Like much of DeLong’s output, “Happy” is a paradox in and of itself. This is melodic pop EDM that really makes you want to dance yet there lurks a sense of melancholy, not at the edges but deep in the bass and in lyrics like, “I see everything quite clear … I see life outside of time, but I don’t feel it.” DeLong’s version of dance music is far subtler than even your most club-hardened DJ might imagine; to say there are “multiple layers” would be an understatement comparable to saying that three or four months ago there were “a few” Republican candidates running for president. When he’s belting out the refrain “Yeah, we’re gonna die!” in “Basically, I” the music is swelling and any number of loops he’s set in motion are all coming together at one time, and everyone on the floor is dancing ecstatically, certainly not gazing down at their feet in a morose sense of apathy.

Having been at his month-long Monday night residency at Los Globos a couple times, I’d say it’s well worth the effort to catch his live act, and soon. Besides being a solid drummer playing at Modest Mouse levels of complexity, DeLong isn’t that guy sitting in the glow of his laptop. He’s the guy dancing around stage among three laptops, a couple MIDI-interfaces and drum pads, several pedals, a number of mics plugged into different inputs, a couple Wii-remote and Sega controllers, and oh yeah the full drum-kit he rocks out on. This is the music you want to hear when you hit the club, the music people 10+ years younger than me maybe haven’t heard of yet, but will be dancing to in the coming weeks and months.

—Mathew Timmons

Many folks have been following Milagres’ music since its members were prescient zygotes, so hearing the output of this latest incarnation has been especially exciting, because it follows some weird paradigm shifts in their approach to rocking out. The harmony-rich, orchestral quality suggested in previous releases now anchors their sound, which is a way to say, maybe, that they’re having fun up there, and making something pretty without sacrificing gravity or density. It’s never a surprise when a band’s sensibility coheres after years of playing together, but Milagres have gone a step further. They’ve coagulated into something seamless and vital.

The audience experienced some lovely collective vertigo during a reverb-chamber cover of Tom Petty’s adaptation of Alice in Wonderland, a.k.a. Don’t Come Around Here No More, which I’d post here if I could extract video from my brain. What Milagres has done (which only occurred once, I bet, in the brilliantly warped Japanese movie Funky Forest: First Contact) is set to music the precise feeling of sinking into a mossy clearing in the woods at 4 a.m., on purpose. It’s their ability to evoke something so specific that makes me curious to listen in on any future result of their promising evolution.

—Amalia Levari

The Drums

It was a full house at the Echoplex. A large ‘Drums’ banner hung on the stage. The excitement rose before the show even began, as loud new wave sounds bumped on the speakers. People had already set up shop at the front. I took my place and prepared for  fast drum beats and sexy bass.

Superhumanoids featured accompaniment from drummer Darren Weiss, who recently drummed for both Papa and Girls on tour. His drums fit in perfectly with loud guitar, complimentary keys, droned out bass, and solid vocals. The band transitioned perfectly between new wave, pop, and gunge sounds. When Sarah sang, she performed with an effortless voice and touch of her keys simultaneously. This revved up the audience for a night filled with songs we won’t be able to kick out of our heads for weeks.

Superhumanoids

Io Echo sounded like new wave Jefferson Airplane mixed with garage Annie Lennox. They dedicated their Palm Prix famed commercial song “Doorway” to Jonny, and it sounded fantastically loud. Singer Ioanna Gika playfully shook her voice similarly to the way Grace Slick does. Guitarist Leopold Ross is modestly multi-talented, and he has accompanied a shit ton of bands and films musically. Io Echo previously opened for famed acts Florence & the Machine and The Big Pink, and has once again snagged a great gig, touring with the Drums.

Io Echo

The Drums bounced on stage with a wildly passionate crowd shouting for them. I was pleased to hear many tracks off the Drums’ new album, Portamento, and a few hits from Summertime. The new album is much less poppy and happy compared to the first. The songs are unique unto themselves but yet fit in with 80′s bands like New Order and Smiths.—like “Money,” probably the most listened-to song off the new album, which  made the audience jump and sing crazily. I was ecstatic to hear “I Need A Doctor,” a song that describes nearly every relationship with the lyrics, “But you torture me, and you ruin me, I need a doctor, you know I love you, but I wanna kill you.” Singing along passionately to this song is almost therapeutic. The band introduced its next song as one that they hadn’t played in a long time. “I Felt Stupid” reminded us how much the Drums have grown with the new album. It sounded amazing, but it had much less depth and maturity than the new songs from Portamento. The Drums’ sophomore album has been getting harsh press, but the energetic fans filling the Echoplex would back me when I say that the band’s sound has matured, and there are much more keepers on this album rather than just “Let’s Go Surfing.” Jonny appreciated that the audience stayed late on a Tuesday night. The way people screamed for an encore revealed they were far from tired.

—Alyssa Holland (words + photo)

When Shankar carefully stepped to the stage, cane in hand supporting his withered frame, I could sense the eyebrows around the room creeping up toward the ceiling in speculation. Before taking his seat upon a raised rug in the middle of the stage, Shankar joked, wondering if the audience would still recognize him. “I’ve gained some weight” he said, stroking his new fleecy white beard — which actually did look as if it were the heaviest part of his body.

Once that sitar was within his grip, however, worry about his capability as a performer flew out the window as fast as his lightning-speed jhalas up and down the fretboard.

Joined by impressive tabla players Tanmoy Bose and Samir Chatterjee, a second sitarist Parimal Sadaphal, flutist Ravichandra Kulur, and two additional background performers, Shankar started things off with a slow raga, gradually building into a compelling drone. The second raga took an upbeat approach, which gave Shankar the opportunity to brandish his formidable chops with rapid-pulse displays on the sitar. An interlude featuring both tabla players displayed a frenzied and wildly impressive back-and-forth drum and vocal exchange leaving the two, and the audience, breathless. The final raga, lasting an impressive half an hour, featured a dramatically enlivened Shankar. Working his way around the instrument like a man decades his junior, he kicked his feet as he played the buoyant melodies, holding fast to his renown as an incomparable sitar master.

As Shankar took his final bow, a surprise guest took to the stage. With her beaming eyes and enraptured smile, Suki — Shankar’s waggy tailed white maltipoo — exuded the delight we all felt after the performance, a perfect embodiment of the evening.

—Linda Rapka

Teams, aka Sean Bowie, at Check Yo Ponytail, was a tsunami of brilliance. I couldn’t help but splash my feet about to the eclectic textures of his submerged disco trill funk. Teams’ music takes you to a another realm filled with saturated colors and aquatic vibes. I can’t get enough of his sound right now. —Chris Sanchez

400 Blows started out heavily with a devoted crowd. It was hard for me to push to the front for pictures because people wouldn’t budge no matter how much I tapped shoulders and said, “Excuse me.” I had to stoop to their level and shove through. 400 Blows is one of one of the most powerful 3-piece bands. The punk drums mixed with metal guitar and loud screaming vocals makes for music that possesses your bobbing head. The crowd was really digging it when they played “The Beauty Of Internal Darkness” starting and stopping as the song does and adoring Scott Martin’s singing as he used a man in the audience’s head to rest his hand. “The Ugly Are So Beautiful” came on strong, and I was transfixed by Kevin Fitzgerald’s drumming skills. The man next to me screamed out, “Fuck me, man! That’s some sick ass drumming!” To which I couldn’t help but nod and smile.
Backstage with 400 Blows
It was a while before Butthole Surfers finally began to play. The crowd got dense. Since this band has a ton of albums spanning 20 years, they clearly had a lot to play. I hoped to hear a lot from Independent Worm Saloon which I’d have to say is my favorite album of theirs. They truly played an amazing set, with disgusting gory graphics on the screen behind them that fit right in with these guys. They granted my wishes with “Goofy’s Concern” and “Alcohol,” and the audience sang along loudly. When they played “BBQ Pope,” Gibby handed the vocals over to guitarist Paul, and the entire audience shouted along to his screaming. Gibby played his sax with a mess of valves and keys that somehow sounded right. It was radical to watch the audience pump their fists in the air while dancing and singing along, and pushing as hard as they could towards the stage. Gibby sang, “I don’t give a fuck about the CIA, I don’t give a fuck about cashier’s claim” and a whole laundry list of things Gibby doesn’t give a fuck about, in “Goofy’s.” “Alcohol” is self explanatory, and “BBQ” talks about the Pope being shot. As Gibby played around with his voice on his “BHS” Box, he made a so-called “medley” which featured the band’s best known (but often misheard) lyrics: “Tommy played piano like a kid out in the rain, then he lost his leg in Dallas he was dancing with a train, they were all in love with dyin’ they were drinking from a fountain that was pouring like an avalanche, coming down the mountain,” from “Pepper.” Everyone sang along happily. I shook with joy as they broke out playing “Who Was in My Room Last Night?” The guitar on this song made everyone fantasize about being Paul Leary. At this point I forgot about how defensive and psycho the crowd was, and I ‘moshed with them. Sadly, they didn’t play one of their only serious songs, the beautiful “The Wooden Song,” that got me through my middle school break-ups, but they played a great set ranging from their early punk sound to their later experimental sound. The fans left satisfied, with the loud sound of ringing in their ears.

—Alyssa Holland (words + photo)

On September 11th, with the moon high and full in the sky, the lucky three hundred bundled up attendees awaited Fleet Foxes’ arrival, sitting on blankets that dotted the Library lawn. Beyond the twinkling strings of lights, the trees were illuminated from below on their beautiful limbs, and supplemented by a screen backdrop, which transitioned from falling stars to moving geometric shapes in various colors, to mountains silhouetted by a sunrise. The mostly-bearded men stepped up on the tiny, quaint stage. There was whistling, cheering, and clapping. We were all just so excited and it was easy to see that the musicians were as well; they had just been heartily welcomed by the library’s director. The men picked up their instruments and with a few strums and picks from Pecknold’s guitar, the show began. As “The Plains/Bitter Dancer” slowly progressed, we were wrapped up in the flawless harmonies and steady rhythms of percussion. Some in the crowd closed their eyes, others nodded along to the beat.

“English House” inspired some people to get up and dance to the playful, whimsical song, but the majority of the crowd sat and listened, mellow. Between songs the band chatted on stage with their clearly dedicated and loyal fans. The band’s drummer, Josh Tillman, charmed the crowd with his jokes and comments. The show felt personal, as if the band was playing around a campfire or in their own backyard.

With a combination of songs from their newest record, Helplessness Blues, and their first, self-titled album, the set was thoroughly satisfying and the night close to perfect. Everything was copacetic. Just as I had thought years ago, the Henry Miller Library in Big Sur was the perfect places to experience not just live music, but this music.

—Kate Rentz (words + photo)

Fleet Foxes Set List:

The Plains / Bitter Dancer
Mykonos
English House
Battery Kinzie
Bedouin Dress
Sim Sala Bim
Your Protector
White Winter Hymnal
Ragged Wood
Montezuma
He Doesn’t Know Why
Lorelai
The Shrine/An Argument
Blue Spotted Tail
Grown Ocean
ENCORE:
I Let You
Sun It Rises
Blue Ridge Mountains
Helplessness Blues

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After the band kicked off the arena-wide daydream with the brooding minor-key march of “Soldier Of Love,” the crowd was transported back to 1984 by “Your Love Is King’s” roaring, purring saxophone solos and sweet, laidback grooves. Frontwoman and band namesake Sade Adu is a low-key but imposing presence; she possesses the rare ability to establish a sense of intimacy with her audience, yet her mesmerizing vocal chops demand a stadium-sized venue in order to contain their grandeur. During the dramatic “Is It A Crime,” Adu truly inhabited the song’s tortured protagonist, squeezing out every wounded word with equal parts tenderness and force. Pitch-perfect renditions of “Smooth Operator” and “The Sweetest Taboo” provided the audience with the opportunity for some light dancing, which may have been the only type of dancing the largely aging crowd may have been capable of. The band dipped into her 1990s catalog as well, most notably the writhing, bass-heavy “No Ordinary Love,” a song that many must consider one of the sexiest songs of all time. The show featured a variety of visuals, including a tastefully designed light show and a three-sided screen that completely shrouded the band during “Bring Me Home.” The uplifting “Cherish The Day” closed the show, imparting one last word of advice to the satisfied audience. A decade had passed since Sade last toured, and the patience of the faithful was rewarded with an evening that breathed new life into that fantasy that exists only in Sade’s music.

—Amorn Bholsangngam

Sigh’s Smell of Farewell, the Cocteau Twins tribute night at the Smell, was also a night of interesting musical collaborations, as every single performance was an amalgamation of musicians. First up was Life Group, a project featuring co-organizer Scott Cornish, and former member of Veer Right Young Pastor, members of Soft-Boiled Eggies, and current members of Devon Williams’ band. They remained faithful to the original tracks instrumentally, but featured all-male vocals that lent a punkish bent to the tracks. Next was the premiere of QUeUe, a new project with members of VoicesVoices, howardAmb, and dubBUMBA, with guest vocals by Leila Adu of New Zealand. With an array of drum pads, synthesizers and a q-chord, they took immediate ownership of the songs with a very original set. ParallaxTwins, an offshoot of former BlackBlack member Luis Naranjo’s solo project, ParallaxScroll, working alongside former Hello Astronaut Goodby Television bandmate Danielle Elowe was heavy on the industrial end, with a bass heavy performance built around synthesized beats. Magic Johnson returned to LA from Portland for the show, employing their signature male/female counterbalanced vocals. They played a tight and hard-hitting set with the addition of their original bassist, as well as a guest appearance from his current VietNambla bandmate on drums for Wax & Wane off of the Cocteau’s debut album. Upsilon Acrux performed with Tes Elations’ vocalist Barrie Rose. Backed by two drummers, their set was dynamic, powerful, and loud enough to drown out even a semblance of thought, yet Barrie’s vocals remained elevated above everything else, and she best captured the glossolalia effect employed by Elizabeth Fraser. While there were many great performances this evening, their closeout cover of Donimo may have been my favorite. The idea of an Abe Vigoda/Dunes super group on it’s own is tantalizing enough for most people, and given the comparison to Cocteau Twins that Dunes has already drawn, I was looking forward to their interpretations quite a bit. They delivered a high energy, albeit chaotic set which culminated in a dance party led by Kate Hall of Dunes to Iceblink Luck. Much like the Crass tribute at The Smell several months prior, the night was a beautiful way for a community of musicians to celebrate their mutual love of a common influence.

—Walt! Gorecki

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1. It should be dark out. The Strangegloves put it best with their lyric “The night time, is the right time.”
2. The venue should be enjoyable. This is determined by a complex algorithm involving many factors including a venue’s: size, shape, sound, decor, and rules (or preferably a lack thereof).

So when I heard that the cancellation of Sunset Junction resulted in the Growlers scheduling a FREE Amoeba show at 5pm, as well as a second show at the DIY art space NOMAD Gallery at midnight, I was happier than a Catholic priest in an unsupervised playground. The Amoeba show alone would have been a welcome substitution for the festival set. The Nomad show was just icing on the cake and an extra special treat for longtime fans that miss the days of the Growlers at warehouses and dive bars. It’s been over a year since the Growlers played a DIY space in the L.A. area, and the Nomad Gallery was a choice pick.

This Frogtown venue is tucked away in a residential area, behind large fortress walls. Upon entering, one might notice a fire pit in one corner, porta potties in another, a wrestling ring and a bar—all before reaching the interior gallery. It feels like the front yard of an abandoned hacienda that’s been taken over by an eccentric punk rocker. Inside the gallery, high ceilings and psychedelic projections fluttering across the wall behind the stage created an expanding effect to the modestly sized rectangular room. I walked in during the tail end of the Abigails set and unfortunately only caught a couple numbers from singer, Warren Thomas’ (Grand Elegance, Growlers) newest project. The old school country vibe got the kids a-shakin’ as he snarled, “All my friends are alcoholics and I am too.” Next up was Tomorrow’s Tulips and (I know what you’re gonna say, but…) I swear to god they sounded spot on like the Velvet Underground. From the back of the gallery, the stripped down drum sound and the singer’s dead pan Lou Reed voice, combined with the psychedelic images projected high above the band felt as though I was at the Factory in 1968 (who’s got the Amil Nitrates?).

As the Growlers set up their equipment, the audience grew, packed with the typically diverse Growlers’ crowd: hipsters, hippies, punks, greasers, geeks and norms in an even ratio of boys to girls. Singer Brooks Nielsen apologized for the unusually long set up time and promised a show worth the wait. It was. They opened with ‘Tijuana,’ as if to warm up the audience, and nothing could have been more perfect. Bodies gyrated slowly as the voices attached to them sung along, “Take me to the city of wasted dreams where there’s little boys with M16.” The Growlers continued rolling out hit after hit and revamped versions of familiar songs (i.e. an uptempo Wet Dreams) proving that they are continuously evolving as all around incredible musicians. Temperatures rose and bodies flew through the air as people began rushing the stage. At some point the fourth row became the first, and couples all the while danced and made out. After an hour the Growlers finished their epic set and an insatiable audience demanded an encore. The Growlers obliged.

All told, the night was a wild ride on an alternate universe path that never would have happened had the city not called bullshit on the obvious game of Three Card Monty being played by the organizers of the Sunset Junction Festival. For this, and the rampant community spirit spawned by the impromptu shows that the festival’s cancellation facilitated, I think we owe the Los Angeles Board of Public Works a thank you letter and a firm hand shake. Well played!

—Vanessa Gonzalez