Vampire Weekend Played Madison Square Garden with Angélique Kidjo and Despot, 9/6/19

Ezra Koenig dressed for Vampire Weekend's MSG show.

Modern Vampires of the City

I've been a big fan of Vampire Weekend since their 2008, self-titled debut. Their twee-ish, intelligent pop and sense of humor sit right in my wheelhouse. With the release of this year's Father of the Bride, the band embarked on a new direction -- understandable, following the departure of founding member, composer, and multi-instrumentalist Rostam Batmanglij. Vampire Weekend became fully Ezra Koenig's band, and he took them down roads they hadn't explored before, like 70s AM Radio country rock, jammy interludes, and lyrically direct songwriting. To me anyway, the result is Vampire Weekend's fourth straight classic record; and I was looking forward to the opportunity to finally, after a decade of fandom, catch them live.

The bonus here was that, a few years ago, I loaded CoolDaughter 1's iPod Touch up with the first three Vampire Weekend albums; and she grew into sort of a super fan herself. The plan for this show was for her and CoolMom to accompany me. I went through Ticketmaster's "Verified Fan" process and got us general admission floor spots for Madison Square Garden. As the day got closer, my initial excitement started to turn to stress as I thought about the very distinct possibility that we'd get stuck standing at the rear of the floor, unable to see, and with no seats.

[Note: I toyed with the idea of requesting photo credentials for the show; but I figured, rather than work and be separated from my wife and daughter, I'd just hang with them and enjoy the show. I'd love the opportunity to shoot Vampire Weekend one day; but, this time, I just settled for some shots from the crowd with the Sony RX100 mark IV.]

I picked CD1 up from her second day of school, and we drove straight to the train with plans for a 4:30 arrival into the city. I cajoled CoolMom into leaving work early to meet us, and she obliged. Other than some people who had managed to figure out that you could show up earlier in the day to secure a wristband guaranteeing your place in line, we were some of the first GA ticket holders to arrive. The amazingly polite and friendly MSG security team seated us, in order, in the Hulu Theater, so we wouldn't have to wait in the rain, and marched us into the venue at about 5:30. By the time all of this was said and done, CoolMom, CD1, and I were just one row of people off the barricade at frigging Madison Square Garden. It reminded me of the Bruce Springsteen concert CD1 and I attended back in 2012. We were in for a long night. Despot, the opener, was set to hit at 6:30; and Vampire Weekend have been playing 2+ hour sets for the whole tour. I chose to ignore the pain I was already feeling in my nearly-fifty-year-old feet and ankles, and I decided not to think about how much worse it would be by the end of the night.

Queens rapper Despot kicked of the show backed by DJ / producer E.Vax and a sextet of inflatable tube-person dancers. Despot was one of the original hosts of Ezra Koenig's Beats 1 Radio Show, Time Crisis. He's also been part of the NYC hip hop scene since the 'aughties. He reminded the crowd that he never, ever releases music; and, so, what we got was the rare opportunity to hear any of his stuff. He closed with his one and only officially released single, "House of Bricks;" and a few in the crowd around us rapped along.

Despot

Despot

Next up was Angélique Kidjo. Born in Benin, Kidjo is an international star who bridges African, Latin, R&B, funk, and jazz through her work. Her set featured all of that including a cover of Talking Heads' "Once in a Lifetime" and a march through a singing MSG crowd during "Afrika." When Kidjo announced her final song of the evening, there were screams for more.

Angélique Kidjo

Angélique Kidjo

Vampire Weekend hit at about 8:35 and launched into what may have been their longest-ever single set in front of their largest-ever crowd. They opened with "Bambina" from Father of the Bride and then set off on a set that included almost everything I could have asked for like "White Sky," "M79," "Step," "Diplomat's Son (with a little "Pressure Drop" interlude)," "Hannah Hunt," and audience requests "Ottoman," "Obvious Bicycle (+ a little "Son of a Preacher Man")," and "Run." I would've liked to have heard "Giving up the Gun," but that's just being greedy. CoolDaughter 1 enthusiastically bopped and sang along with all of her favorites and handed me her phone so that I could shoot a snippet of "Step" over the heads of the people in front of us for her.

Vampire Weekend

Vampire Weekend

Vampire Weekend

Songs like "2021" and "Big Blue" got jammy, extended treatments with guitarist Brian Robert Jones displaying some amazing virtuosity. Multi-instrumentalist Greta Morgan took center stage to perform Danielle Haim's vocal part on "Hold You Now," while Ezra played to the crowd in the rear. Bassist Chris Baio, in his NY Rangers t-shirt, bopped as enthusiastically as always; and drummer Chris "CT" Tomson was a force on the drum set. The band also employed a second drummer / percussionist and a few sets of keys.

Vampire Weekend

Vampire Weekend

All of the people in the seats, as well as most of the people on the floor (not us for some reason), received wristbands that automagically glowed different colors during different parts of the show (blue during "Big Blue," red for the lyric "The Lobster's Claw is sharp as knives..." during "Walcott"). It made for a pretty striking sight when you scanned the sold-out arena.

In a first, Steve Lacy joined Vampire Weekend on stage. They joined forces for a cover of Lacy's own "Dark Red" followed by an extended and hard rocking version of "Sunflower." Angélique Kidjo came back out to help with set-closer "Jerusalem, New York, Berlin."

Those requests I mentioned were part of the encore. That encore also featured a huge confetti blast along with giant bouncing, inflatable globes that skipped along the crowd during "Walcott."

Confetti

"Walcott"

Vampire Weekend ft. fan who requested "Ottoman" (in IKEA bucket hat)

The set lasted somewhere around 2 hours and 50 minutes. I was in pain from standing for 6 or so hours. So were CoolMom and CD1. But it was one of the best live show experiences I've had in a long time, made super-special by having (most of) the coolfamily along with me. As we walked towards the exits, CD1 leaned on me and said, "You're the coolest dad ever." I gave myself the CoolDad moniker as kind of a self-deprecating joke when I started this thing, but I feel like she may have really meant it; and it felt great.

The rest of the snapshots are up in the Flickr gallery.

I Saw Bob Mould, Ted Leo, and The Thermals and Barely Took Any Pictures, 4/28 - 4/29/16

Well, I Took a Few

Two nights in a row. Two straight nights, I headed into New York for shows without even bringing my "real camera." For the first time in a while, I went back to the roots of CoolDad Music and attended shows purely as a fan with an eye toward maybe writing about them and maybe not. Now, I couldn't go two straight nights taking absolutely no pictures; and of course I was gonna write something, especially since the whole experience felt so good on so many levels.

On Thursday, Gentleman Jim and I headed to Bushwick's Market Hotel to catch the second of two New York-area shows this week by The Thermals. Joining the Portland, Oregon band on that bill were Philadelphia's Amanda X and Thermals' tourmates, Summer Cannibals. I took no pictures.

It was pretty weird for a while there. Market Hotel is right next to -- I mean right next to -- the subway (or el train in Bushwick, I guess), and the trains pass right by outside a big window. There's a window onto the platform right behind the stage, and it makes for some dramatic images. I saw so many pictures I wanted to take. Summer Cannibals' lead singer, Jessica Boudreaux, silhouetted against that back window. Thermals' frontman, Hutch Harris, staring into a green stage light as he sang. There were a couple of photographers up front using flash; and, almost every time I muttered, "take the shot" under my breath, I'd see a burst of light.

I mentioned all this to Jim, a sound man, and he said, "We've made our fun our jobs. Kind of the opposite of 'do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life.'" And I guess that's true to an extent for me. Taking pictures at shows has really become part of the way I experience them; but it was almost as fun to say, "There's one. Oooh. There's another one," while not being weighted down with gear. It also gave me the opportunity to watch a show without fighting for a clear sight line to the band that was appropriate for the focal length of my lens.

And it was a great show to watch without all those concerns. Amanda X won me over about two songs into their set. Summer Cannibals were noisy and psych-rocky, Boudreaux a real personality on vocals and guitar. The Thermals just blew me away, focusing heavily on songs from The Body, The Blood, The Machine, which has its 10th anniversary this year, and their latest album, We Disappear. Boudreaux joined the band on guitar helping to fill out some of the album arrangements that would be difficult to play as a trio, and the crowd went berserk from the first chord.

As we drove home, I relished that feeling of having just attended -- not having necessarily just "covered" -- a show I really loved.

On Friday, Bob Mould played Webster Hall with Ted Leo. The last two times that Mould came through the area, I fully planned to have CoolMom join me. She is a fan of the highest order. As is often the case, however, circumstances made that impossible. Twice. This time, it all worked out. CoolMom finally had her date with Mr. Mould, and all would be right with the world.

It was an early show, and we took our places along the railing just after 7pm. No photo pass this time. No Sony mirrorless camera. I did bring my Lumix LX7, the camera I used for pictures here for the first year or year and a half of the blog. It's a point and shoot, so I never get hassled about bringing it into venues. We were standing first row, stage right.

With CoolMom's encouragement, I snapped a few pics during Ted Leo's opening solo set; but, for the most part, I just watched and listened as Leo charmed as he always does. He played a mix of old songs like "Me and Mia" and "Timorous Me" and new, unreleased material.

When Mould and his band, which absolutely slays and includes Jason Narducy on bass and Jon Wurster on drums, took the stage and rattled off a pair of songs from Sugar's Copper Blue ("A Good Idea," "Changes") followed by the big "hits" from Mould's latest records ("The End of Things," "The Descent," "I Don't Know You Anymore") without a pause in between, I could feel the warmth emanating from CoolMom right next to me. The band were taking no prisoners and squeezing as much as possible out of the early set.

I couldn't resist taking a few pics. Bob Mould was positioned stage left -- about as far from us as he could be -- which made me feel a little less compelled to go crazy shooting-wise, and my camera spent a good portion of the show sitting idle in my hands or in my back pocket.

By the time we got to the Hüsker Du portion of the evening, CoolMom was smiling from ear to ear; and I was letting the sonic wave wash over me. After "Hardly Getting Over It," she looked at me and said, "I always loved that song."

I screamed along with Jon Wurster, who handled frontman duties while Ted Leo played drums, on a cover of The Ramones' "Beat on the Brat" during the encore; and the whole place sang along with closer, "Makes No Sense At All."

The show ended by 10. As we walked to the car, CoolMom said to me, "When he opened with all those songs, I almost started crying." I've felt that way many times, but it's always great to be reminded how great it feels, how utterly transforming it can be, to lose yourself at a show. For me, it feels even better than nailing a perfect shot.

The shots I did take of both Bob Mould and Ted Leo are in the galleries.

Lou Reed (1942-2013)

New York

I was going to write something about how much I love – and I do – The Velvet Underground. I was going to write about their influence on bands like R.E.M., Big Star, The Feelies, Yo La Tengo, The Strokes, Titus Andronicus… oh, and everybody else. I was going to write about hearing The Velvet Underground and Nico and trying to imagine what people hearing that record in 1967 must have thought of the sound and subject matter. But, for me, when I think of Lou Reed, I think of his finest solo record, New York.

My girlfriend’s dad turned to me at a party – I feel like, maybe, it was some type of birthday celebration for my girlfriend’s grandfather or something. “Did you hear that new Lou Reed song ‘Dirty Blvd.?’”

“No. Not yet.”

“’Give me your hungry, your tired, your poor. I’ll piss on ‘em. That’s what the Statue of Bigotry says.’ You’ve gotta hear it.”

This was 1989, so I imagine that I just had to keep my ears peeled for the song to show up on WNEW or something. It wasn’t like I could go to YouTube and watch the video. I must have heard the song soon after, because New York was with me for the rest of my time at NYU. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say, that for the next 3 years, I listened to that record a couple of times a week.

New York opens with “Romeo Had Juliette,” the opening guitars of Mike Rathke and Reed setting the scene for the anger and the grit that’s to come over the next 57 minutes. Reed (“The Original Wrapper”) talk-sings his way through a song full of moments that, when I listen to it now, I wait for with an excitement that hasn’t faded over the years:

“Romeo Rodriguez squares his shoulders and curses Jesus. Runs a comb through his black pony tail.”

“And her voice was like a bell!”

“I’ll betcha I could hit that light with my one good arm behind my back, says Little Joey Diaz.”

“Manhattan’s sinkin like a rock into the filthy Hudson. What a shock. They wrote a book about it. They said it was like ancient Rome.”

I was at NYU at the time, living first at Washington Square, then Union Square, then Third Avenue at St. Mark’s Place. When I hear those lyrics, any of the lyrics on the album really, I think back to my experience in New York in the late 80s – early 90s. Not always things specifically related to the songs, necessarily -- just images and moments, like those words, that have lodged themselves in my brain:

• There was a girl in one of my classes. I don’t remember her name. We became friends. She told me her dad was from Croatia; and, as a 19-year-old kid, I didn’t know where that was. We went to see a Brecht play together – In the Jungle of Cities, maybe. Then she was gone. I think she left school.


• My roommate and I had an unlimited membership at Kim’s Video on St. Mark’s. I watched every weird, independent movie they had there. I loved Hal Hartley’s Trust. When Adrienne Shelley was murdered a few years ago, I actually cried.


• We all used to go drinking at places like Holiday, The International, Mars Bar, 7B, Sophie’s. I’m pretty sure I was underage most of that time. Nobody ever asked for my ID.


• When you were looking for an apartment, you’d go wait at the newspaper box in front of the Astor Riviera Café, so that you could get the Voice as soon as it came out on Tuesday night and get a jump on the listings.


• Ed Koch and David Dinkins were the mayors.

“Halloween Parade” is quieter, sadder. There are a lot of people missing from the parade in the song.

“In the back of my mind, I was afraid it might be true. In the back of my mind, I was afraid that they meant you.”

For a kid from the Jersey ‘burbs, that parade was a sight to see. I loved it, but I was only a spectator, an outsider. On that song, Reed makes us all insiders and you can feel the sadness and the fear that were big parts of New York at the time.

On songs like “Beginning of a Great Adventure” (“redneck lunatics… …with their tribe of mutant inbred piglets with cloven hooves,” “I’ll be as progressive as I can possibly be, as long as I don’t have to try too much”), “The Last Great American Whale” (“Americans don’t care for much of anything, land and water the least.”), and “Strawman” (The baseball fan in me always liked to believe that the “Strawman” of the title was some kind of reference to the Mets’ Darryl Strawberry as a symbol of the excesses listed in the song.), Reed is critical of both the right and the left, each of whom sat in their own wing of a really nice house looking down on the little people. That rich/poor divide – yuppies, “gentrification” – was also a big part of the atmosphere of 80s and 90s New York.

I was always kind of scared of Lou Reed, like, if I met him, I’d be afraid that I would say the wrong thing and he’d just dismiss me as the idiot I was. New York reinforced that image of Lou Reed for me, and that just made him cooler to me. And the record, musically, just sounds cool. It probably started the third or fourth or whatever garage rock revival and gave us bands like The Strokes who tried to imitate Lou’s cool, but didn’t truly have it flowing through their veins like he did.

This was a ramble, I know. But I love New York. I love Lou Reed. And I love New York. CoolMom came home from the grocery store yesterday and found me with a whiskey in my hand and tears in my eyes.

I told MomVee once that I view my life as one long radio show or rock concert with songs or albums representing specific moments. For me, Lou Reed and New York will always represent the time I spent not only living in New York City, but also growing from a kid to an adult and finding out who I was.

Lou’s next album, Magic & Loss, didn’t speak to me in the same way as New York. Maybe that’s because it was so personal for Lou. But I always enjoyed the song “What’s Good.”

“Life’s like a mayonnaise soda. And Life’s like a space without room. And Life’s like bacon and ice cream. That’s what life’s like without you.”