The Wang Theatre in Boston is an impressive place, with its vast lobby and impossibly high orchestra sections (there are three people). It has staged plays, musicals, opera singers and probably a few world-famous drunken rock stars.

All of this makes the appearance of Lisa Hannigan all the more magical. We wrote about her this past February on the strength of her song “Lillie” and the accompanying video that came with it. For a while, her track live on my iPod as the random track on my Nite playlist and the one my friends would inevitably ask “Hey, who is this?”

To see her play live in such a massive venue and opening for David Gray brought with it a strange sense of satisfaction and pride, as if anyone who had heard of her prior to this moment was with her on stage, singing to a massive audience who were all thinking the same thing: “Hey, who is this?”

It was a nice precursor to David Gray, the Englishman who launched a thousand relationships with his songs of love, friendship and snow falling…slowly.

Almost immediately into his set, you could see the couples in the audience convene and embrace. I suspect most of them, like myself, have a personal memory attached to one of his songs.

Despite his punkish roots, Gray has emerged as the go-to guy whenever couples need something to wake up or fall asleep to together in bed on a rainy Sunday afternoon. These are songs that are simple and have a way of being realistic cinematic, in the sense that hearing them in a certain place and time can create a musical postcard people hold onto forever.

And though you may not understand how the two ugly people in front of you are caressing each other in public, you can appreciate it because, in this place and time, it truly is a beautiful thing to see love in its rarest and unbridled form.

For me, Gray will always remind me of the night my future wife and I connected, not as former lovers-turned friends-back to lovers again. This was two incredibly horny people who took out their frustrations on each other on a rainy Friday night with Gray playing in the background.

I’ve been listening to an album this weekend and I know it doesn’t do the musicians who are on it justice. This is usually the case with a recording of a live performance, but there’s something different with this album.

For one thing, the entire thing is free.

The album comes from a documentary by Bob Moczydlowsky, which features 72 musicians either performing or talking about life on the road. While I haven’t seen the film yet (it’s at some festivals at the moment), I can appreciate the music, at least from a fan’s perspective.

Lesser-known bands are usually given the opening slot at big venues and play to smallish crowds at popular clubs. Either way, it’s always a constant battle between fan and band. The musicians have to make a connection and the fan has to pay enough attention (between the sips of PBR and thinking about the hot hipster in the crowd) to get turned on by the music.

And when it happens, it’s beautiful. An aural orgasm that forces the music fan to run into the night to find more about the band to remedy their new addiction. And when they score, it’s never as good as that first time when they are witnessing the band on a sweaty stage playing the middle set of a long show.

That’s why, though this album is engaging, it doesn’t truly capture the feeling of being there or quite show how these bands carried themselves during the night.

What it does do is remind me why I love going to shows in the first place, for the potential of experiencing that aural orgasm and witness something only a handful of people will.

That’s what this album is to me: a manifesto about the love of music in all genres. The album will take you through a journey of genres, offering surprises and nuggets along the way.

Sure, you may not like all the bands since the music will go through alternative indie (The Life and Times) to hipster poetic (Sal Retta) to melt-your-face-off rock (Coalesce).

And while this is a good way to get introduced to new music (remember, it’s free), the purpose of the project, I suspect, is for people to remember why they brave the weather, pay for overpriced beer an stand in crowded rooms with strangers: it’s about finding that new high and overdosing on it later.

Here’s a little taste to get your appetite going.

The Appleseed Cast – On Reflection

Tracklisting for album

1. Que Sera, Sera – The Life And Times

2. Scatter Baby Spiders – Ad Astra Per Aspera

3. Fuego – Olympic Size

4. My Life After Death, Parts I & II – Roman Numerals

5. Don’t Call It A Ghetto – The Architects

6. We’re Just Temporary Ma’am – White Whale

7. Ice Machine – The Stella Link

8. The Handless Man – In The Pines

9. Pills – Sal Retta

10. Lesser Fates – Namelessnumberheadman

11. On Reflection – The Appleseed Cast

12. What Happens On The Road Always Comes Home – Coalesce

We were on our way to play our first show in Brooklyn, NY. Not knowing where the exact location of the venue was a bit of a problem, but thankfully with the power of modern technology…we found our way!

Once we got to the venue, we set everything up, and waiting till we got called to the stage. At the time that the first performer went on, the place was pretty much empty. But, as we went on..the place started filling up. We all took a quick breath and debuted our new song in front of everyone. Not knowing how they would react to our new song..they loved it! It was possibly one of the greatest feelings to ever experience!

The rest of the show went by smoothly & we were getting some really good vibes from the crowd. By the end of our set, people got really into it, which was great! haha. After we finished our set, the president of this website (gimmesound.com) came up to us and told us that we have a bright future ahead of us. That really made the night special, haha. Overall, it had to be one of the best shows we’ve played in a while!

The Twees

The Twees – Full Circle

Tonight’s show is an interesting mix of discomfort and excitement. We are supporting a band, whose audience is unlikely to have heard of us, and maybe they just won’t care; but it’s in our home town, which means dotted through the crowd of strangers are friends and family who know how we sound, how we act, and whether or not we’re faking it. So if we’re about to go down with the ship, people we know and love are going to witness it.

Turning up early for sound check people are already lined up at the door, a sign of the dedication of the fan’s of the headline act. There’s some tension as the sound crew have run out of time for our sound check, and we scramble onto the stage for a quick line check before the doors open. When they do, the Governor Hindmarsh fills to capacity. It’s edgy backstage – there are going to be seven of us on the stage for some of the set, and we don’t know the mixer. We’ve played in this room before though, it’s the most famous live music venue in town, and we are hoping we’ll go down well tonight.

We walk onto the stage and there is a hush in the crowd as we pick up our instruments and make sure everything is in place. The Gov has a raised, semicircle stage so the audience surrounds the band, quietly peering up at us as we take our place. It’s very quiet given that there are a thousand people in the room. I look down at the people in the front row, and they look back at me. They’re smiling, encouragingly. Maybe they can sense my discomfort. We start with the opening song from our new album, and immediately I know we’re not going to sink. I see a young girl turn to her boyfriend and nod, then start to subtly move to the music. Straight into the second song and I can feel the tension on stage start to dissipate as we all have the realisation that they are listening, and they are reacting, and it’s a good reaction. The lights prevent me from being able to see very far into the audience, but as each song ends the noise from the audience tells us that they’re warming to us, as though with each song one row further back has begun to listen.

That feeling on stage: a collective realisation, a shift from tension to excitement, when we are playing and it’s sounding good – This is the reason I do it. I’ll always love playing our own shows to our own fans, seeing people sing along and cheer when they recognise a song they know, but a gig where you can sense a big crowd of strangers warm to you song by song – it’s a buzz.

By the time we finish I am flushed and hot and in need of a beer. I wander through the crowd looking for familiar faces and am greeted by lots of strangers smiling and giving their thanks. It’s a funny thing getting up and doing the only thing I’ve ever loved doing and having people thank me for it. It seems a little back to front.

-Briohny Campbell, cello/keys

Special Patrol – In Between You and Me

First, I like how the guy is grabbing his crotch in this picture.

Special Patrol came into my life randomly through the email with the song “Right On.” With the childlike opening chorus and the rolling lyrics that follow, the song had me replying back furiously for more information on this band. Since then, the group’s music has done nothing but grown on me.

I’m told the song is off their third album, titled “A Stranger’s Dozen,” and has been gaining traction in the Australian music scene. Why they haven’t cracked into the States is beyond me. All the elements are there for hipsters to salivate over: a pop sounding tune, an ambiguous music video with a creepy set of kids and a chorus that uses a phrase from the 70s.

Oh, and having a hot cellist in the band doesn’t hurt either.

I’m always attracted to music that initially sounds good and then offers a deeper level of appreciation once you get around to the lyrics. Special Patrol falls in that category. Unfortunately for us, they are not touring in the States anytime soon.

As for “Right On,” I still don’t know what it means, but I can’t get it out of my head (which strangely enough could have been one of the lyrics).

Special Patrol – Right On

Current Tour

Sep 25 2009 8:00P The Gov, with The Whitlam’s Adelaide, South Australia

Sep 26 2009 8:00P The Gov, with The Whitlam’s Adelaide, South Australia

Oct 2 2009 8:00P Jive Adelaide, South Australia

Oct 10 2009 8:00P The X and Y Bar Brisbane, Queensland

Oct 24 2009 8:00P The John Curtain Room Melbourne, Victoria

Nov 6 2009 8:00P Fowlers Live Adelaide, South Australia

It’s rare on this site for us to lead with a YouTube video, but there’s something special that translates with Kram’s “Good Love.”

Kram, which I’m assuming is both the name of the band and the bearded dude singing, has a Zach Galifianakis quality to it, provided that Galifianakis got married and had a child.

Good Love is just about that, a man who loves his wife and little boy, and the only way he can express those feelings is through a rock song he apparently wrote while in a cab.

In his own words, via the PR:

“My girl, my little boy and me. It’s our life. Wrote the song in a cab on the way to the studio. 4 hours later it was finished. Full on and a little bit fucked up. My best guitar solo. Mix Tape is a luv and rock n roll record, and I made ‘Good Love’ because that says it all:  just me and my girl Ree and our little boy Lonnie. Pretty simple… but awesome.”

And it is awesome. I would add this to your summer jams playlist immediately.

Oh, why is it awesome? I have not idea. I can only tell you that there is something pure about a man playing a rock song about his family and then incorporating said family into his video.

Maybe it’s because I’m on the cusp of getting married myself, but I kind of see this as Family 2.0. In this age of file sharing networks, it seems people are learning to share other things in their life. And that’s the kind of family everyone really wants. Screw the picket fence. It’s about sharing Good Love.

2 April, 2009 Northcote Social Club (18+) Northcote, VIC Sold Out

3 April, 2009 The Annandale Hotel (18+) Sydney, NSW Sold Out

5 April, 2009 Moonee Valley Youth Festival Melbourne, VIC Sold Out

25 April, 2009 Luna Park Big Top (w/ Eagles Of Death Metal) Sydney, NSW Sold Out

26 April, 2009 The Palace Theatre (w/ Eagles Of Death Metal) Melbourne, VIC Sold Out

2 May, 2009 The Sand Tavern Maroochydore, QLD Sold Out

3 May, 2009 Caxton St Festival Brisbane, QLD Sold Out

5 June, 2009 Newcastle University Newscastle, NSW Sold Out

6 June, 2009 Woodport Inn Newscastle, NSW Sold Out

7 June, 2009 Come Together Festival (Luna Park) Sydney, NSW Sold Out

21 JuNE, 2009 The Community Cup (Elsternwick Park) Melbourne, VIC Sold Out

3 July, 2009 Pelly Bar Frankston, VIC Sold Out

4 July, 2009 Ferntree Gully Hotel Melbourne, VIC Sold Out

9 July, 2009 Quiksilver Instore – George St – 10PM Sydney, NSW Sold Out

9 July, 2009 UncharTED – Oxford Art Factory – 6PM Sydney, NSW Sold Out

11 July, 2009 Quiksilver Instore – Manly Sydney, NSW Sold Out

12 July, 2009 Quiksilver Instore – SDS – Bondi Sydney, NSW Sold Out

17 July, 2009 Quiksilver Instore – Bourke St – 6PM Melbourne, VIC Sold Out

26 July, 2009 Splendour In The Grass Byron Bay, NSW Sold Out

21 August, 2009 (Kr)Amplifier Perth, WA Buy Tickets

22 August, 2009 Prince Of Wales Bunbury, WA Buy Tickets

23 August, 2009 Mojos Bar Freemantle, WA Buy Tickets

28 August, 2009 Brisbane Hotel Hobart, TAS To Be Announced

29 August, 2009 Hotel New York Launceston, TAS To Be Announced

4 September, 2009 Ding Dong Lounge Melbourne, VIC To Be Announced

10 September, 2009 Heritage Hotel Wollongong, NSW To Be Announced

11 September, 2009 Spectrum Sydney, NSW To Be Announced

12 September, 2009 Bimbadgen Blues, Roots, Funk n’ Grooves Festival Huneter Valley, NSW Buy Tickets

A little over a month ago I got an email telling me about the Wisconsin band The Nod and their “quirky single.”  Then I saw the title was about frustrating the shit out of someone and it immediately had me intrigued, probably because it was either going to be hilarious or silly. While it is both those things, it’s also catchy as hell.

Summer singles should be lighthearted affairs, just like hookups during the warmer months of the year. A song that embodies that element of fun and has lyrics like “She turned her back/said grow a pair” is a winner in my book.

But the thing this song does the best is talk about a failed relationship with a pop-infused tune and how sometimes it’s funny to talk about one’s assholish moments, assuming you can laugh about it later.

So listen to “Frustrating,” and then after drunk dial that person you screwed over that time and have a good laugh.

The Nod – “Frustrating (The Shit Out of You)”

Aug 27 2009 9:00P The Frequency – CD release show Madison, Wisconsin

Sep 4 2009 1:00P WSUM’s Snake on the Lake – Union Terrace Madison, Wisconsin

Nov 6 2009 9:00P Club Tavern Middleton, Wisconsin

Jim Morrison once said that he wanted his music to be a gateway between the natural and the transcendent. He, like many artists throughout history, believed that humans could use something natural and manmade (art) to experience some sort of connection or interaction with the divine. Morrison obviously met an untimely end and I’m not sure if he ever succeeded in his goal, but I think that if he did, it would have been in the area of live music. There’s something about experiencing a live performance (especially the kind Jim put on) that makes you wonder if he wasn’t on to something, that there could be an element of music that takes you to a supernatural place, even just for a second. I won’t tell you what I think about all that, but I will say that there is definitely a connection that can be made through musical performance, and it is a human connection. The best shows have been the ones where I as a spectator have somehow connected with the performer; with the music they are playing, the words they are speaking, or even just the general spirit of their performance. Why would people even still go to shows if this weren’t a possibility?

In Auld Lang Syne we have often talked about how playing live can feel like climbing a mountain or running a marathon. I haven’t actually run a marathon and I can’t compare these things from personal experience, but there is an energy and urgency that has to be focused and kept up from start to finish in a live performance, and I’ve never played a good show where I haven’t been exhausted at the finish line. This might be because I haven’t mastered my instrument yet and I’m still at the point where I feel like I have to wrestle with it just to get the right notes out in the midst of all the distractions that come with playing live. But I think it’s more that we as performers owe it to the songs we sing to give a hell of a performance, no matter how the audience is responding. Besides, the rowdiest crowds we have played for have generally also been the most intoxicated, while a seemingly colder reception could come from a crowd who is actually listening and taking some meaning from the songs. Personally, I like a good mix of both.

When I was asked to write about memorable moment from a live show, a kaleidoscope of different memories came to mind, ranging from the humorous to the embarrassing to the profound. Like playing to 4 people in a gay bar in St. Louis, where a girl loudly announced that it was her birthday and we threw together a ramshackle cover of The Beatles song “Birthday.” Or the time our first bass player Timmy got caught up in the moment of an intense song and put his bass guitar through the head of a drum I was playing. Or the honor of getting to open for the Avett Brothers in places like New York’s Fillmore theatre or Ashville’s The Orange Peel. Or the time in Chapel Hill when I tripped and fell off the stage after jumping around a little too much.

These are all things that make a live show a completely new and unique experience every time. But if there was one moment I could go back to and experience again, it would be this:

At the beginning of May we released our album and put on a show in our hometown of Rochester at a club called the Bug Jar. It’s a venue that I’ve probably spent too much of my life in, growing up and going to shows as often as I could, and then being in bands and playing there myself. But on this night it was packed full of a good mix of friends, family, and strangers. The moment I remember was toward the end of our set. As we’re about to play our song Autumn’s Epitaph, Timothy forgoes the usual “1,2,3″ countoff and kick in, and steps back from the mic. “Please don’t let me whore this life!” He sings this refrain from the song. It’s a simple line, but it sums up what we’re trying to do with Auld Lang Syne. Myself and the rest of the band join in and we’re singing it together now. No instruments, no microphones, just 4 guys and a gal shouting out this chorus, this mission statement to what we do. During the course of this impromptu intro I remember wondering why we haven’t always started the song this way. And then I realize that we’re not the only ones singing. The sound of our 5 voices has been joined and overtaken by what sounds like the entire room singing along with us. As I look out over the room I see the faces of people I’ve never even seen before, eyes closed, singing/shouting as if their lives depended on it. Every voice in the room seems to join together as one, “Please don’t let me whore this life — Please don’t let me, Jesus Christ.” It’s a line that I want to wake up thinking about as I start each day. It’s not just a lyric to me, but words that I want to live by longer after my body has grown too old to play rock and roll. We sing it again, louder, stronger. I’m singing to myself, to the rest of the room, to something outside the walls of this club, and I think everyone else is too. After the third time through a capella Timothy finally gives the signal to kick the instruments and start the song. We play the song, finish the set, go home to bed, wake up to our day jobs and families and go on living.

As a musician, you want people to enjoy the music, but also take some truth or meaning from the words. To have that group of people join with us in singing on that night at that particular show was, for me, one of those transcendent connection moments between the performer and the crowd. And there’s nowhere else that sort of thing could happen but in a sweaty rock club like that. I guess that’s why we keep doing this music thing, show after show, city after city. The most meaningful moments of a person’s life are those he can somehow share with someone else, and it’s no different as a musician. We’ll keep playing shows, and the crowds will keep showing up, and hopefully the two will connect somehow every time we get on stage.

Joe Bushen, bass player

Auld Lany Syne – Rusty Prayer

Though it was still cool for a Boston summer evening, the sun had managed to poke through around midday, creating a positive atmosphere with smiles and flip-fopped feet lining the street. In many ways, it was the perfect prelude to a Matisyahu concert, the Hasidic Jew with a penchant for reggae beats and hopeful lyrics.

As I changed out of workday clothes into concert gear in my girl’s car, the faint sound of a “Ohhhhh” floated through the air, telling us the punctual Bank of America Pavilion had suddenly come to life.

“Do you think my car will be towed? It’s ok in that spot, right?” she asked as we walked, the sound getting louder.
“Yea, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Truthfully, I wasn’t that sure, but at that point it was too late. Like the sun poking through rainclouds at noon, there’s a strange sense of contentment and happiness that hits you during a Matisyahu concert. Maybe it’s the ambiguous religiosity of the shows. Or maybe it’s the strong scent of weed in the air.

We walked in as he was performing “Jerusalem” and as I paid my $10 beer (at least it was Samuel Adams) and headed to my seat, I began to look around at the crowd.

There was a mix, from some loners to my left to the bald-headed dad in front of me who looked like he was there with his entire family.  There was also a girl further down my row with her arms crossed, possibly wondering why she picked the hippie over the jock as her boyfriend at that party that one time.

Pretty soon, the music started to pick up causing everyone to do the same kind of dance, a sort of backward march thing, but in place (It’s the kind of natural movement that immediate comes when hearing reggae. Put some on now and see).

And then the DMB jam session began.

It’s a term my better half and I made up and it refers to an extended section of a song where everything slows down and suddenly it turns into a different song that is slow and sounds nothing like the initial song you were listening to.

This happened. A lot. At one point it was just Matisyahu singing “waaaahhhhhhoooooooooohhhhhh” into the mic for what seemed like 10 minutes.

It’s not that it was bad. Quite the opposite. But it was relaxing and as the shoulders began to slump downward, some in the crowd began to look tired (bald dad sat down and crossed his legs, the ultimate sign of “I need rest now”).

It got to the point when I started to ask why other songs weren’t being played like “Youth” or “Indestructible.” Inevitably “King Without a Crown” was played and I feared it was the end of the set. Thankfully, it wasn’t.

The show ended with his new single “One Day,” a Top 40-radio ready song that will be in numerous Summer 09 iPod playlists once it gets more airplay.

At this moment, life crept back into the crowd. The loners started to smile at strangers. Bald dad uncrossed his legs and held his wife. Even angry girlfriend started to sway and nod her head.

Granted, it’s an undeniably catchy song, but as we left with the chorus still ringing in my ears, I realized the basic message of staying positive for a better tomorrow is probably what gets people. And in the end, that’s the essence of religion and music. One guy just decided to take the best of both and grow a beard.

[Below is a video of some pictures with "One Day" playing. It's admittedly horrible. But I like to think it will mark a new project for 52shows, the video/pic documentation of a show. Just need to sneak in a better camera.]

[vimeo 5518046]

For a moment, Michael Jackson’s dream of world unity was realized with people of all ages, races and gender blasting his music out in the streets. Unfortunately, it came at the price of his pre-mature death at the age of 50 from what the media is saying was from a cardiac arrest.

As I walked away from the day job and toward a Boston bar to watch the news on CNN, sounds of “Dirty Diana,” “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough” and “Black or White” penetrated the air, creating a strange sort of aural pop music soup that seemed to inspire smiles, followed by the inevitable single tear in the corner of various eyes.

In the bar, people appeared to be visibly shocked at the news and soon Blackberries were out to log on to Twitter feeds to comment about the latest news or speculation.

Michael Jackson was dead…and the world didn’t know how to react.

Eventually, people found a way, either through blasting the Ultimate Collection album they had on their iPod, which they hadn’t listened to in years, or by talking about their favorite songs.

As for me, it’s strange to say, but Jackson’s death felt like a personal loss. Thriller was the first real album my sister and I got as kids. We had the choice between Billy Joel and Michael Jackson (essentially it was a choice between the songs “Uptown Girl” or “Thriller.” I often wonder how my life would have panned out had I grew up singing “…she’s just living in her white bread world”).

But even that young age, my sister and I knew there was something special about Jackson and soon enough, like every kid in America at the time, we were imitating the dance moves as best we could. Today, those same dance moves can make you the most popular on the dance floor whenever a Jackson song is played.

A lot changed for the pop star since Thriller and not all of it was positive. From the legal troubles and strange behavior, Michael has never truly gotten a break from the media despite his unquestionable contribution to the world of music.

As I did back then, I’m choosing the music over anything else and will strut down a sidewalk every time I hear Billie Jean. Thanks to Michael, I will forever choose the music and the chance to dance…because those fleeting moments are ones of unity, freedom and tranquility. And it’s rare to experience any one of those emotions on their own, let alone at the same time.