Neko Case

Although Neko Case’s alt-country stylings may be a bit tame to headline an indie music festival, her skill made up for any lack of hipster persona or flair for rocking out on Friday. In fact, you don’t have to be a huge fan to fall for Case’s deep twang, though many attendees of her show obviously were.

Neko Case and her bandmates seemed a little shy and uncomfortable interacting with their adoring audience, but they found their voice with the songs they performed instead. Case’s voice resonated through the Orpheum Theater even more powerfully than it ever does on her studio albums, and the exposed vocal interlude of “Deep Red Bells” proves the girl can carry a tune without any instrumental backing.

Performing mostly new material from the upcoming Middle Cyclone, Neko Case and company played a dynamic set full of stunning performances to hear and interesting sights to watch. The laughably surprising appearance of the band’s dog on stage prompted a few giggles, but the addition of an upright-bass and the multi-instrumental dexterity of Neko Case’s guitarist (who played slide, banjo, acoustic and electric at least) were even more fun to watch.

And the songs performed were downright gorgeous. Almost every new track had a solid hook, suggesting Middle Cyclone has a lot of promise, and the hits Case performed had the kind of sing-along quality that hypnotizes fans. Even Case’s simple harmonization with her backing vocalist was worthy of attention.

And the crowd adored her. Fans worked their way to the pack formed at Case’s feet throughout the otherwise seated show, and everyone went silent in awe during the highlight “I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight.” Along with the enthusiastic standing ovation and expected encore, three words from an attendee made the band’s success clear: “Madison loves you!”

— Michael Merline

“Hey, we’re Killdozer. Fuck you,” Michael Gerald proclaimed at the band’s show at the High Noon Saloon Saturday night. The band, composed of Dan Hobson, Bill Hobson and Michael Gerald, demonstrated their “bad-itude” with force — although it was hard to tell whether Killdozer actually embodied this character or whether it was simply an act for its loyal fans.

According to their history, it seems Killdozer is simply, for lack of a better adjective, badass. After all, they’re named after a TV movie by Jerry London about a possessed murderous bulldozer. Yes, the band is also a fan of the weird.

And Saturday night was truly a spectacle for all who attended. Not because the band exhibited outstanding stage antics, but — although the band (sans Dan Hobson) has played reunion shows such as “Fuck You, We Reunite!” in recent years — this was the original lineup’s first show together in 12 years.

Killdozer began its set with the song “Richard” from Twelve Point Buck — said to be the album that inspired the grunge scene in Seattle. With stinging vitriol, Gerald sang with a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor “Some people call me Satan, but my name is Richard, and you can call me Dick” as percussion thumped beneath thrashing guitars.

In addition to the band’s biting humor, Killdozer is also known for its snarky cover songs, covering material from Neil Young, Don McLean and Creedence Clearwater Revival.

“Here’s a song we had to pay Neil Diamond $465 for,” said Gerald before the band launched into a distorted remake of “I Am, I Said” once again from Twelve Point Buck. “I am lost and can’t even say why,” Gerald snarled at the top of his lungs, and the song quickly captivated an audience that was previously just milling about the High Noon Saloon floor.

Who knows when or if Killdozer will play a show in its hometown of Madison again. Certainly fans hope that day will be soon, but last night was a guarantee that this seminal band hasn’t lost its swagger and sass.

–Sarah Probst

Bob Mould

Bob Mould is Bob Mould. That makes sense on the surface, but it’s the underlying point behind it that’s important: Namely, Mould doesn’t do anything that Mould wouldn’t do. His personal integrity is almost unmatched in the music world. Certainly, Friday night’s performance at the Majestic proved this.

Over the course of his hour-plus set, Mould played with exuberance that would warrant a comparison to H?sker D?, his first band. This, of course, was surprising given the fact that Mould’s band consisted solely of Mould on electric guitar and Jason Narducy on bass. There was no percussion at all.

As much as I tried not to let it bother me, the lack of any type of percussion really was irritating. Mould and Narducy still rocked out from the outset of the show, but it was just hard to not be thinking, “Something is missing here.”

I wasn’t the only one to notice, either. Between songs, Mould related how hectic this past year had been, with releasing a new album, a new DVD and touring the entire country (and Europe). After listing that agenda, he joked that he was “probably missing something,” to which an audience member yelled, “Drums.” It got laughs from those who heard it.

Apart from that oddity, the show was quite entertaining. Mould reached as far back into his catalogue as he could, playing highlights “See A Little Light” and “Sinners and Their Repentances,” both from his solo debut, Workbook. That said, he also played songs from his most recent (soon to be second-most) outing, District Line and a little of everything in between including a late-set rendition of “Your Favorite Thing,” a song from Mould’s second band, Sugar.

The audience was definitely into the show, as people on the floor could be seen either dancing or rocking out. The average age of those attending was probably in the 35 to 40 range — not your typical age bracket for a show at the Majestic, but nonetheless the crowd was supportive of Mould’s presence, going as far as thanking him for coming after he thanked the crowd.

Overall, it was an interesting performance that many in the audience will cherish for a time to come. But, hey, that’s what Bob Mould has always done.

–Steve Lampiris

Mason Jennings

True Mason Jennings fans go to his show with the burning question in their minds, “Is he with the band or going solo?” When his band backs him up, his beautiful folk songs come alive, and each show becomes a unique documentary — the stuff live bootlegs are made of. When it is just him up there, it’s still Jennings, just a more textbook Jennings that draws you close. Last night at the Majestic Theatre he showcased both sides.

He took the stage with bassist and drummer and played the first track of his debut self-titled album, — “Nothing” a great song and a coy move by someone who began humbly with a dedicated fan base and has released an album on Jack Johnson’s record label. He set out to prove he is the same Jennings who frequented the 400 Bar in Minneapolis by mixing in seven tracks from his newest album, In The Ever, with a smattering of tunes from each of his other albums, sans Simple Life.

At one point in the show, I heard a woman lean over and say to her significant other, “Do you feel emasculated being here?” This is where Mason has failed. His music used to be genderless and demographic-spanning. He has recently moved towards cloying love songs, and sometimes I think he just wants to buy the world a Coke. A crowd chanting, “Oh Jesus, I love you/ I love you and Buddha too” may be acceptable on “Yo Gabba Gabba”, but it’s embarrassing for adults. Mason has always treaded close to hokiness, but it used to be endearing. Now it has just become uncomfortable.

He debuted a new song called “Black,” which he said was inspired by his stay in Chile and the glaciers that have melted there. It features dark, Leonard Cohen-style vocals and lyrics that bemoan global warning. Whether or not old fans can dig this new style, they should be comforted by the fact that Mason stays true to form when he’s onstage.

–Roland Nimis

Flosstradamus

It’s not easy to review a DJed performance. Not because you can’t critique the guitar player or analyze the lead singer’s ridiculous on-stage banter. No, I just wanted to dance, so I did. But this isn’t necessarily irresponsible journalism; it’s simply a testament to the amazing performance from Chicago DJ duo Flosstradamus, who performed at the Majestic Saturday night.

While their performance didn’t exhibit songs as complex as those found on the duo’s MySpace page, Flosstradamus delivered a set that was beyond entertaining and danceable, as evidenced by the swarming mass in front of the Majestic’s stage.

A live DJed performance is exponentially more difficult to pull off than a recording and mixing “session” on a MacBook. At least the four turntables, two computers and mass of wires would indicate this. But the two DJs — Autobot (Curt Cameruci) and J2K (Josh Young) — spun everything with ease, seemingly gliding from turntable to computer every few seconds to add another sample layer onto the songs thumping through the speakers.

Flosstradamus’ most memorable “song” — although it’s hard to judge individual songs when all melodies blend seamlessly together — was a mash-up of House of Pain’s “Jump Around.” Probably because of its use at Badger football games, the minute the horn line screeched through the speakers, audience members cheered wildly, and the entire crowd bounced along with the beat.

Flosstradamus has yet to produce an album of its own, but hopefully this twosome from Chicago will do so in the near future. It goes without saying, however, that no album could compare with the duo’s performance Saturday night.

–Sarah Probst

Dan Deacon

Jet lag — that is what hundreds of people felt after being taken to “Wham City” and back by Dan Deacon Friday night. From a table on the Majestic Theatre floor, Deacon not only performed his distinctive brand of electronic dance music, but he also acted as the conductor of mass hysteria.

His setup included a table full of knobs, pedals, strange gadgets, a web of cables, some toys, an iPod shuffle and red, white and blue incandescent light bulbs. That’s not including a flashing green skull he duct-taped to a tall mic stand,

He opened with “Okie Dokie” from his newest album, Spiderman of the Rings, and the crowd fortunately knew to chant “I got a rattlesnake gun” and follow his instructions. Throughout the show, Deacon had the crowd compete in a dance-off, run around in circles and run through a tunnel of people to the balcony. The music played second fiddle to the theatrics, but Deacon was spot on. His set spanned his career, and there was never a moment that didn’t make you want to dance.

The concept of composure is foreign to Deacon’s world. He brought out the electricity in the audience, and things quickly grew into a much-welcomed chaos. The show was the property of anyone who stuck their neck out as the vocal duties became ad hoc. Just as the venue tried to bring about a close, the whole place exploded in a mass of flying sweat — fists were flying everywhere and I left without my hat.

–Roland Nimis

Giant Sand

Opening for headliner Neko Case, Giant Sand (featuring frontman Howie Gelb and friends) had a surprisingly barren theater to entertain Friday night, but the desert-rock legend coaxed a solid crowd into the Orpheum once he started playing. Gelb’s deep Southwestern drawl and cryptic monologues aren’t what most listeners consider musical normality, but his peculiar style — akin to that of a saloon musician in some modern Southwest ghost town — seemed to grow on the audience.

Now over 50 years old and sporting baseball cap-girdled graying hair, Gelb looks more like a session musician than a frontman, yet he established a connection with Friday’s audience that made for an entertaining show. Gelb doesn’t have a fantastic voice nor a handsome visage, but he makes up for it with wit and style that can keep an audience laughing, even if they don’t know quite what they’re supposed to think of the New Mexican gas station attendant tooling around with a piano onstage. But Giant Sand knows its place, and Gelb ended his first song saying so with the line “Our motto is a mumbled word” in a hyperbolic Texas accent.

Giant Sand’s performance was perhaps the most atmospheric of the night, transforming the Orpheum into a dusty bar before country-songstress Neko Case even arrived. A few lounge-like tracks with Gelb on piano gave way to bluesy jams with his fingers dancing on the keys, and Giant Sand eventually turned to jamboree-styled rock towards the end of their set.

But a cover of PJ Harvey’s “The Desperate Kingdom of Love” early on really got the audience’s attention. Gelb’s gravelly whisper complemented the simple ballad perfectly, and the song’s inherent emptiness only intensified Giant Sand’s satisfying penchant for a barren sound.

The audience probably didn’t know what to expect from Giant Sand but seemed pretty happy — albeit surprised — with what they got. But like Gelb’s albums, Friday night was a challenge to figure out what these dune-poets are rocking out about with one listen. The show might just have prompted a few listeners to pursue some more.

–Michael Merline

Monotonix

Monotonix began their show by throwing water on their audience. They continued their show by spitting water in a girl’s face. They ended their show by imploring their audience — even “the females” — to take off their shirts and spin them in the air with fury. This was one unforgettable show.

A rock trio from Tel Aviv, Israel, Monotrix came from the most distant location to perform Friday night. But it was worth it.

This band was clearly one of those “live” bands, putting into question on-stage antics versus musical quality when it comes to an in-person performance. Don’t get me wrong; their music — a combo of simplistic beats and badass guitar riffs — was outstanding, but this was slightly overshadowed by their unbelievable on-stage antics.

Except for the fact that their antics were actually off-stage; Monotonix actually performed on the Majestic floor. This allowed lead singer, Levi “Ha Haziz” Elvis, to bash into the crowd at will, also surfing atop the soon-adoring masses without permission. He also climbed atop innocent bystanders, mounted tables and snatched peoples’ drinks. No one was safe at this show, and a great number of audience members stepped away in hesitation when the rambunctious lead singer wove his way through the crowd.

The best moment of the band’s performance, though, was when Monotonix’s drummer, Mordecai, was hoisted into the air atop his bass drum. Audience members — including Forward Music Fest founder Wyndham Manning — held other pieces of his kit, and he played the rest of the song approximately eight or nine feet in the air.

As cliche as the phrase has become, Monotonix’s Madison debut was truly unforgettable. It’s possible that a band has never treated an audience with such care, yet abused them so mightily at the same time, and even though Monotonix seemingly assaulted the audience at every turn, the trio was also there to entertain to the fullest. And that they did.

–Sarah Probst

A Catapult Western

I was expecting to write a simple show review about A Catapult Western, but it is going to end up as an obituary. Midway through their truncated set at Cafe Montmartre Saturday night, ACW admitted that it was their last show ever. Trapped on a comically small stage, the five-piece band were still at the top of their game.

ACW sounds like what I imagine to be going through Tom Joad’s head as he looks at his land laid to waste. To me at least. ACW can sound like a lot of things to a lot of people because their lush, morose style lends itself to thinking deeply while staring into the distance. To say that they make sad music would be an injustice to their craft because the sadness that emanates from their instruments, posture and eyes is not about a broken heart but a much more tragic apathy. On one of their best songs from their self-titled and only album, Jason Nyberg sings, “It was the worst year I ever had/ I guess it wasn’t all that bad” while Laura Detert adds a Ken Burn’s “The Civil War”–style effect on the viola.

Nyberg bears the brunt of the vocals, though others will take lead on a song or two, and everyone sings harmonies when they are so moved. Although they were snubbed and forced off the stage at 8:10 p.m., they refused to be denied. As they left, they asked, “Are our mics still on?” and bid the crowd a good night in a goofy harmony. These perennial show-bolstering openers will be sorely missed in the Madison music scene, but I’m sure they will excel in their future projects.

— Roland Nimis