This month, reviews of Ampline in Huntington; Blondie, Dirtbombs in Detroit; Arthur Lee and Love, Stew in Detroit; Evan Anthem, Audible Campaign, Matthew in Huntington; Triangle, Beachwood Sparks, the Shins in Detroit

Ampline Mooney's, Huntington, WV July 27, 2002 Ampline doesn't have a vocalist, and they don't need one. They play thoughtful, mesmerizing indie rock that weaves interesting fibers together into a vibrant, enveloping blanket of sound. The typically tiny Huntington crowd didn't seem to discourage this band or make them slack off. They played with enthusiasm and power. A thoroughly enjoyable set, if a bit too short. They told me they played every song they know, that they've been too busy touring to write new material, but that that is going to change soon. I hope so. It ended too soon for me and I'm eager to hear more of what they can create. Jen Grover

That's not beer in that pitcher, folks- the roof was leaking.

Blondie/Dirtbombs
DTE Energy Music Theatre
July 16, 2002

I got a free ticket to see Blondie, but admit I went to see the Dirtbombs play Pine Knob, the former, pre-corporate name of the big Detroit-area shed theater. It's now DTE Energy Music Theatre, a mouthful: most people around here still stumble over the first couple of syllables, then blurt "Pine Knob". It's the kind of place people used to go to see Skynyrd, go shirtless and lift their lighters high. It used to be the biggest outdoor amphitheatre in the US, back when dinosaur rock roamed the earth. Now it's sponsored by the electric company, serves espresso, and there's no smoking in the corporate pavilion seats, let alone a lighter. In short, it's kind of a yawn, and draws a lot of near-oldies acts on package tours, a category which could plausibly include Blondie, tonight's headliner.

Everybody who's ever been in a band in Detroit was loafing on the lawn. Either the Dirtbombs had a very long guestlist, or there were a lot of free tickets floating around. You had your Paybacks, your Outrageous Cherries, your Witches and your ubiquitous White Stripes, plus the usual array of DJs, girlfriends, and hangers-on: a big contingent of no-accounts who all might be Big in England, if you believe the NME. If you live in Detroit, though, they're still the same old freeloaders looking for a good time on the cheap.

Mick Collins is wearing a black patent vinyl jacket, very rock star. The largest room I've seen Mick play previously was as big as the ladies' bathroom in this joint. The NME loves the Dirtbombs. The locals could care less. With two drummers, two bass players, and an impeccable Dee-troit garage pedigree nobody but the hipsters really knows what to make of them. Band types applaud, everyone else heads for the bar. Still, the Dirtbombs sling their raggedy-ass r'n'r with abandon, in such a way that maybe you think they might be as big in England as they're making out, should be bigger here if there were any justice, and you have to hand it to Blondie for having them up there.

Blondie takes the stage. Yes, Debbie Harry looks good. It's wretchedly humid but she has those ice goddess cheekbones and is in a white miniskirt and vest, so she looks practically sub-zero. They play "Dreaming." She's in good voice, the band is tight. I never was a huge Blondie fan; they were maybe too pop. Live, though, they have teeth I never suspected. Clem Burke is wearing a warm-up jacket while playing like a dervish, not breaking a sweat. Chris Stein plays elegantly, with fingerpicks. They play "Maria," their recent, pretty hit that shows off Debbie's still-impressive range. They play several selections from their new album that are good, but lack the distinction of the hits. The nostalgia-minded crowd fidgets. They play "One Way Or Another" and everybody jumps around.

Then, surprisingly, Blondie launch into a set of their CBGB comrades' covers: Richard Hell's "Love Comes In Spurts," Ramones' "Havana Affair," Television's "See No Evil," none punk 'hits' but every one pivotal. They perplex a good chunk of the audience, who are probably here to hear "Rapture," yet they're played fiercely, as if to say "this was OUR 70s, if you were wondering," songs for broke band kids in New York with nothing better to do. Considering they could have played five more Blondie hits, it was a pleasure to hear a band so generously and enthusiastically acknowledging their peers.

Blondie did, of course, play plenty of hits. "Heart of Glass," "Call Me," "Hanging on the Telephone," among others. Everybody went away happy, but didn't end up sated on sentimentality. This wasn't a nostalgia act. A middle-aged woman three rows in front of us is aggressively manicured and drinking two margaritas at once. She knows "Rapture" and… "Rapture." But she's dancing to every song like it was her prom theme, even "Love Comes in Spurts," baptizing her sloshed mates with tequila. Up and around the lawn there are people who look like they work in auto plants, at tattoo parlors, at ad agencies, or are lucky to find work at all. You could play "Name that Subculture:" Goths and ravers, punks and glossy rich kids. Seems like everybody has a small soft spot for Blondie. Everybody sought and found some small rapture.
Julie Jurrjens

Arthur Lee and Love/Stew
Magic Stick, Detroit
August 3, 2002

Arthur Lee. Arthur Freakin Lee!! Arthur Lee brought his latest incarnation of Love to Detroit's Magic Stick on August 3rd. Any marketing man would be pulling his hair out trying to come up with a demographic on the crowd at this show. An equal mix of 50 year olds reliving the old days, as well as snotty punk kids, and more hipsters than you could shake a dead hep-cat at. Arthur was most definitely on. Passion, soul, energy, vitality. He just sounded right. Every song sounded much like the 35+ year old album track, or in many cases better. You could close your eyes and imagine yourself in 1967 L.A. at the Whisky-a-gogo licking Mickey Mouse stamps and hearing colors. Baby Lemonade from LA more than ably filled the shoes of the original Love. I wanted not for the original members. The lead guitar player, Mike Randall, had such soul and fire that I found myself several times during his solos with my head back, eyes closed, just swimming in bliss. Very talented indeed! The set list included 2 songs from the 1st Love album, "Little Red Book" and "Signed DC," the entire first side of Da Capo, pretty much all of Forever Changes and a couple from Love Four Sail. Arthur had that crowd in the palm of his hand for almost two hours. Every song got, and deserved, a thunder and roar from the audience. Rightly deserved praise for a legendary musical super-genius. Definitely the show of the year. Stew opened the show. Let me tell you, he is one talented songwriter. The sound was kinda like the White Stripes, only with less whining and squealing. His writing has a hint of Syd Barrett. Somewhere in an alternate universe, where talent and originality are rewarded, Stew is filling stadiums and selling a million records, while bands like NSYNC are beaten to death as an abomination to all mankind. review and graphic-Weirdly Gruesome

Evan Anthem/Audible Campaign/Matthew
Mooney's, Huntington, WV
August 9, 2002

Evan Anthem, minus their lamps, made a surprise appearance as the first band. They were in town recording and asked if they could get on the bill. The club owner allowed them only four songs, but they made the most of it. The energy levels with which they performed rivaled those that many bands only reach late in their sets.

Evan Anthem

Next up were Audible Campaign, continuing the high energy indie rocking. Danny Nicoletto turned in a strong vocal performance and the crowd, much larger than on their last visit to Huntington, seemed to really enjoy it. Audible Campaign

upstaged by downed pants?

Headliners Matthew could easily rename themselves We've Got an Electro-Harmonix Deluxe Memory Man and We're Gonna Use It, as this effects box figures heavily in the modeling of their guitar sounds, and the guitars figure heavily in the overall sound of the band. Matthew is based in Chicago, but features two Huntington natives, frontman Brian McSweeney , formerly of Seven Day Jesus, and drummer Matt Sumpter, and it was obvious this band was who the audience had really come to see. At times their sound reminded me of Sunny Day Real Estate, the vocals more emotive and nuanced, the music pulling in more pop elements than the opening bands, the overall sound more expansive in nature. The openers made for a very good build to Matthew, who spun an engaging mood and put on a good, solid performance despite a couple of illnesses. Guitarist Jason Sipe played his pants off-- almost literally! His grey boxer-briefs stayed put, but his jeans kept sliding down to dangers lows while he played. Cinch that belt up a bit tighter, Jason. We were so busy watching your pants sometimes it distracted us from the music. [Download their single at http://www.matthewmusic.com] Jen Grover

Triangle, Beachwood Sparks, the Shins
Magic Stick, Detroit
July 27, 2002

My handsome and charming date has bought me a beer. He's my hero. Beer is pretty much the only salvation in this foul room. It's 900 degrees, packed to the gills with indie kids and they're all breathing too hard. The beer, pressed to my neck, brings it down to about 875. Triangle are playing annoyingly sensitive indie-rock. Is it emo? Don't know, don't care. There are three of them. One kid with black glasses, one girl who doesn't eat enough and a drummer. Like Pentangle had five people, Triangle has three. Retch or yawn, I can't decide. The indie kids, who continue to breathe, like them, so it keeps getting warmer.

I'm holding out for Beachwood Sparks and hopefully, the Shins, if I don't melt in the wicked heat. Beachwood Sparks were ace when I last say them, opening for the Lilys on a brief West Coast tour. They were crisp and cosmic, channeling the Byrds and Burritos. Lately, they've been touring with the Black Crowes, and frankly, I hate 45 minute jams and the smell of patchouli, so I was rather concerned about their direction. Turns out I had a right to be. They started out with "Drinkswater" and several other selections from their new EP, "Make the Cowboy Robots Cry." It's a lovely make-out record for stoners: soft, pretty, and trippy: arty country-psych. If you like Grandaddy or Gram Parsons, you should probably own it. They played it well, but the songs are so amorphous and Chris Gunst's voice so frail they don't register in a club full of chatter. To make matters worse, the sound was wretched and the band avoided most of their earlier, more overtly country-oriented material, steering clear of up tempo tunes that would have broken the set up and made it more comprehensible. Still, these guys are a brilliant band under the right circumstances; given a chance, they really shine. These weren't the circumstances, though.

The Shins sound exactly like their record. As much as I like their record, we're all ready to pass out and make it through three songs before feeling compelled to make for the door. Based on the little I saw, though, I would suggest you see them if they are playing in your neighborhood… so long as it's air-conditioned.
Julie Jurrjens