Thurston Moore, Kurt Vile and the Violators

Thurston Moore (10:15 PM)

Kurt Vile and the Violators (9:15 PM)

Hush Arbors (8:30 PM)

Fri, July 29, 2011

8:00 pm

$20.00

Sold Out

This event is all ages

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Thurston Moore - (Set time: 10:15 PM)
Thurston Moore
Thurston Moore first saw Beck way back in the early 90s when Beck was mowing lawns with an amplified hand-push ill-blade mower at a backyard BBQ on Toul Avenue in Westwood L.A., a coconut’s throw from the 405 freeway. Beck only sang a couple of songs, both about TV destruction and toxic inhalants, before he lifted a German Shepherd over his head and threw it into the crowd. I was from NYC and had never seen a real live canine fly before but I caught the beast and he licked my forehead and whispered into my ear, “Beck’s a good dude, wait until he grows into the #1 sweater anti-surf rider of Malibu and let him read your mind.”
Cut to the late summer of 2010 and sitting with Beck on his back porch where I’m slowly eating a pack of basted tobacco Darks n’ Blues with honey-raw crèmes and Beck looks up from the pools of silver-jello burbling around his open-toed snoopz and exclaims, “yes. Thurston. i. will. Produce. Yr. record.” So I fly out with a paper lunchbag of tunes all written over a 2 year period of time moving between a movie screen displaying the tone-poem cinema of Robert Bresson and a cathode ray emitting the sex-diary investigations of Catherine Breillat.
On day one I played the first song sitting in front of a Beck-wired microphone, its design informed by the cut of Joseph Beuys’ cerebellum. The jam is called “Benediction”, where the camera records the adult girl reading a love letter written on the back blank pages of her hymnal where he knew only she could find it.
On day two I played the second song, “Illuminine”, in a field alive with sheep, bells tinkling to the sky from their necks, surrounding me as I sang into a specially-prepared dirt-mic, where the resonance becomes richer the more prone the performer’s body is to the earth. Lyrics of salvation through lonesome meditation of nature and its reflection of animal magnetism. Surrendering to spirit desire.
On day three I played the third song, “Circulation”, while sitting in the middle seat in the front of a 1978 AMC Pacer with Sparks’ Russell Mael driving, Ron Mael with his window closed (it was 103 degrees out) constantly fiddling with the side-view mirror. Beck was in the back holding a shotgun mic and recording the basic track, already pre-recorded, as it played through the Pacer’s sick system, while I sang live the lyrics, trying to focus on the lust-rust blood scent of a city girl on a holy other coast.
On day four I played the fourth song “Blood Never Lies”, while hitchhiking to Venice Beach on the PCH. I set out 30 minutes early to get a “head” start before Beck came whizzing by in a rented British six-cylinder Triumph TR6, one hand on the wheel, the other whipping a whip-mic over his head and every time it came close to my mouth I would sing the lyrics that came to me as my thumb beckoned psychedelic housewives to consider taking me into town.
On day five I flew back to NYC, took a cab to an underground bar on Rivington Street on the Lower East Side called Jericho’s where I was due to DJ. I faked putting on a record, after playing “Hey Jude” (Beatles) and “China Grove” (Doobies), and plugged my acoustic into a double ganged set of vintage Pignose amps and reminisced about those early streets where the pizza is particularly punk and saints lead you to playgrounds of eros and thought-magicks. The bartender, an old fast-folk flyabout from Beck’s NYC in-search-of-the-secret-of-Pussy-Galore days, recorded the jam, titled “Orchard Street”, on his 1984 Sony Walkman WM-D6C Pro and Fed Ex’d the tape to Beck’s L.A. hideout.
On day six, I woke up in the back of a Volkswagen I kept on the rooftop of my old apartment on Lafayette St., knowing that I had to catch a flight back to the west coast before Beck started putting up new posters in his studio, as that was something I really wanted to have a hand in decision-wise. I dressed in a ratty old blue sailor outfit I had stashed in the front end boot and walked through the first light snow wondering, wondering, wondering if it were just a dream that I was kidnapped and set free only to wander in search of my heart-thief. I sat down on a park bench and wrote the song “In Silver Rain with a Paper Key”. I recorded it with my cigarette-mic, which by its distinct proximity to my mouth and the inflection caused by the lip-grip on the mic’s “filter” I was able to capture the essence of strangers falling in love. I stuck the smoked mic behind my ear and hailed a cab to JFK.
On day seven I walked into Beck’s studio and he had already covered the place with posters of radical women poets. It was perfect and I took my blindfold out of my guitar case and tied it around my eyes and sat down and wrote a song about the onyx eyes of “Mina Loy”, the amazing modernist, surrealist, futurist writer who wrote the most beautiful love songs and made art from light fixtures. In honor, Beck showed me his new broken-lightbulb-mic twisted into a high-impedance socket on his studio ceiling which I could barely only reach by balancing on an unpainted rocking chair Beck had inherited from his grandfather Al. “Why didn’t he paint it?” I asked Beck. He pointed to a small pen line on the chairs back which read: I’ll Get To It.
On day eight I recorded the eighth song “Space” while swimming in Beck’s patio pool in full NASA Astronaut flight gear. Beck had stocked the pool with Bubble Eye, Fantail, Comet, Pearlscale, Shubunkin, Pompom and Veiltail Goldfish. Each fish was equipped with quadruple-fin and dorsal-fin mics, very miniscule, and I could only sing the lines when one would enter into my helmet and swim into my throat. Beck stacked high on the diving board his array of vintage synths all held together by Spiderwire fishing line. He’d climb the stack as if he was a newborn Keith Emerson and play beautiful swooshes with his fingers and scurries with his toes, in as adept a style as I’ve ever witnessed.
On day nine I recorded the ninth song “January” as a birthday greeting to a new day, and to a girl on roller skates in a prison stripe bathing suit.
Beck and I discussed many players we thought would compliment the record in all its improvisatory experimentation and focus on song-slip. We decided that Samara Lubelski (violin) and Mary Lattimore (harp) had to play and we invited them to join us. We fed them cantaloupes, raw milks, doughnuts, Zuma sushi and Lily’s fish tacos. And we threw shadows into the sun.
Kurt Vile and the Violators - (Set time: 9:15 PM)
Kurt Vile and the Violators
Kurt Vile is a guitarist and singer from Philadelphia. He was previously the lead guitarist in the band The War on Drugs and also has a burgeoning solo career. He was signed by Matador Records in May 2009 as a solo artist.

His music has been likened to Bruce Springsteen, Bob Seger, and Tom Petty. His first album for Matador, titled Childish Prodigy was released in October 2009. Prior to signing with Matador, Vile released two albums, God is Saying This to You and Constant Hitmaker, on Mexican Summer and Woodsist, respectively. He plays both solo shows as well as shows with a backing band called The Violators.
Hush Arbors - (Set time: 8:30 PM)
Hush Arbors
HUSH ARBORS in ‘The Two of us Riding Nowhere’ tour
East Coast to Midwest, January through February 2011.

Keith Wood’s songwriting under the Hush Arbors moniker has undergone all manner of transformation and return since he began the project in 2001. That first click of the fourtrack gave eager listeners a glimpse of traditional song forms making their way along well trodden paths beneath a fuzz laden sky. Influential labels like Digitalis, Foxglove, 267 Latajjaa, The Great Pop Supplement, Blackest Rainbow & Three Lobed leapt upon the chance to issue these songs, releasing them as cd’s, cdr’s and vinyl discs of varied size and colour.

These soft and hypnotically picked folk songs appeared between cracks in the heaving storms that cloaked a private and ancient sounding world; bliss and wrath coiled around their fragility. Sometimes they were overwhelmed and sometimes they persisted and survived. A few years down the line the songs gained a grip on the doom in the sky; they were painting its ominous colours into their backdrop and hitching their power to the song plough. Heavy furrows scar the ‘Landscape of Bone’ cdr (this fans enduring favourite), but the country kicks roll around on oversize tires, “there's whiskey in that bottle, and there’s blood on the floor…”

So who’d have placed a bet in 2001 on Hush Arbors releasing a pair of belting rock records on Ecstatic Peace, touring Europe with the late Jack Rose and the world as a regular member of Current 93 and Voice of the Seven Thunders (not forgetting part time stints in Six Organs of Admittance, Wooden Wand & Sunburned Hand of the Man)… and all before the decade was out? Not the longest odds, but odd nonetheless.

Not to mention playing to sold out crowds at ATP or on the bill with Sonic Youth & Dinousaur Jr. J Mascis produced and played on last years Ecstatic Peace long-player ‘Yankee Reality’, but in truth Hush Arbors has never had a strict membership policy, incorporating members of all the bands that Wood has played in as well as a great many more.

Since 2006 this Virginian son has been living and breathing the London air, but he’s making his way home to see 2011 dawn on home soil. After that he’s hitting the road with The Two of us Riding Nowhere tour. The two of us is Wood and Jason Ajemian, Wood’s “oldest friend”. They’ll play separately, they’ll play together, heck, they’ll probably have to sleep together too. In the trunk you’ll find a double-bass, a guitar and one or two things that the border guards might frown upon (Keith’s beard & Jason's pork chops?).

There’s a Hush Arbors record in the works for mid- 2011, but for January and February it’s the Two of Them Riding Nowhere twixt the East Coast and the Midwest. You can be that nowhere, just hit them up for a date.
Venue Information:
Troubadour
9081 Santa Monica Blvd
Los Angeles, CA, 90069
http://www.troubadour.com/

All lineups and times subject to change