Photo of the Day: November 27, 2009
Car Pushed Into Anacostia River By Train
Morning Roundup: Black Friday Edition
Devendra Banhart @ 9:30 Club
by DCist contributor Dave Weigel
You probably already knew this, and you might have been checking to see if this show, like Stern’s last D.C. show, featured a kissing booth. (It did not.) But: There is no middle ground on Marnie Stern. Her music either hypnotizes or it subjects the listener to an endurance test. This does not change from song to start: You make your choice at the start of her show. On Wednesday night Stern split the difference, and gave a packed house (in a small venue) a brief, 10-song set that set the fanboys groaning and spared the doubters any more pain.
The thing is that even if you’ve never heard Stern, you have heard her sound. Every one of her songs is carried by the extremely fast, extremely skilled, two-handed guitar tapping that Stern performs with her eyes locked in on her fretboard. Outside of Stern’s own records, it’s a sound you most often hear in hard rock and metal. But you hear it at very specific times, at the end of guitar solos, after artists have worked their way down the fret, wagging their tongues, and possibly standing back to back with their bassists as giant skeletons are lowered onto the stage.
This is the sound of every Marnie Stern song. It either grates or it captivates. Stern is a joyful live performer, and her music sounds better live, instead of the art-rock experiment that comes out of a home speaker. But there’s only so much high-end hammering a crowd can take.
Since no other band even attempts to sound like Stern, the people who came early got to hear wildly divergent opening acts. Exactly were a collection of gimmicks—shirtless, denim-clad, a trio consisting of a drummer and two men on keyboards. Their songs, when they clicked, sounded like rough early Suicide tracks, but their vocals were wild David Yow-style yelps, shouted through microphones that were phased beyond any comprehension. When the band broke to advertise their mailing list, audience members exchanged puzzled looks around the room. What did the guy say? Black & White Jacksons, a DCist Three Star Band who were profiled a year ago this month, put on a more conventional show with a more comfortable sound—early Dischord with extra wit.
Stern’s band walked onstage tentatively, testing out equipment that only stopped hiccupping after three songs. The first half of Stern’s opener, “Transformer,” suffered from too-quiet vocal miking. One song later, Stern’s drummer had to pause and fix the mic that had fallen off his drum kit. Stern and her bassist saw the opening for double entendres, and they took it. “It’s fallen off!” The drummer complained that the mic had been spring-loaded. “Let’s think of other things that can be spring-loaded.”
There is a bashfulness to Stern that plays off her sound, and she milks it. She paused midway through herself to tell a story about a pretty girl who let a “sexy surfer dude” use a bathroom after her, then blanched when he took a breath and wheezed “dude, that’s brutal!” She joked that she didn’t really remember the lyrics to “Ruler,” but as it happened, she really didn’t—Stern grinned and struggled through her song, apologizing afterward, because the band didn’t usually practice it.
The show’s high points made up for some of that, and for some of the malformed songs in the middle stretch. “The Crippled Jazzer,” the song that closed the set, got Stern away from the bottom of the fretboard and wrings everything out of a melody. This is a compelling artist with a fascinating sound, and at some point none of her work will be grating. But not quite yet.
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They should turn the air conditioning down. She looks very cold.
I love nipples
Was I the only one out of breath when she finished Prime?
Also, I didn't drink that night to save my money for the kissing booth. What a rip off.
Still have no idea what she sounds like after reading that...
Sweet guitar, bro. Looks like she stole it from Prince.
I see something. I like it.
She can rock out with her rack out.
Alright guys. We get it. Let's steer the conversation away from Stern's anatomy, if you don't mind. It's getting a little skeezy in here.
What? no one here is saying anything to knock 'er.
I fully agree with Amanda here. Some of you might find humor in comments about how nippy it was inside the club or about how its time to take the turkey out of the oven. But juvenile comments like these don't raise the level of discourse.
As a hyphenated-american person-of-gender, I'm offended by your derogatory use of the term "nippy."
1. I'm offended at your excessive use of hyphens.
2.I also don't even know what people are making a fuss about anyway. All i see is some girl who stole a necklace from Wilma Flinstone and a guitar from Josie and the Pussycats. Which only leads me to one conclusion: the tour was sponsored by Hanna-Barbera!
What a hypocritical double standard! I'm certain if this were a provocative, spandex-clad crotch shot of, say, Rudy Vallee, you ladies would be throwing your panties at him and screaming about how you want to have his abortion. I know I would.
I'm offended at you being offended at his excessive use of hyphens.
If hyphens hadn't taken a back seat to the upstart interrobang we wouldn't be in the mess we are today. But no, you feel he used too many hyphens. I'll guess you are part of the problem and not the solution.
We were being juvenile? on an interwebs comment board? say it ain't so.
Skeezy? Pleazzee. Everybody likes boobies. And what would proper boobies be without nipples? Whether they be puckered, distended, or poking right on through. Hail to the female form!
I meant the guitar.
Shoulda used a smaller picture.
And a bra.
this review is a little over the top in saying that Marnie Stern's sound is so unique. I haven't listened to her that much but she draws on a lot of sources including DC's own Orthrelm and related bands. The only novelty is that there are very few women who really shred.
I agree with Mattt, the article really didn't communicate her musical style, it was all over the place. Does she have a web site where one may hear for themselves?
And what is DC9?
A rock club on 9th and U.