Alright, I'm gonna come out and say it: Sleeper Agent is hot.  They've recently released their first kick-ass album, Celebrasion, they just played Coachella, they're in the middle of touring their sweet Kentucky faces off, and, thanks to the band's ruthless energy, they make it seem pretty effortless.  Now that that's out, I have another confession: I am (still) in love with Ben Kweller.  Since his first solo album Sha Sha came out 10 years ago (what?) to the recent release of his new album, Go Fly a Kite, it's been pretty much nonstop adoration, and I am happy to report that is in fact still awesome and gorgeously talented.

Sleeper Agent and Ben Kweller made a great combination of acts.  Both bands have the ability to swing sweetly between minor-chorded, messy, loud garage tunes and major-chorded, earnest pop songs--all while somehow maintaining a single, cohesive musical identity.  Seeing this concert made me appreciate the unique fluidity that these bands have, and I can only assume the quality is a reflection of the artists' open minds, laid back personalities, and insatiable curiosity.

Okay. The Sleeper Agent set. Here we go.  They begin their chaotic explosion of a performance with "Love Blood." Already, since I last saw them play in September at the Bootleg Theater, they are more adjusted to the spotlight and take a more commanding presence of the stage.  They have matured. Their next song is "Force a Smile."  The crowd is dancing a lot--this is unusual, in my experience, for Los Angeles.  Lead singer Alex Kandel addresses this later, pleasantly surprised that her band's energy is translating to stuffy hipsters. The music is not much different from the record, except that it is live and deafening and the bass thumps in your skin and the minute changes or errors or whatever in the songs you love make it alive and that much better.  I believe German idealist philosopher and cultural critic Walter Benjamin refers to this as the "Aura." It's that undeniable energy that comes with an original-- something not mechanically reproduced--like seeing the Mona Lisa in person.  Anyways.

The next song is "Proper Taste." While the afro-headed Scott Garner lays kindergarten keys over punky guitar riffs, I take delight in their lack of commercial image. In my head I realize how godawfully prentious this is, but I continue regardless, thinking how about much I like that they're not wearing matching clothes and that they don't have some grand theme to their performance. (Still interior monologue) But, neither does Ben Kweller. Or a lot of bands. Portugal. the Man doesn't. White Denim doesn't. Ok but they are all awesome. Who does? The Killers. They all wore skinny ties at one point. Florence and the Machine has that whole haute hippie thing going. But I love the Killers. And Florence. This is stupid. I have arrived at no conclusion other than this is fresh and pure and I am in a great moment which, although it's not, seems devoid of all political and economic motive. Back to the music.

The band cranks out "Shuga Cane" and a cover of the xx's "VCRs."  I love "VCRs." When is the xx coming out with a new album? I need to Google this. Damn, this is a cool take on this song.  It's like the xx for people doing cocaine.  Can you imagine someone on cocaine listening to the xx album? Hilarious. This is more like it.  Alex is going all Yeah Yeah Yeahs all over this track and I love it.  I think how a band covers a song is a good measure of that band.  Sleeper Agent flung their grit all over this track like Jackson Pollock on a blank canvas.

"Psst...Tony...we're so hot right now..."

On the inevitable crowd favorite, "Get It Daddy."  I am slightly sick of this song from too much mix cd action and radio play, however, that glorious Aura steps in and breathes new life into this song until I am giddy as a damn schoolgirl beneath its filthy presence. They play "Some White Blinds" (definitely a standout on Celebrasion). Imagine that bassline TIMES A ZILLION. That rollicking riff in the chorus? TIMES A GAJILLION. This is deep. They immediately switch into sentimental pop mode for "That's My Baby."

It is now that I scribble my third "Alex is f***ing awesome" note to myself, and I decide, in a Joycean epiphany, that Alex is the Katniss Everdeen of music (sorry I'm not sorry). YES. She is the strong and independent female lead who holds her own amidst the masses of grungy, menacing (a convenient mental construction) males who dominate the music scene.  She is not sexed up. She garners attraction based on her electric grit, her unwavering strength, and her confident humility. She guides co-vocalist/guitarist Tony onstage like Katness guides Peeta throughout The Hunger Games narrative. Her ability to rock out with the best parallels Katniss' ability to wield weapons and kick ass.  But, both Alex and Katniss don't strive to prove themselves powerful via masculine-identified actions (rocking out and using weapons); rather, they show that those abilities are cool and all, but, so what?  It's that delicious nonchalance that makes both these girls so magnetic.  Anyways, enough with my feminist digression.

They play "Get Burned," in which the band reaffirms that this is the perfect blend of garage and pop--just enough garage to feel totally underground and cool, and just enough pop to dance like a freak. They play "Bottomed Out" and finish big with "Be My Monster." Alex summons the crowd to the front to share the last song's "Aye-eee-aye-ee-ah-ah-ah-ahs" with her while Gardner rim-shots the crap out of a solo snare drum he has brought on stage.  Every member of the band is drenched in sweat as the curtain closes.

Ben Kweller (far right) and his band

(NOTE: I will not write as much about Ben as I did about Sleeper Agent, seeing as Ben is a) not exactly a "new band" and b) he cannot be accurately summated in any amount of words.)

After a brief set change and sound check, Ben Kweller takes the stage.  He looks like a cherubic Shaun White with his floppy red curls and swollen cheeks.  He plays songs from his new album Go Fly A Kite (released February 7, 2012 and following 2009's Changing Horses) and he plays old songs such as "Sundress," "Wasted and Ready," "Commerce, TX," and "On My Way."  He sits before a piano to play a tear-jerking rendition of "Thirteen" and I note this mentally as a big moment in my short life.

On stage and in person, Ben exudes the most honest charm you have ever seen, and his brightly colored love for music has not faded over his 19 plus years of being in the business.  He, like Sleeper Agent, is a musical pendulum, swinging from blaring power riffs to rainy, tragic keys to folky acoustic strums.

By the time he finishes his encore with an extended, spastic version of "Penny on the Train Track," it is clear that in whatever style he chooses, Ben injects a bright naivete, despite his musical wisdom.  This is important. It is how he and his songs remain alive after man years. His eyes never close and his mind never settles and, because of this, his love never dies. And, because of this, neither does mine.

Thursday night, the Troubadour had a killer lineup of L.A. Locals: Kid is Qual and thatwasthen co-headlined, introduced by Acidic and Bikelock.  The crowd consisted of a lot of music veterans and industry people, mainly because Kid is Qual and Bikelock are offshoots of the band Jack's Mannequin.  This also meant that Jack's Mannequin lead singer Andrew McMahon was there supporting his freinds and bandmates (fun fact: he played piano on thatwasthen's "Sunlight"), which in turn meant that I was beyond excited to be there.

On Friday night, I was treated to a night of youthful energy, served up by the contagiously vivacious punk quartet from Oakland, CA: Emily's Army.  This group of kids--seriously, they're still in high school--lit up The Roxy in Los Angeles and outshined the bright, colored lights beneath which they performed.

Walking in to the dark venue, I was immediately struck with color and energy, despite it being only partially filled.  I was also instantly aware of the age and vibe of the crowd: about 13-16 years old (mostly girls); dressed in pajamas or bright animal prints or Hot Topic brands; hair frizzy from straightenings and dyed with blue and green and red streaks; eyes heavily lined with an inky black.  Despite the attempted "ruggedness" of their look and the almost adorable efforts at moshing, the girls were screaming through it all like ribboned Bettys at a Beatles concert.

Now, where most of the time this crowd would annoy the life out of me, I found myself just as enthusiastic as Emily's Army's army of scene girls.  I almost envied their blissfully ignorant devotion and pure adoration, and I found myself quickly (and somewhat creepily) falling in love with the four spitfires on stage.

Beyond the surrounding fans, I managed to focus on the group and their musical abilities.  The group, made up of brothers Cole and Max Becker, Travis Neumann, and Joey Armstrong rocked. They could play the hell out of their instruments, and are very creative as shown in their songs and song structures.  They were loud, fast, and confident; had catchy melodies and riffs and an effortless cohesion.  This resulted in a maturity of sound and performance, which was unbelievable--almost hilarious--to see coming from four hairless baby faces who's first full length is titled Don't Be A Dick.

Emily's Army by Adeline Records

Overall, this was one of the more fun concerts I have attended in some time.  Emily's Army not only plays a killer show, driven by upbeat and carefree yet technical and well-practiced punk rock, they make you feel young again in the best possible way.  I laughed and danced and headbanged and woo-ed. I left inspired, blissfully unaware of papers due or bills to be paid, into the cool night hanging above a world run by vibrant youth.

All photos (c) Clair Gallagher

Driving to the Bootleg Theater last night, I was yawning the whole way there.  School had just started, and I had spent the past two hours reading Shakespeare (seriously…).  I was in serious need of a pick me up, and, fortunately, that's exactly what I got.

Walking into the old warehouse venue I could already feel and hear the distorted screams of rock music. Inside wood framework, brick walls, and industrial accents I laid my eyes upon Sleeper Agent--a precocious, wickedly rowdy, unkempt, and entirely electric sextet--running the stage.   Though the crowd was small, it was somewhat enthusiastic despite the band's newness to the area.  Sleeper Agent hails from Bowling Green, Kentucky (guitarist/singer Tony "Tutone" Smith's pin on his guitar strap read I [Heart] BG, and the heart was the state of Kentucky…I think…).  This was their first time playing Los Angeles, and I can guarantee the acquired a few new fans.

Their wild energy and youthful flair showed not only in their performance but in their music.  It's like five genres in one: sometimes it's bluesy, sometimes punchy, sometimes true rock, sometimes pop rock.  They're like a pissed off version of the Thrills with Karen O vocals.  They're like if Neko Case got taken over by some divine Julian-Casablanc-ian spell while listening to Liz Phair and The Ramones.  Besides lead singer Alex "Kidd" Kandel's vocals being a great addition to the band's sound, she's entertaining as hell to watch perform.  She has a careless poison to her, a piercing gaze, and a jagged sensitivity and fragility.

Beyond her, each band member has a distinct personality (a rarity these days, it seems): Drummer Justin "Keyser" Wilson was sharp tongued and aloof; bassist Lee "Grizzlee" Williams embraced his vagabond vibe while thumping out groovy, crystal clear baselines; guitarist Josh "Junior" Martin threw himself around the stage dramatically as if performing some musical exorcism; afro-headed synth/keyboardist Scott "Saga" Gardner was entranced by his instrument--until he wasn't--when suddenly he'd fly his nest and run around wildly beating a handheld drum like an animal; and finally, aforementioned lead singer/guitarist Smith filled the spot in the band as dreamboat, what with his sideswept hair, cute plaid shirt, and roughed up but still sensitive vocals (swoon).

Sleeper Agent celebrated the release of their first full-length album, Celebrasion, by playing tracks such as "Get Burned" and "Get It Daddy".  Their music is upbeat, loud, punchy, and fun, speak plainly.  They're not whiny, not overly pensive or depressed; they're tongue and cheek, but not condescending. The kids are talented, the bass is strong, the rhythms are fast and gripping, and the hooks run for days.  The members of Sleeper Agent are as kick ass individually as they are when combined to form a rock n' roll force to be reckoned with.

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Proper Taste by Sleeper Agent

Bardot--a Los Angeles club tucked into Hollywood's dense layout--is swanky.  Swanky like an old-school mansion with dark weaving hallways, swanky like tentatively walking in on some exclusive party, unsure of where you belong.  Old friends met and chatted holding colorful drinks in dim light, surrounding me as I squeezed onto brocaded couches. People old and young congregated beneath intricate Grecian moldings and a tented, breezy ceiling to watch blue-bathed musicians perform.

Duniven kicked off the night with a decent set. The six (sometimes seven with a guest vocalist) members of the band squeezed onto the tiny stage.  Despite so many musicians and layers and instruments, their sound was simplistic and unvaried. The baselines were the best sonic element, but it was hard to focus on the good qualities with so much going on.  The drummer played one beat the entire set, featuring a painful bullet of a snare hit on every. single. quarter. note of every, single song.  There was a convincing jam session or two, which gave me moments of hope; the vocals were sweet and rough in that lovely folky way; lead singer/guitarist/harmonica-ist/band namesake Duniven was a killer harmonica player, and the songs with that curious instrument were my favorites from their set.  I personally would've preferred Duniven as a duo with Duniven on lead acoustic, vocals, harmonica, and Dan Komin on bass--done.  No need for the childish keys, the seated percussionist with a maraca in one hand and a Stella in the other, or those stale, lifeless drum beats.

The next band on stage was Races, and they were quick to inject some much needed life and musicianship into the night.  If I may gush for a little, the moment they took the stage they had a beautiful presence: one of fun and excitement yet somehow humbled and unassuming.  They were electric in the blue light, and won over my heart like no band I've never heard of has done before. (Did that make sense?)  It has been a long time since I've been genuinely impressed by the demeanor, musicianship, and presentation of a brand new band--they formed in fall 2009, have released one 7-inch, and will release their first full length later this year through Frenchkiss Records--and Races did just that.

As for their music, it was a delightful drizzle of much needed musical variation.  Duniven, take note: even though Races had six members on stage, each was a vital and contributing part of the band; each instrument was distinct and audible, and the resulting sound was cohesive and euphonic.  I quickly developed a girl crush on tambourine shaking, single snare slapping frontwoman Devon Lee--she won me over easily with an infectious charisma, a simple dress, and a heavenly voice.  Alongside her stood straight-faced and characteristically mysterious frontman Wade Ryff, busy spilling out his dulcet, Jim James voice.  They were backed by a careful band: drummer Lucas Ventura, who, when you weren't lured by the expanse of chest hair escaping from his deep v-neck, could be spotted making the silliest of faces while expertly exploring his drumset's range of volumes; pixie-haired keyboardist/vocalist Breanna Wood; ginger-headed bassist/synth-player Oliver Hild switched between serving tasty baseline and rocking the moog; and Garth Herberg strumming the guitar in his own happy world.

This past Saturday night, I saw thatwasthen and The Hush take on the Troubadour again.  I arrived to venue under the impression that The Hush was taking the stage after thatwasthen, but as I walked in The Hush’s lead singer, Jazmine Giovanni, was winding down the set.  However, the two songs that I did catch were easily enough to remind me of the sheer power behind this band.  They have perfected the mainstream power-pop-rock feel, with all the killer vocals, guitar solos, and head-banging drum fills a concert-goer could ask for. Furthermore, I really cannot get over Jazmine.  She is a truly talented rock star, and I am perplexed as to how Ke$ha can fill stadiums but the crowd at the Troubadour to see The Hush was about 30 people.

Photo by Rachele Johnson

I was pretty hesitant to head over to see Biffy Clyro headline the main stage at Sonisphere last night.  I didn’t think anything could top the intimate, mainly acoustic performance I’d been lucky enough to witness at the Bootleg Theater in L.A. back in March.  Nonetheless, I followed about a trillion other Sonisphere goers through a mud clad field that now served as a makeshift runway for this season’s best wellies.  There we all were, anxiously awaiting what I will now call my hands down favorite Sonisphere performance yet.  In fact, I’d venture to say it will be my fave performance of the entire festival.

To say they started out with a bang is a bit of an understatement, belting out “captain” accessorized with pyrotechnics and a whole lot of contagious energy that spread throughout the crowd quicker than a raging pandemic.  With people next to me in the crowd spanning the ages of impressionable tweens to ready and willing to rock midlifers, it was evident that Biffy’s appeal is nothing short of impressive.

Photo by Lauren Novik

They not only busted out tracks from their famed album Only Revolutions, they brought a few new tunes that they successfully serenaded the soaked sonisphere crowd with.  The most shocking aspect of the main stage show was the no frills “we’re all about the music” attitude.  They didn’t waste time talking nonsense, they simply sang their hearts out.  On top of that, at the end of their insanely wonderful performance, Biffy modestly apologized, confessing that they know it’s a metal fest, and they we’re more than anything simply honored to be involved and a part of it.  With what Biffy put out yesterday- I think they’re far more hard rock than they give themselves credit for.  I’m going to go ahead and say that statement is completely validated by the fact that all I heard this morning (totally guilty of accidental eavesdropping- but what else are you supposed to do to entertain yourself in a damn tent?) was press and media admitting they’d been shocked and awed by Biffy’s performance.  Rock on, Biffy.  Rock on.

Okkervil River

I found myself back at The Wiltern last night to check out yet another of the venue’s repeatedly rocking lineups.  On the bill for last night were NewVillager, Titus Andronicus, and Okkervil River.  So, I paid too much for parking ($15, seriously?) and headed in amongst hoards of flannelled, plaid-ed boys.

fun.

At the strange hour of 6:30 pm, I headed over to The Wiltern in Los Angeles to see Funeral Party and Fun. open up for Panic! At the Disco.  It was still light outside, and this confused me.  Then I got to the venue and saw hoards of black-clad teens with unnaturally died hair and mothers and fathers being dragged by their kids. I was no longer confused.  So, let’s dive right in.

On Saturday night, I got the chance to see a band called Dawes open up for Brett Dennen at the Orpheum Theater.  Walking in downtown L.A. to the brightly-lit theater, I realized there really was a world beyond the seemingly impenetrable haze of the city’s skyline, and I found myself excited to have discovered this—like I had entered some sort of secret society.  Furthermore, if there really were a secret society for those who dwell downtown, the Orpheum would be a smashing place to hold a meeting (or a potluck, if it’s that kind of club).  This was one classy establishment: ornate chandeliers, molded ceilings, a warm interior that made plush carpeting seem to grow beneath your feet; there was a lounge downstairs—perfect for discussing politics or art over a pipe; a couple requisite dark bars—but dark in a mysterious, classy way, rather than a sleazy way.  Plus, the building oozed with historical significance and I was excited to absorb it. Overall, let’s just say I was quite impressed.