Skull Defekts @ the Turf Club

Opting to see the 'other band playing their first US show in Minneapolis this week'  (cc: The Volcano Choir), I walked into the Turf Club this past Sunday night with few expectations.  I knew some Lungfish - Daniel Higgs' band from many years ago that boasted solid post-punk rock credentials from the Dischord label ala' Fugazi/June of '44/ Rites of Spring -era DC scene - but don't know too much of the Skull Defekts, the Swedish psych./garage-rockers that Higgs is fronting for this tour and their most recent release.
A fairly mellow scene percolated as locals whitesands/badlands set up on the new side stage of the Turf Club.  The ambient, wall-of-noise sound-scapers, w-sands/b-lands, quietly boiled up a churning stew of emo-tethered atmosphere.  Squalling then quiet noisy dissonance with a constant battering of percussion - I found them a little too tied to the vocals of Casey Holmgren who brought the otherwise ambiguously (in a good way) soaring and engaging aural explorations to a flattened level of indie-rock been-there-ism.  Overall though, a good band that I'll be excited to see again and hope they can attain some of the nuance and mystery their excellent vinyl release - Seeding The Clouds - displayed in spades last year. 

2nd Opener - Zomes (interesting for a couple songs, then, yawn...it was midnight on a Sunday...)

Daniel Higgs, first of all, seems to be a charismatic dude.  On the new Skull Defekts lp (Peer Amid on Thrill Jockey) - his first outing with them, he is an extremely competent front man for the band -  his vocals and "lyrics" carry the show (not to knock the blistering and beautiful musicality of the band).  Walking around the Turf, drinking tea and allaying any hopes of anyone else having an even slightly cool beard, he turned heads and owned the space that he occupied.  This turned out to be important because one of the roles Daniel Higgs plays for the Skull Defekts is that of shambolic shaman.  From the moment he stepped on the stage, he grasped a small wooden drum under one arm and alternatively busied his arms with loosely robotic dance undulations or the rapid beating of this hand-held Balinese percussive instrument Daniel translated the name as being 'Waves of Joy'.  He played the shit out of that thing.  His hand flicking upon it faster than I could follow - though, even when the rest of the band was totally silent, I couldn't hear a peep out of his 'Waves of Joy'...he seemed to enjoy it.
A keyboardist, guitar, bass, two drummers - one on a kit, one playing three empty 5 gallon plastic gasoline drums with mallets, and then Daniel Higgs incanting over it all.  Despite a strong kinship with bands such as The Fall, the Ex, and early Sonic Youth, a significant discerning difference is the sense The Skull Defekts are making their music and Higgs exists separately - filling in the spaces that he deems need filling - sometimes with poetic ramblings, recountings of his dreams, or with lyrics he wrote to actually fit over the music.  When he forgot the lyrics to one of the songs, he told us so and resumed beating his 'Waves of Joy' and shouting out hoots and moans over the 3 punishing chords the Defekts pounded out.  It was as if the band could play their angular, repetitive, mandalas of garage rock over and over with totally different incarnations of Higgs' contributions each time.  To the benefit of all, each rendition I heard - in concert and, even more, on lp, was unique and stood up as a testimony to both the entity of the band Skull Defekts and to the vocal/lyrical/ shamanic contributions of Daniel Higgs.

PS.  Those who dared to look, saw a scantily-clad dude in a white tank-top and brown fedora breakdancing the shit out of the 'mosh pit', replete with some boss hat-brim swipes and wind-up robot moves.  At first, I admit I scoffed at his moves, but by the end of the evening, he was poppin' and lockin' in a way that I haven't seen since I was 17...color me jealous...

PJ Harvey - Let England Shake

Coming clean ~ I'm woefully uninformed on a handfull of key PJ Harvey albums. Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea.  Is This Desire.  Uh Huh Her.  Don't know them too well, which only makes my life less rich because of everything I do know of her and her solid catalog - it's filled with varied, smart, rockin', just damn good music.  Her earlier albums have always held a tender and roughly worn spot close to my heart. Dry and Rid Of Me crash and clamor along with a Capt. Beefheart blues fracas, a sex-fueled 'we're not gonna take it cause I'm busy givin it to ya' stomp, grunge to out-grunge anything else of the time but the edges softened by cellos and PJ's hushed moans and groans.
Let England Shake comes on the heels - 4 years later, but still - of White Chalk, somehow a sister album to this lovely release. Recorded in the same 19th Century church overlooking the chalk white cliffs of Dover, with the same outstanding cast of supporting/collaborating musicians and producer (John Parish, former Bad Seed Mick Harvey, and Flood, respectively) the musical ante is upped here and the fingers are pointed with much more alarming alacrity and precision.
First off, this is an absolutely gorgeous album. Deeply dark and affecting, sure, but gorgeous - the instrumentation, the production and the overall SQ (props to Arcade Fire and anyone else who records their albums in old churches - there are some righteous atmospherics lent to the whole by just setting up in there), and then the lyrics. Oh, the lyrics...PJ has never, to me, had the greatest voice. She uses it to great effect and all but her attitude, delivery, and the lyrics far surpass the actual voice that belts it out. Here too, this is true, though on a couple tracks - like on the lovely 'On Battleship Hill' - she slides into a high register artfulness that reminds me of Joanna Newsom (bordering on Bjorkishness too) and it works great for her and for the song. Still, the lyrics are key to this album - no matter how brilliantly supported they are by the music - and they're smart, provocative and scary. Polly Jean is pissed and pissed for her countrymen and for everyone who've lost people in useless wars or been frustrated by the seeming necessity of war - which, of course, is everyone.  She delves into the history of warfare - mostly sticking to England's involvement, as well as culling from Iraq and Afganistan front-line testimonials.  She doesn't mince words here but between the wincing truths she wrings moments of poetic reprieve.
                             I have seen and done things I want to forget;           
                             soldiers fell like lumps of meat,                         
                             blown and shot out beyond belief.                           
                             arms and legs were in the trees.                                

Despite this universal theme, Let England Shake is a heavily-leaning English album. I can't help but place it next to many things from the Mekons, especially their amazing Journey to the End of the Night. This is music that would sit firmly and comfortably on a worn stool in late night drinking sessions in any south London pub but ultimately it sends you out into the street to rage loud and lonely against all the sad, mad wrongness that's brought upon us.
                               Let me walk through the stinking alleys
                               to the music of drunken beatings,
                               past the Thames River, glistening like gold
                               hastily sold for nothing.

Thanks Polly Jean for your anger, your frustration, and your restraint in the face of all this, and for putting out another kick-ass, lovely album.