Of course, by the time I get home, I’ve forgotten all about it - till the next show, anyway.

But not tonight! No siree, bucko: tonight I wrote it down on my arm and when I got home, I Googled it. Turns out there are a whole bunch of possibilities, but the one I like best is this: Fylgia is, according to Scandinavian mythology, a supernatural creature that accompanies a person. Oftentimes it takes animal form and it may be considered similar to a person’s soul, separate from the body. Makes the unbelievable acoustics of that space take on a whole new weight, eh? Ah, mythology - gods and goddesses and the whole bit. No wonder I love that venue - it’s fucking epic.

Which brings us to Bert Jansch. Talk about epic! Neil Young - no six-string slouch himself - once famously said that Jansch had done for the acoustic guitar what Jimi Hendrix did for the electric, and the man had a serious point there. Sure, I’ve thought so for the longest time - ever since buying his It Don’t Bother Me on a whim back in college just ‘cause I’d heard his band Pentangle was cool and I liked the cover photo with his rumpled “whatever” look, only to undergo a major folk epiphany when I set the needle to the record. Still, watching the seemingly effortless grace with which Jansch spun off into jazz and blues idioms while throwing down some deliciously melancholic folk at Swedish American Hall on Sunday, Aug. 26, I have all the proof I need that Neil once again was right.