For the least two years, the area in front of the Staples Center has been the site of a massive construction project, the behemoth “LA Live” complex. Costing approximately $2.5 billion, the complex is home to the Nokia Theatre, a venue that is described as “mid-size” (though it seats 7,100 people) and is scheduled to host the Emmy awards for at least the next ten years.

Although I’ve got nothing against the music of Joe Cocker, aside from his seeming lack of original material, I wouldn’t consider myself a fan. Even so, I leapt at the chance to see him play at the Nokia; it’s been open for less than a year and I was very curious to see what it was like. I was suitably impressed. The design of the entire theater is very slick and modern, with translucent lobby walls that change color and concession menus that are featured on LCD television screens. On one hand, everything feels a bit corporate and seems like it will be dated in just a few short years, but on the other hand, it’s hard to inhale that new-car smell that permeates the theater and not feel a little bit intoxicated.

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The Police make me thankful The Beatles never had a full-fledged reunion.

It was a strange Sunday evening in the wilds of Holmdel, New Jersey. The PNC Arts Center usually allows patrons onto the property two hours before show time at 6:00 PM, and so I found myself on the Garden State Parkway with Elvis Costello’s Brutal Youth CD on the stereo and thoughts of scoring a sensible parking space bouncing in my brain. Little did I know that, as a courtesy to the weekenders, the venue let people in at 4:00. They dumped me out into the adjacent woods to park! This did not bode well.

I’ll freely admit I was more excited to see Costello and the Impostors and was not disappointed. Mixing older fan favorites like “Pump It Up,” “Every Day I Write The Book,” and the requisite “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love And Understanding” with newer songs like “45″ from When I Was Cruel and “American Gangster Time” from the current and very worthwhile Momofuku album, Costello covered the necessary bases. Performing them with the gusto and spastic fire of a man half his age was wonderful to see, especially after hearing all the rumors that things would be toned down for those tender Jerseyan sensibilities. And just to give the set an extra dash of coolness, Sting came out to duet on “Allison.”

Now, had the evening ended there, I wouldn’t have walked away from this performance completely baffled. It would have been my shortest concert experience, but we all would have felt like we wanted to be in the same room with each other, band included. We’re all aware of the behind-the-scenes tensions purportedly happening in Camp Police. We’re also aware that even back in the early days, Sting commanded the majority of the attention, a position that could quickly irritate, and while hearsay shouldn’t color one’s impressions so early in the game, it was evident when Sting, Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland took the stage that they were plainly irritated.

The PNC Arts Center is a weird venue to start with. It is essentially a large, round coffee table where you and the stage are placed beneath. It is both an indoor and outdoor theater and, at the same time, neither. So there is a tendency to rig the electronics and the mix to accommodate all seats, including the uncovered lawn seats to the far back. The upshot is that the mix tends to be louder than it truly needs, causing all the music to come at you as a bass-heavy muddle. It can be compensated for. A few years back, Megadeth played the main Gigantour stage and the sonics were perfectly fine. An hour earlier, Dream Theater was on and the sound was that of a seal being clubbed (miked from the inside of the seal, no less). The Police, by contrast, were much louder than either of those bands, louder than any other show I’ve seen there this year, and easily the most sonically murky. (more…)

The first time I saw Wolf Parade, they were opening a secret Modest Mouse show at Webster Hall in 2004. I knew nothing about them, but they impressed me just as much as Modest Mouse had. Four years later, they’re still impressive: probably moreso than the band that fostered them into the spotlight.

Terminal 5 didn’t look sold out during the surprisingly loud and crunchy yet mild-mannered rock of fellow Canadians Wintersleep, but by the time Wolf Parade started, it was as packed as a 5pm train with the alcohol levels of the 10pm.

The pack took the stage with nary a word, throwing themselves right into the lead track from their first LP, “You Are A Runner And I Am My Father’s Son,” a rousing nod to their beginnings. The soft-spoken crew kept the talk to a minimum until a couple songs in, when Spencer Krug said in a near whisper, “You guys are really nice. Thank you.”

But the crowd wasn’t that nice, at least not to each other. Even near the back, it was impossible to avoid tall guys pushing up to the front (who knew Wolf Parade is such a dude band?) or drunks shouting song titles over and over (one girl yelled out “Disco Sheets!” every 30 seconds for the last half of the show, apparently a big enough fan to love a song from their first Sub Pop EP, but not enough of a fan to actually listen to the show).

If there’s one thing an overly intoxicated crowd is good for, though, it’s enthusiasm. Even Wolf Parade was taken aback by the appearance of crowd surfers and moshing, at once point politely asking concert-goers to “please be nice to each other,” but quickly adding, “We appreciate the energy.” (more…)

A sizable crowd was already waiting outside the Echo when I arrived at 8:30. One can often forecast how good a show’s going to be based on the enthusiasm of the audience, and having 50 or so fans arrive prior to the doors opening (in the vicinity of Silver Lake, no less) is a very good omen. I spent the first part of my evening as a wallflower, inhaling the secondhand reefer smoke from a group of kids who were impressed that Billy Walsh from Entourage was outside, and gratefully borrowing a cellphone from an older couple who had gotten their tickets via KCRW after mine refused to work (another casualty of the earthquake).

The Echo is a fairly nondescript venue. The walls are black, there’s a few minimalist chandeliers with blue and green-filamented incandescent bulbs, seating is limited to a bench along the wall and stools at the bar. Shows at the Echo tend to be casual affairs, the space on stage is limited and there’s plenty of room for the crowd to spill out to one side, which prevents the area directly in front of the performers from ever getting too crowded.

The opening act was Robert Francis, an artist local to LA whose music seems to be grounded far beyond the boundaries of this metropolis. During his show there was a football perched on the edge of the stage, and the red lights hit one of the unused acoustic guitars standing on stage in a way that was reminiscent of a tequila sunrise. At first he seemed to be the perfect opening act, melodic but not particularly memorable, but after he had meandered through a few lengthy songs, I found myself becoming increasingly attentive, particularly during a performance of “Little Girl” that was just a bit more hard-edged than the version you’ll find on the MySpace page.

Robert Francis - “One By One”

It’s pretty hard to come up with a description that does justice to the stage antics of Tim Fite. He plays with a single companion, the deejay Dr. Leisure, but the well-designed video projection that accompanies his show also includes a version of himself in triplicate singing together as accompaniment. When accompanied by magnificent crayon-drawn animations of sharp-toothed animals, Fite’s songs seem like children’s music — until a pair of cartoon animals named Jo-Jo and Bobby discuss their plans to “stab a motherfucker” while they share a sandwich. (more…)

Live music in a small setting is a wonderful thing, especially when the musicians doing the playing have reached such an accomplished level of musicianship that it makes one wonder — to paraphrase Billy Joel — “What are you doing here?” That was my reaction to seeing the Watson Twins and Tim Fite at Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco. It was a study in contrasts to hear these performers one after the other — and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Fite’s music is not for the casual music fan, and his songs are so much better live than on his CD, Fair Ain’t Fair. His onstage persona is that of a possessed southern preacher who may or may not be “all there.” He can clearly work the crowd, and watching him perform is exhausting — but in a good way.

The Watson Twins let their music speak for itself. They aren’t performance artists (as Fite is), but they don’t have to be. Their music crosses genres like folk, country, and pop, and they’re poised to “cross over” to the mainstream very soon — if the single “How Am I to Be” is any indication.

I put together a video report/review of the show to add a little multimedia enhancement to this Popdose feature. Enjoy!

As you probably know, many members of the Popdose staff are also active in the arts. You probably know about Darren’s album, Dunphy’s album and Scott’s movie, to name just a few projects.. As for me, well, I have no discernible original taste whatsoever — but Mike and I can spin an ’80s song on its ass with acoustic guitars.

So if you’re in the tri-state area and you’re looking for a fun show, come join us every Friday in August as we begin a month-long residency at The Theatre at HA! Comedy Club in Times Square! Details after the jump.

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In New York, baseball is akin to religion. To many New Yorkers, Billy Joel is, too. So it was no surprise when it was announced that Joel would play the last concert at the New York Mets’ Shea Stadium.

And so, the themes of the night were, of course, New York and baseball, and Joel delivered a surprisingly long stream of hits that referenced those very things - “New York State of Mind,” “Zanzibar,” “Big Man on Mulberry Street,” “Miami 2017″ and “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” Many of the songs he played also seemed to contain indirect references, those to tradition, the past, or change, like “Allentown,” with its opening line, “Well we’re living here in Allentown / And they’re closing all the factories down.” To really drive the whole baseball theme home, he opened with the National Anthem, and played “Take Me Out To The Ballgame,” during his encore.

Billy Joel, “Zanzibar” (download)

Joel’s facial expressions were somewhere between distraction, awe and stoicism, but in big screen close-ups, his eyes looked occasionally watery. He didn’t choose to slather the audience in overwhelming sentiment, however, only mentioning how strange it was that he saw the stadium being built only to watch it come down soon, and apologizing to those who bought tickets for the evening assuming that it would be the very last show (the Mets could only offer up Friday as the additional date, he said).

The “Last Play at Shea” — or “Last Double-Play at Shea,” as he jokingly referred to it — makes Joel the first artist to have headlined all three major New York stadiums: Giants’, Yankees’ & Mets. He also brings to a close a trend started by the Beatles, when they opened their ‘65 North American tour at Shea on August 15th; which he nodded to with covers of “It’s A Hard Day’s Night” and “She Loves Me.” That show was the first concert at a major stadium and broke records for attendance and profit, proving that rock ‘n’ roll was a major force. (more…)

When the Fleet Foxes performed at Bowery Ballroom last week, frontman Robin Pecknold had a cold. But unlike a downtrodden, silent Frank Sinatra, the audience might have never known it if no one had told us (either the Dutchess or the Duke — the openers — mentioned it in their stage banter, as did Pecknold himself). Pecknold’s voice was piercing, still at the shining center of the Fleet Foxes’ appeal. But more than anything, the concert proved that there isn’t just one key to what makes the Fleet Foxes so good. It’s the way the different elements combine.

Opening with “Sun Giant,” the mostly a cappella title track of their EP, the Fleet Foxes showcased one of the major things they’ve come to be known for: their vocal harmonies. Hearing them sing, “What a life I lead in the summer / what a life I lead in the spring,” it would have been easy to listen to just their voices all night long. But when they moved right along into “Sun it Rises,” the soft, ethereal folk rock was the perfect match for their lush vocals.

Fleet Foxes, “Sun Giant” (download)

Moving through songs from their full length, Ragged Wood, and the Sun Giant EP, the Fleet Foxes put on the kind of show that other bands, other audiences dream of. By the end of the third song, the audience was bursting into such loud screaming, clapping, rapturous accolade that the band was visibly taken aback. No doubt the soft-spoken Seattlites are used to tamer crowds.

When the other band members stepped back to let Pecknold perform solo, the music was stripped down and the songwriting received its fair share of attention in the form of Ragged Wood closer, “Oliver James.”

Fleet Foxes, “Oliver James” (download)

The band joined for a few more songs, and then Pecknold came out alone again for an encore of “Tiger Mountain Peasant Song.” As he confessed, “I don’t know what I have done / I’m turning myself into a demon,” the only evil that descended was the end of such an ideal performance. (more…)

The stifling heatwave that gripped southern California for a full week blew away just in time for Robert Plant and Alison Krauss to fill L.A.’s Greek Theatre with music and people for two nights early this week. Unfortunately, while the music was quite wonderful, many of the concertgoers at Monday’s gig seemed kinda miffed – or at least nonplussed.

“I’m bored already,” a fiftysomething woman told my wife not four songs into the main attraction. Afterward, a man I’d never seen before sidled up to me and said, “I thought Plant was gonna play more of the old stuff. Didn’t you? I’d heard he was gonna do a solo set at some point.”

Apparently not. In fact, from a quick scouring of Plant-obsessive websites, it appears that Monday’s set was identical to the ones this new dynamic duo have been playing throughout their tour behind the magnificent Raising Sand album. Still, I’d guess that more than half the 5,800 souls who filled the Greek arrived expecting Robert Plant to be, you know, Robert Plant.

On those few occasions when Plant allowed a smidge of the old Zeppelin pomp to sneak into his voice or demeanor, a Pavlovian standing ovation would erupt. Most of the time, however, Plant remained a cool customer, reveling in the Southern-goth rockabilly-bluegrass concoction that he, Krauss, and producer/sideman T Bone Burnett have cooked up for this album and tour. And the plurality of patrons who had driven into L.A.’s Griffith Park expecting an evening of Cock Rock didn’t know what to do with themselves.

It’s a shame, really, because in their ambivalence they may not have noticed what a remarkable show the “Raising Sand revue,” as Plant has labeled it, truly is. Using the album’s riveting blend of R&B, early-rock and gospel covers as a springboard, Plant, Krauss and Burnett retrofitted classics from the Zep catalog (“Black Dog,” “The Battle of Evermore”) as well as a Ray Charles chestnut (“Leave My Woman Alone”) and a couple old-timey hymns. During one centerpiece of the set, Krauss’ always-virtuosic fiddle easily replaced the synths that once washed over Plant’s solo hit “In the Mood”; in mid-song she briefly banished contemporary music altogether to indulge in a couple verses of the 17th-century Child ballad “Mattie Groves.” (more…)

On Tuesday night, clad in a green shirt and gleefully cheering on the Celtics (who I was indoctrinated to support during my childhood in Connecticut) as they humiliated the Lakers, I received a call from a fellow New Englander, my friend Verlaine. She had an extra ticket for Wednesday night’s Rilo Kiley concert, and invited me along. In the past five days I’d endure fourteen hours of driving, a wedding, innumerable hours of other activities, a long afternoon of field work in torrid Northridge, and I was expecting I’d be sleepless until at least 2 a.m. from the nervous energy that I was absorbing from the Boston Garden fans. Exhausted as I was, though, I realized there was simply no way I could say no.

The Greek Theatre in Los Angeles is a beautiful venue. It’s an outdoor amphitheatre nestled into the hills in Griffith Park, literally within walking distance of Tangier, another favorite spot of mine. The setting reminds me a lot of the Hollywood Bowl, although the Greek’s seating capacity of 5700 is about one-third of the former’s size and correspondingly much more intimate. And in contrast to the hemispherical shell of the Hollywood Bowl, the Greek Theatre’s stage is shaped like a Athenian temple; a three walled building with a fourth wall in the shape of a golden rectangle and a triangular roof. The seating slopes up onto a steep east-facing hillside (ideal for summer shows) and is lit by overhead lights perched on towers framed by evergreen trees. (more…)