Boston Calling | Show Review

This past weekend was this year’s Spring Boston Calling Festival. Expanding this year to 2 ½ days of music at City Hall Plaza, there were over 20 bands for people to rock out to. Or awkwardly sway to. Fucking Hipsters. I know they’re all look at me with their fedoras, checkered shorts, and thrift stores blazers somehow coming together in one outfit, but when you’re hanging out together for 8 hours, hey you need something to look at anyway. There was a little rain, temperatures in the lows 60s, and plenty of people-watching to enjoy. I’ve learned that thigh tattoos are in. I’ve also learned that no matter how big they are they still can’t hide the cellulite.  Also, people in Boston are still quite pale, especially in May. Oh, and there was music.

On Friday night, Cass Mccombs, Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros, and Jack Johnson played.  I was unable to attend but a friend that went in my place said it was “pretty good”.  And that’s why you come here for the best music reviews.  Highlights may or may not have included “Home”, the one song everyone there should have known but apparently was not sung by the crowd who didn’t know the words, Jack Johnson bringing random people on stage to play with him, and then in the encore bringing Edward Sharpe and friends on stage to play together, even though, as mentioned, no one knew who the hell they were.  I always think this is one of the coolest moments that bands can do, when all the musicians from the night come out and do a huge jamfest at the end.  I’ve seen multiple bands come out and do this with Van Morrison’s “Caravan” and it still stands out as one of my favorite concert moments not eradicated by heavy drinking.  How was this magical moment on Friday?: “Pretty good”. Hey, you don’t come here for the wild enthusiasm. Or you don’t come here at all (Empty Bottle Evenings everyone, tell all your friends!).

The Neighborhood was the first band I really saw on Saturday. They were about as expected; made you move a little, gave you ample time to determine that their lead singer was probably a d-bag, and kept you occupied long enough until you need to refill your beer.  Jenny Lewis played a set of mainly soon to be released solo tracks and old Rilo Kiley songs, neither of which the crowd seemed to notice. Some in attendance thought she was possibly Jerry Lee Lewis’s granddaughter, and we were all disappointed when she did not cover “Great Balls of Fire” for her imagined Papa.  For playing a pretty decent set, everyone seemed mostly disappointed or at least apathetic, except for two strangers that I saw who were lovingly embracing and singing together because they were Rilo Kiley’s self proclaimed biggest fans. Boston Calling: where alcohol- induced, specific-musical-choice-inspired true love can happen.

Frank Turner was one of Saturday’s highlights, bringing energy and actual crowd participation to the docket.  Songs including “Recovery” and “I Still Believe” got people moving and singing for the majority of his 50 minutes on stage, with the only down note being a sad acoustic song about Gene Simmons sleeping with too many women. When Turner plays sad songs about losing a friend too young (“Long Live the Queen”) I’m moved.  However, myself and everyone at the show were not too broken up about KISS’s search for self–fulfillment, one leathery groupie at a time.

The Head and the Heart were great, I think even if you weren’t a huge fan. I found myself singing and swaying with my girlfriend and two strangers as we belted out “Rivers and Roads”.  We grabbed another stranger and made him sing too, even though he protested that he didn’t know the words. Neither does anyone else here, sing anyway! It was a real lovefest and a great way to end the set. Then we went next door and got a hotel room.  Okay, fine, hotels in Boston are way too expensive. We instead stuck around for a monsoon and the rest of the bands.  As The Decemberists frontman Colin Meloy joked, this was the Pacific Northwest West portion of the festival, with the previous and following bands, hailing from that corner of the US, accompanied by rain that comes as part of the region.  Or at least the stereotype of the region.  The Decemberists played a fairly upbeat set (“July, July!”, “16 Military Wives”, “Calamity Song” to name a few) that made the rain more fun than depressing, although I’m the sure the 6 hours of drinking at this point didn’t hurt either.  Death Cab for Cutie closed out Saturday with a tight set culminating with crowd favorite “The Sound of Settling”.  It’s a sad song lyrically but it has a “Baa Bah” chorus, so now everyone could rejoice and go home with someone they didn’t really love while singing it.  Baa Bah!

I wanted to get there early enough Sunday to see Kurt Vile but the reality of old age had sunk in and my sore (fucking cobblestone) and hungover (not always a good choice, Sam) body took too long to get going again.  Built to Spill played, reminding me that they will always be one of those bands that bands that I like love, but that I have no real use for myself.  Tegan & Sara played well, which about half the crowd really enjoyed.  The other half weren’t hating on the Quinn sisters as much as they were hanging out for the much anticipated Bastille.  Known for the enormous hit “Pompeii”, the crowd had to wait until their last song, and acted as if they were doing just that. Come on people, you paid at least $50 bucks for this ticket, you can’t learn a few more songs from the band that you’re most eager to see? Maybe just clap a little? Bastille are not musical geniuses and I never trust a band that doesn’t have guitar in every song, but damn they play catchy pop music.  If you can’t clap because you’re holding a beer, you could still dance/do hipster version of dance. Well to be fair, everyone did also go crazy for their “Of the Night” cover, combining the early 90s pop songs “Rhythm is a Dancer” and “Rhythm of the Night”. Which begs the questions, how much would people pay to see a festival of early 90s cover songs, and how much more fun would that be?

Brand New brought more life to the stage than should be expected from a band that doesn’t enjoy playing for crowds anymore.  Singer Jessie Lacey sings like a drunk doing 1am karaoke, alternating between wailing off key and screaming at the top off his lungs.  I know this sounds like I’m complaining but I actually really enjoyed their set. They even played a few songs (“Sic Transit Gloria”, “Okay I Believe You But My Tommy Gun Don’t” and “I Will Play My Game Beneath the Spin Light”) from their hugely successful teen angst album, Deja Entendu. This made a lot of people happy, because all the thigh tattoos, retro Nintendo shirts, and new straw hats can’t disguise that everyone there was emo inside.  Finally, Modest Mouse closed out Sunday with arguably (really not arguable) the best performance of the weekend.  They played songs from throughout their catalog and it all sounded better live with different arrangements and additional personnel on stage giving everything a fuller sound. We clapped, we sang, we dance, and we banged our heads to “Dance Hall”, “Paper Thin Walls”, “Tiny Cities Made of Ashes”, and yes, “Float On”.  It was the crowd experience that I was seeking all weekend.  They ended the set with an incredible version of “Satin in a Coffin”, asking “Are you dead or are you sleeping?” Both.  I was spent.

I think most people in attendance would say that they had a good time. There was something for everyone, which is of course the whole draw of the festival concert thing. For me, it’s also the downside, as I’m used to going to small venue shows with only a couple thousand people in the crowd (not over 20,000 like Boston Calling). When you’re used to everyone around you singing along and going nuts to one band that you all love, and you’re instead standing next to someone eating chicken fingers and hearing the band for the first time it’s hard to not get a little bummed out.  Another huge plus/minus to this year’s festival was that instead of having a separate beer garden like last year, where everyone drinking had to stay in a confined area farther away from the stages, this year was open boozing for everyone, everywhere.  Before the show I was relieved.  After the show, I couldn’t help but think if more people were hanging by the concession stands I’d be a lot happier getting close enough to the stage to actually see the bands I wanted to.  But juggling the right amount of listening to music/drinking $7 beers/pissing/judging others on their ridiculous clothing is never easy.  And either way it’s still a lot fun. Well, unless you’re stuck behind a girl on someone’s shoulders. They should be shot.

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Bake

I'm nothing. Maybe less than nothing. I also write.

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