Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros: Hot Mess or Hippie Heaven?

Indie music shows have a reputation for being too hipster. Walk into the 9:30 Club on any given night and both band members and audience members alike will have on thick, plastic framed glasses, impossibly tight jeans, and intense facial hair. Last night's band, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, in contrast to the usual fare, was more hippie than hipster.

The relatively new ten member band is known for its unique sound that crosses Loretta Lynn with Jefferson Airplane. In other words, psychedelic country. The band tell relatable stories of love and family. Their most famous song, Home, has an interlude where the lead singers (Alex Ebert and Jade Castrinos) recount how they realized they loved each other after Jade fell out a window. Many of their stories have a home theme. "Janglin" is about returning home after some trials:

"Well our mama’s they left us
And our daddy’s took a ride
And we walked out of the castle
And we held our head up high"

All these stories are set to a bazaar of instruments, including the sitar and ukulele that were popular with 60's psych bands. Similar to 60's psych bands, some Magnetic Zeros were also decked out in Indian garb. Alex wore a white linen blazer, which he removed halfway through, and match pants. His hair looked like a birds nest on top of his head, and his beard would have made any Nineteenth Century woodsman jealous.

The hippie look would have been fine if it didn't carry over to the presentation of the show. Not only did he kind of look Christ-like, Alex had too much of a Messianic thing going on. He walked into the crowd three times. The last time was too close for comfort. He also dictated many aphorisms from the stage in between songs. Aphorisms about dying and such and how we should all love each other.

Jade was also a little too happy. As in so busy being happy she didn't show up for the first part of the show. She struck me as the manic pixie dream girl type. In addition to having a pixie haircut, she literally bounced around the stage, and seemed to be that person who the band has to put up with every night but always ultimately forgives. Aaron Embry (the pianist), who technically opened for the larger band, could barely do a complete set because Jade was so late. The last straw to Jade's behavior was during "Home." The audience was completely ready for the song by then and started getting excited from the first whistled notes. But then Jade went and messed up the lyrics to the second verse.

Unfortunately, my final memory of the show was ruined by Alex's insistence that everyone get on the floor for the last song. Yeah..the beer floor of the standing room only 9:30 club. This was difficult on many levels.

On balance, it was one of the least enjoyable, but more eventful concert experiences of the year thus far. If it wasn't for Gare's snarky presence, it would not have been fun.

She & Him Delight at 9:30 Club

The most memorable part of the She & Him show at the 9:30 Club last Wednesday occurred before Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward got on stage. Arriving around 9, for a slated 9:30 start-time, a few friends and I tried to squeeze our way to the front. We attributed the early packed-ness to the non-hipsterness of the crowd. When we finally found a spot to stand, two angry couples standing near us confronted us for encroaching on their territory. "We've been here since 7:30," one girl protested. An argument over who loved Zooey more then ensued. We stayed put in the end.

She & Him took the stage on time. Deschanel and Ward were joined by three musicians and The Chapin Sisters, their back up singers. Known for singing cute renditions of Sixties' songs in a lilting, breathy voice, Deschanel sounded much throatier live. She sang the first few songs with a deeper voice than I expected, and furrowed brows, as if she were really concentrating on the lyrics and hitting her tambourine at the right time. But maybe it was just to make sure the mix was right. The sound was definitely set to accentuate Zooey's voice, which I appreciated since She & Him's songs tell stories of love lost and found.

Deschanel and a Chapin sister jumped up and down in the background to Ward's solo riffs. Since it felt like 90 degrees in the packed 9:30 Club, I was impressed by their energy. In the middle of their set, Ward and Deschanel did a few acoustic songs alone, including a Joni Mitchell cover "You Turn Me On, I'm a Radio," and a brand new cover of the Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice."

The main highlight was seeing M. Ward take a center stage from time to time in contrast to his more muted presence on either of their two albums, Volume I and Volume II. In addition to the solo musical interludes, Ward also had a mike set up on stage left for his few solo lines, like in "Rave On" and "You've Really Got a Hold on Me."

Though there were a few mistakes scattered about--Deschanel singing an extra bar, or coming in too early -- it was a fun show overall. Moreover, this is only She & Him's first headlining tour in the two years since their first album came out. If Ward and Deschanel already work so well together on stage, I look forward to Volume III and another tour.

All good music acts seem to come to DC at once. Hence the fortnight in March/April when DC greeted Spoon, Shearwater, Woods, Real Estate, The xx, Yeasayer, and Vampire Weekend. Though the month of June can't top that, it got off to a good start with appearances by The National at DAR Constitution Hall on June 6, and Broken Bells at the 9:30 Club on June 7.

The first time I saw The National, it was at the smaller Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City. The audience communed with the band as Matt Berninger told one story of heartbreak after another. His longing, apathy, and embarrassment--"I want to hurry home to you/put on a slow, dumb show for you"--became our longing, apathy, and embarrassment. Since Berninger's only instrument is his baritone voice, he sort of mashes the fists of his hands together to keep beat. This motion, coupled with his tendency to close his eyes, gives off an air of true anguish.

Turns out, this experience of communing with The National carries over to even seated, larger venues known for their poor acoustics, such as the Constitution Hall. First, the Antlers opened with anguished renditions of a few songs from their album, Hospice, which tracks a young girl's progression with cancer. The Antlers sounded more angry than melancholy as their music bounced off the Hall's walls. They did end their set with a spectacular version of "Two." "And no one paid attention to you when you stopped eating. 'Eighty-seven pounds and this all bears repeating," they sang their final lyrics and segued into several minutes of impassioned riffs.

After a short intermission, The National took the stage with "Runaway," a number from their new album, High Violet. Similar to their previous works, High Violet explores intimacies gone awry, and the sadness of middle-American male life. Berninger's deep voice and profound lyrics probably saves the band from being labeled emo. The band followed "Runaway" with "Mistaken for Strangers" - one of their biggest hits from Boxer. It's easy to see why. The lyrics are accessible, yet coy:

"You have to do it running but you do everything that they ask you to
cause you don’t mind seeing yourself in a picture
as long as you look faraway, as long as you look removed"

The music also engages, with a hearty blend of strong beats and horns. The set basically continued in this pattern: new song, followed by one or two old favorites, followed by new song, for the entire set. A set of at least 22(!) songs. Towards the end of the show, Matt Berninger jumped off the stage and marched into the crowds singing "Abel," enabling physical communing. Just when I thought he couldn't top that, he climbed into the boxes of the venue during the encore to "Mr. November," a DC appropriate song about politicians.

After the spectacular show, I had twenty-four hours to wind down until Monday night's Broken Bells gig at the 9:30 Club. Broken Bells has been criticized as "a great-in-theory but mediocre-in-execution collaboration between Danger Mouse and the Shins' James Mercer." Mediocre in creativity, maybe, but not in enjoyment factor. Though it's hard to tell the songs apart when listening to their eponymous first album straight through, one can't help but tap their feet along. The album is aurally interesting when compared to other albums; just not internally when comparing songs to each other. True to their name, they sprinkle their songs with bells at random moments.

The entire concert experience last night was very light and summery. The Morning Benders, a Californian band with a very west coast sound kicked the night off. They were chatty, asking the audience to yell out our choice between "Loose Change" and "Hand Me Downs." We chose "Hand Me Downs." They closed with an intimate version of "Excuses," where Chris Chu, the singer, took his mike off its stand and literally crooned at us to the lush.

"And I made an excuse
You found another way to tell the truth
I put no one else above us
We'll still be best friends when it all turns to dust."

I felt like I was in the 50's.

I missed Broken Bells' opening song, but I'm pretty sure they played through their entire album. Since that's only a forty minute record, the band supplemented it with some terrific, totally non-hipster covers. They played "Crimson and Clover" and "You've Really Got a Hold on Me" among others. Though Danger Mouse did not look happy to be there, the rest of the band rocked. All their songs were set to a projected background of images that made it look like the band was playing to a background of a film of their concert. Craaaazzyyy.

The Inanity Coming-of-Age-in-the-Age-of-Rock Movies

Now that the boomer generation is getting old, and the generation that remembers where they were when the Beatles premiered on Johnny Carson is getting really old, nostalgic movies are coming out about the birth of rock. Two such films, Taking Woodstock and Pirate Radio, cover much of the same material. Young, straight and narrowish people are suddenly exposed to romantic hardships, hidden secrets of the past, and forced to grow up all with music in the background. Taking Woodstock, which aims to vaguely trace the history of Woodstock, centers on twenty-something Elliot Teichberg, and his journey to bring a music festival to his town of Woodstock while gaining independence from his parents. Pirate Radio, which aims to trace the history of off-shore radio stations in Great Britain in the 1960's, centers on a teenage Carl's stay on the Radio Rock ship while he discovers sex, the identity of his father, and civil disobedience.

Neither film is particularly insightful. Both revel in cliche and heavy-handed delivery of messages. Taking Woodstock tries to tell people to believe in themselves, and break loose by having Elliot (Dmitri Martin) discover his homosexuality and get high on acid to Jefferson Airplane's "Red Telephone." Long sequences of haziness illuminate the freedom of drugs. Similarly, Pirate Radio tries to sell people on the idea of fighting for what you believe in by having Radio Rock's entire crew agree one by one to stay on the ship even after the government shuts it down. Elgar's Nimrod swells in the background. Long montages of random Brits enjoying Radio Rock illustrate music's liberating effect. We get it: music equals love, democracy, and all that is good in the world.

The one thing that makes Pirate Radio more entertaining to watch than Taking Woodstock is that Pirate Radio takes itself way less seriously. Maybe it's the British sense of humor, but the film seems to wink at us during a ship-sinking scene that reminds one of the drama of Titanic. Things are resolved a bit too easily, but also with humor. In one set piece, two DJ's play a game of chicken by climbing on to the mast and then jumping off. Plus, the music selection is fabulous. Pirate Radio hits all the Sixties greats aside from the Beatles, including Cat Stevens, the Beach Boys, and Leonard Cohen. Taking Woodstock only has some snippets of Woodstock acts. Though Pirate Radio is a bit long clocking in at 2 hours, its soundtrack makes an otherwise vapid movie bearable. Too bad Woodstock can't say the same.

Reasons

Earlier last week, some friends and I at work had a conversation about the demise of classical music. One coworker admitted that he doesn't see the decline of classical music as a great loss. I argued that while society should try to sustain new composers such as Nico Muhly, it might not be that tragic if live classical performance was reduced. After all, I thought, who needs to sit for two hours in a concert hall when you can hear multiple recordings of any great piece of music. Moreover, classical music is perfect for multi-tasking. I listen to it all the time at work while writing. It would be a waste to merely sit for two hours. As you can probably surmise by the title of this post, I spoke too soon. Two recent live classical music experiences (John Adams Perspectives at the Kennedy Center and an anniversary performance of the Cathedral Choral Society) have demonstrated that the live listening experience is very powerful in several ways that the recording just cannot capture.

First, the sound quality is just incomparable live. Now, this might be due to my wimpy speakers at home, but I'm willing to bet that the average ear will be able to pick up aural cues such as the entrance of a different instrument much easier live. Crescendos and diminuendos
occur much more dramatically when you are in the audience; there's no dial to adjust the volume. Also, just like how seeing someone's mouth moves helps you make out what they are saying, seeing the orchestra play helps you understand which instruments are in dialogue with
another. For example, John Adams conducted the the National Symphony Orchestra to Aaron Copland's Billy the Kid. Though this ballet suite conjures up every single western cliche (think wooden blocks making hoofbeat sounds), it was still powerful to see and hear the strings
respond to the drums in the "Gunfight" scene. This conjured up images of a crowd assembling before the gunfight, the scrambling around, and ultimate victory.

Second, all of your attention is focused on the music. There are no distractions like books, work, or housework. Such focus makes you more tuned in to the work, and forces you to ask what the music is actually about. Though Elgar's Nimrod is often played at funerals, listening to the Enigma Variations as a whole piece made me realize that fragments of Nimrod echo throughout. It's not as much dirgelike as it is a celebration of Elgar's friend Augustus Jaeger, whom Nimrod is about.

Third, there's more variety. Live performances are going to differ from your definitive recording, whether something is played faster or louder. In addition, a live show may expose you to different pieces you hadn't heard before. Though I was drawn to the John Adams
performance by his fame, I hadn't heard The Would Dresser before. The Reilly and Friends performance even included a specially commissioned piece by Dominick Argento called the Choir Invisible, set to a George Eliot poem. Reilly and Friends also put together many short pieces that would never appear together on a recording, from the Aria of Bach's Goldberg Variations to William Walton's "Coronation Te Deum"

These three points bring us to the fourth: live performance leads to rediscovery and an expansion of knowledge. For example, in Adams' introduction to The Wound Dresser, he explains that he means it as an allegory for AIDS and as a recognition of the American ordeal of
nursing, something that is rarely acknowledged. Reilly Lewis paired the Aria from the Goldberg Variations with a contemporary dance, which really brought the piece to the 21st century.

The one downside is the knowledge that classical music does not hold the place it once did in American society. Looking around the NSO concert hall, I saw that many prime seats were painfully empty. But at least in the seat I was occupying, one more person was in the
process of conversion.

A lot of night music of Stephen Sondheim

"Instead of requiring people to take Philosophy 101, they should require people to take Sondheim 101," conductor Marvin Hamlisch remarked before the final number of Friday's Stephen Sondheim retrospective with the National Symphony Pops Orchestra. He implored us to listen to the lyrics for the closing song, "Move On," also the closing song of Sunday in the Park with George.

Then Liz Callaway and Brian D'Arcy James then came on stage to do the final duet. "Stop worrying where you're going/Move on/If you can know where you're going/You've gone/Just keep moving on," they sang. Though Liz Callaway's Disney voice was a little weak at times, Sondheim's message came on strong: Put the past behind, and you'll be fine.

"Move On" was just one of many songs that displayed Sondheim's rare talent as both a profound lyricist and a lyrical composer. Until Sondheim came on the scene in 1954, musicals usually had a division of labor between the lyricist and the composer. Think Rodgers and Hammerstein, Lerner and Leowe, etc. Not only did Sondheim pave the way for solo songwriting, he also came to dominate the field for the next fifty years. Hamlisch's selection of Sondheim songs did a great job displaying Sondheim's range.

Hamlisch's introductory notes for many of the pieces helped the audience appreciate the diversity of Sondheim's subject matter. He covers single life in Company, life's regrets in A Little Night Music, early Broadway in Follies, and--most impressive of all--revenge via a demon barber in Sweeney Todd.

But through it all, a few common themes emerge. Many of Sondheim's musicals are about choice. Looking back on choices not yet made, fearing future choices, weighing choices in the near future. In addition to "Move On," "Send in the Clowns" explores choices made at the wrong time; "On the Steps of the Palace," from Into the Woods tells of Cinderella's first decision to leave her shoe on the steps of the palace, and the ramifications of such a decision. Brian D'Arcy Jame's rendition of "Being Alive," really made

In addition to these themes, the show also highlighted some Sondheim signatures that explain why he's in a league above other musical writers. First, he's great at squeezing really fast lyrics into his music. This creates comic effect and also allows Sondheim to fit in most of what he's best at -- his words. Second, Sondheim moves forward his plots with his songs; they are not simply pauses that reflect on a character's emotional state. Sondheim's characters achieve epiphanies during songs. For instance, in "Being Alive," the main character goes from hating on being in a relationship "Someone to hurt you too deep/Someone to sit in your chair/To ruin your sleep" to conceding that relationships are good, "Alone is alone, not alive."

In fact, many of Sondheim's songs can be summed up in pithy take-aways, which is what Hamlisch probably meant by "Sondheim 101." Not only does Sondheim deliver his messages clearly, he also delivers them with more joy than any course of Philosophy 101.

Local Natives' Tonality

Last night's Local Natives show at the Rock "n" Roll Hotel on H Street was a test of small venues. More specifically, it was test of small venues for bands that harmonize. I was last at this venue in March to see the double-billed Real Estate and Woods show. Even then, it seemed like RnR is more conducive to instrumentals than vocals. Real Estate, which has more instrumental songs, sounded much better than Woods, which relies on harmonizing that involves much falsetto. At the time, I attributed this aural dissonance to the fact that simply liked Real Estate more.

With the Local Natives, the venue's effect on sound quality was more palpable. Their album, Gorilla Manor, features a dozen lyrical songs set to a backdrop of upbeat drums and keyboard, with African influences (think less aggressive Animal Collective). One thing that shows off the band's talent on their album are their incredibly controlled crescendos. Many songs open with barely accompanied vocals that drag the listener in quietly before burgeoning into loud, emotional choruses. For example, "Shape Shifter" opens with one band member singing with a keyboard and a few chords:

"My king I'm humbled before you, I bow
Moods like you're pulled by the moonlight, somehow"

At this point, the other band members join in with harmonizing vocals. The drums kick in.

"How is the language we're speaking the same?
Shape shifter have you discovered a change?"

Just as the tone of this song is established as possibly mournful about a mercurial person, the song immediately pick up pace. Now all four singing band members are heard:

"Why does the soul hallucinate?
I've got control, I shift my shape."

Unfortunately at the show last night, the band could not compete with the screaming throngs of off-key fans. It seemed like the band members had a difficult time hearing each other, and became off-key themselves.The strain in their vocal chords as they tried to make themselves was visible. In contrast, the opening band Suckers, which is more instrumental, sounded great. Though the lead singer was kind of drowned out, he was less out of tune since hearing others was not so much of a problem in his situation.

At the same time, maybe hearing the vocals is besides the point. The Local Natives were energetic and enthusiastic. They marked each key change with sharp, moves. Their stage dancing also kept the pace of their crescendos. The whole room was bouncing along to their rhythms (we had no trouble hearing those). By the time the encore, "Sun Hands," came around, we all had our hands in the air. An enjoyable end to an enjoyable evening.

Who Was Listening at Earth Day?

Earth Day was never a true grassroots event. It has always been a media spectacle since its inauguration in April of 1970. In New York, Mayor John Lindsay shut down Fifth Avenue and made Central Park available for speakers and a million spectators. All the major networks covered the event that recognized the impending Clean Water and Clean Air Acts that Congress was about to pass. Soon, Philadelphia followed with a weeklong celebration from April 16-22. Earth Day has since expanded to 175 countries, reaching at least 20 million Americans, and countless citizens of other countries. While these numbers are staggering, Earth Day has always been a lagging factor as opposed to a leading one. It speaks to the converted rather than those on the fence. Earth Day celebrates past legislative achievement, rather than launches future legislative success.

At the Earth Day - ahem, "Climate Change,"-- rally in Washington DC on Sunday, April 25th, it was business as usual. As usual, the young progressives masked their pot smoking amidst the crowd while those of us not smoking wished we were. As usual, policemen walked around looking for easy targets to frisk for drugs. As usual, people were seldom listening to the speakers, only listening to the bands. At 4 o'clock a speaker asked the audience to text "Earth" to a number to donate $10 for the Climate Action Network. A video flashed that said "4 donations, 9960 dollars to go." Two hours later, the screen hadn't changed.

On the one hand, it's good for these events to rally the base. On the other hand, in today's world of personalized emails and streaming video, the best way to motivate anyone to do anything may no longer be the impersonal, arena-like event.

But Earth Day was arguably never about making anyone do anything anyway. Earth Day is about putting on a show and welcoming the spring in, and, by that measure, the Earth Day Rally was a success. Arriving at around 3:00 pm, I met up with my friends right as Passion Pit came on. A sea of white arms bopped to their fast rhythms. Later, the Roots gave an energetic performance that wasn't even quenched by the sound going out three times. My personal favorite was an ensemble performance consisting of The Roots, Booker T, and vocal solos by Joss Stone, and Fall Out Boy's Patrick Stump. Stump was especially a pleasant surprise as he belted out gospel-like tunes as opposed to the usual pop-punk.

In between sets, the Reverend Jesse Jackson came out for a brief call and response session on saving the earth. He used grandiose terms like "Take back this earth." A woman newscaster took the stage with her basket of backyard grown vegetables and flung them out to the audience while encouraging us to do our laundry in cold water. An female Iraq veteran told us that we must be free of foreign energy without explicitly stating the connection between the high cost of fuel and national security. Most of these speakers echoed the arguments we've all heard for why we should care about the environment. Only, the speakers were more vague than most news articles. But it didn't matter because we were there mostly to see celebrities, and they were there mostly to be seen as Earth Day supporters.

Ironically, one of the biggest speakers turned out to be one of the most refreshing. James Cameron admitted that things like recycling, taking shorter showers, and using eco-friendly toilet paper won't solve our problems. Instead, he implored education, and asked each member of the audience to personally educate ten of their friends about global warming and its larger implications. A good lesson, if only people were listening.

The Tallest Man on Earth Rocks

A co-worker told me about The Tallest Man on Earth last Monday. Four days later, we went to see him at the Black Cat. Indeed, Tallest Man on Earth, the moniker of Swedish singer Kristian Matsson, plays music that's both accessible and unique enough for such a quick conversion.

The first thing everyone says about The Tallest Man is that he sounds exactly like Bob Dylan. While his voice has a crackly edge to it that's reminiscent of a younger Dylan, it's hard to say if this is entirely due to physically similar vocal chords or an inflection of his Swedish accent. But like a young Dylan, Matsson's terrain is the acoustic guitar. All but one song on his new album, The Wild Hunt, is just him and a guitar. (The last song, Kids on the Run, is just him and a keyboard). Though Kristian Matsson's lyrics aren't as poetic as Dylan, they have a lightness and simplicity that make them a pleasure to listen to on any occasion. They are also longer, painting more dramatic pictures. If Dylan's lyrics are political, then Matsson's are more personal. One heartfelt breakup song, "You're Going Back," goes like this:

"I could roll you to hell
I could swim from your heavens
I could drive you so safe
I could walk you to here
Let us float in the tears
Let us cry from the laughters
When it's not for some sake
And the city's not near

Well now, you're going back
You're going back, you're going back"

Subtle, no, but truthful nonetheless.

So it wasn't surprising that Matsson plays with a ton of emotion as well. Though I haven't seen Dylan on perform, I hear that he's rather stoic and laconic these days. Mattson, in contrast, is very energetic, making dramatic eyebrows to accompany his crescendos. He doesn't play tricks with the audience, but instead wears his heart on his sleeve. Though it's just him and a guitar, his movements keep our attention. He shrinks down low with whispering and stands up high when he's shouting. It's a very earnest approach that makes him an extremely likable act.

For Bach, National Cathedral > Kennedy Center

Since three of my friends joined the National Cathedral Choral Society, I've been more proactive about attending choral events. First I saw Verdi's Requiem at the National Cathedral in October, followed by Bach's St. Matthew Passion in the same location in February. Then this past Friday, my singer friend Michelle and I saw Bach's Mass in B Minor at the Kennedy Center. This last experience taught me that venue may play an important role in enjoyability, at least when it comes to Bach.

Typically, I love live choral music because the power of the choir simply cannot be replicated on a recording. Even though I had terrible seats for Verdi's Requiem, the moment the horns started for the second movement, Dies Iraes (Day of Wrath), chills ran down my spine. The several dozen voices seem to mirror the terror of the day of wrath.

In contrast, the St. Matthew Passion is a less emotive piece. Like an operetta, it features many soloists playing the roles of Narrator, Jesus, Judas, etc to tell the story of Jesus betrayal, crucifixion, and resurrection. Despite its lack of loud movements, and its heavy dependence on soloists, the chorale verses still emitted chills. Though the Passion didn't evoke the lushness of Verdi's Requiem, I recognized that this was mostly due to the less lush instrumentation of the Baroque period in contrast to Verdi's Romantic inclinations. In addition, a play that tells is story is not simply there to overwhelm the listener, but to narrate events in a nuanced fashion.

Despite knowing that Bach is not Verdi (or Brahms, or Orff), I was still surprised by the National Symphony Orchestra's production of the Mass in B Minor at the Kennedy Center. This "authentic" production used both a small choir of around 30 voices, and a reduced orchestra. While this may have been truer to how a 17th Century German would have enjoyed Bach, it was not the best staging for contemporary audiences at the Kennedy Center. The Kennedy Center's Concert Hall is fairly tall, with four tiers of seating. I was in the second tier towards stage right. Though I had a good view of the performers, they sounded extremely distant, as if I were listening to a recording. This made it difficult to stay engaged. Unable to see the soloists' expressions clearly, it was difficult to tell what mood the concert was supposed to evoke.

After nearly falling asleep, I wondered why the Mass was simply not speaking to me the way I had come to expect of choral pieces. Part of this was the nature of the piece and the minimalist staging, but part of it was most certainly the venue. The National Cathedral Choral Society's concert series is subtitled, "Glorious Music in a Glorious Setting." Glorious the Kennedy Center's concert hall is not. The mauve colored creaky seats screamed seventies. It was more difficult to let oneself go. Though I appreciated Ivan Fischer and his orchestra's technique, I won't hesitate to choose the National Cathedral over the Kennedy Center for choral events in the future.

Nosaj Thing, jj, and The xx questioning Live Performance

Sunday night's triple billing at the (Historic) Sixth and I Synagogue was an exercise in defining the art of live performance. The XX headlined, playing with Nosaj Thing and jj.

I'd never heard o Nosaj Thing before, and was pleasantly surprised by Jason Chung's music. I was even more surprised by the fact that Jason Chung is a dj, so his entire performance consisted of him fiddling on a turnstile. While his act didn't need an entire stage with a seated audience at full attention, he was as lively as one could be for a music act that consists of turning knobs and pressing buttons. He danced in time with the music and did a dramatic flourish with his spindly fingers each time the beat changed, or the lull in the music was broken up, as if to emphasize that this was in fact being played live, and not pre-recorded.

If Nosaj Thing wanted to come across as a live act, then jj most definitely did not. jj, a Swedish duo with two albums under its belt (no 2 and no 3), produces a dreamy, poppy music that reminds me of Beach House. But their live performance was anything but fun. The music consisted of a recording played pumped through an iMac on stage. The lead singer then sang along to the music into a microphone. She maintained a grumpy look the entire time. Her partner, who is supposed to be the musician of the group, came out several times to give the singer a hug before retreating to the wings, as if to say "I'm part of the band, but have transcended my need to play music during a live performance." Perhaps this was an attempt to make an artsy comment on the value of live music, but it definitely left many audience members grumpy.

The xx finally came on at around 10 pm. The most traditional presentation of the night, the three band members came bearing guitars and a keyboard. Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim even sang into their microphones. But they also made me question the purpose of a live performance because of the huge disparity between their live sound and their album sound. As New Yorker critic, Sasha Frere-Jones, has pointed out, The xx makes music that's meant to be whispered into your lover's ear. Most of the lyrics traverse the territory of quiet broken hearts, nostalgia, and misbegotten romance. I expected an intimate concert that mirrored the intimate cocoon of their album. What I got instead were histrionic lights, thumping bass, and an aggressively swaying Oliver Sim. This made for an overly dramatic experience that rendered such lyrics as "Heart skipped a beat, but when I caught it it was out of reach," ridiculous. Though I enjoyed the music, I hope The xx tones it down for future performances.