Guest Spot

This just in: the latest review of Basia, Foreign Born & Annie C.'s recent performance at the Middle East thoughtfully and cleverly scripted by Milton's Chris "Stonewall Jackson" White. Have a look-see.

Thank you, Dana, for the invite and I apologize for my tardiness. Personally, I’d like to hear some more of your thoughts about that opening a capella that Basia performed. Perhaps you could, say, compare its texture and flavor to that of your last ½ pint of UFO at the bar? First, a disclaimer: I have never seen a live, female singer-songwriter that I did not like. Seriously. Give Doyle a xylophone, a stage and the screenplay for “You Got Served” and I am in. That said, I thought Basia was excellent and thought Dana’s “soft and natural” description was perfect. Since the show was a week ago and I am a bit of a drunk, that’s about all I can remember about her set.

Middle East manager to Foreign Born before the show: “You guys didn’t get the memo? You’ve been replaced by a serving of Quaker apple cinnamon-flavored oatmeal. Not only is it better for your heart, it adds a certain je ne sais quia to the room.” Foreign Born didn’t so much suck as fade into the background. There was nothing interesting about this band until the last five minutes of their set, when they played an awesome song with a lot of rhythmic (by everyone but me) audience clapping and “Ohhhhh Oh Oh Ohhhh Oh’s” that reminded me of the interlude in Phish’s song, “Stash.” This was the point in the show that I tapped my foot and awkwardly slid side to side a little bit. Since my arms and legs are made of cardboard and tree bark, respectively, this was like Stephen Hawking joining your pickup game and going 5 for 7 from beyond the arc.

Finally, St. Vincent was unexpectedly great. I say unexpectedly only because my ten minutes of pre-show research turned up two You Tube clips, from which I woke up three hours later. But instead of sending patrons into boredom comas, Annie Clark and her band rocked. I know analogies are never perfect and everyone loves to tear them down, but the tone and style reminded me of Regina Spektor. The frequent “ba ba ba ba” or “bee bee bee” type choruses were also familiar. By the way, do “Ohhhh Oh Oh Ohhhh Oh” and “ba ba ba” not translate well to paper? That’s probably why the Milton Record Transcript isn’t knocking down my door looking for a music reviewer. You get what you pay for, Dana. In short, try to get your hands on the Basia Bulat and St. Vincent records. Also, google “Foreign Born Ohhhh Oh Oh Ohhhh.” No, I can’t remember a song title or a single lyric, but I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding it.

Scott Heim

If you haven't familiarized yourself with Scott Heim yet, I would suggest doing so. Not only is Scott a most modest and aspiring talent, but he is so genuine, calming and poised in his approach that a native Bostonian wouldn't think twice about clearing his schedule and decelerating his heart rate and speed of thought to adjust to the easy cadence of Scott's speech. And so welcoming to new faces is Scott that you may even receive an invite for dinner with he and his partner or an offer to make a guest appearance at your book club upon introduction. Scott's 10 year latest work, We Disappear, hit the shelves this month (physically and virtually). The artist is currently on the beginning of his publicity tour, making his initial stop at the Brookline Booksmith the other night. There he read selected excerpts from his newly released novel and participated in discussion with an inquisitive and diverse audience, comprised of a rich spectrum of ages and cultures. (As per example, I was situated next to a lone woman pushing 70 years of age and a gay Asian couple in their 30's.) We Disappear is one part memoir, one part fiction as Scott would say. After returning to the Midwest to care for his ailing mother, Scott tweaked his novel to incorporate his own trying experiences into his unraveling work. It is a story of people deemed "missing" and a mother who is infatuated with these unresolved and mysterious cases. No worries, I can't spoil the ending because I haven't read it yet myself!
Apparently video clips are the new wave of publicity advertising. Scott has produced a short footage resembling the Blaire Witch Project that you can check out below.

Basia Balut with St. Vincent

Basia Balut, the Canadian singer-songwriter and long time favorite of Anyone's Guess', performed the opening act for St. Vincent at the Middle East this past weekend. Taking stage with a solo A Capella number, she initiated the electricity for which the crowd (who was of strikingly more advanced age than to which the venue is accustomed) seemed to beg. Soft and natural in her approach, Basia Balut owned the stage for a solid hour before she handed it off to Foreign Born, who more or less served as a filler until Annie Clark of St. Vincent assumed her position. Judging from her Youtube clips and short blips of songs I had come across, I was expecting a rather melodramatic and poetic performance. To the contrary, Annie sent the audience into a fervor of head bopping, body convulsing frenzy. She was charasmatic, taking the time in between songs to relay anecdotes and short stories that were not-so-relevant to the show but nonetheless entertaining and lively, playing her electric guitar like Coco Crisp fields nearly-out-of-the-park hits. You can find AG and other's commentaries on Basia here and check out Annie Clark on her MySpace locale. Hopefully, we'll have an inside piece on the show from Chris White to follow shortly. In the meantime, check out Basia's trippy video and St. Vincent's unfiltered in-home recording and have a listen for yourself.

Bienvenidos a Mexico

A little late in the game for a Cancun spring break but I managed to fit it in before 26 years of age (does that count for something?). I was fortunate enough to be invited to play the free-loading-mysterious(who's the Boston chick?)-pseudo-girlfriend role last weekend at a tropical resort in Cancun. No complaints on my end. My date, a Philly guy stricken with severe ADD, and I appeared as if we had minimal association with each other unless there was a work-affiliated camera in sight. Enthused by the idea of being surrounded by free cocktails and endless buffet selections, toasty sand and ferocious waves and a slew of activity options at no charge, our separate entities took full charge. Although we registered as a couple to go ziplining through a canopy and mountain biking to a lagoon, Philly led the pack while I ambled along with a family of 5. Not only were we capable and willing to go our self-chosen paths, but I was flooded with pity and attention for being 'left to my own devices'. Does it get better than that?