With a career that spans two decades, Ferrick builds on her signature raw and emotive sound on "the truth is." By adding a touch of Americana and lush arrangements, she creates a more rootsy record. She also brought in a bevy of talented collaborators for this effort: Grammy Award-winner Trina Shoemaker (Brandi Carlile, Sheryl Crow) mixed the album; Rafi Sofer (James Taylor, Juliana Hatfield) took on the role of engineer; and fellow Berklee College of Music alum Paula Cole appears as a guest vocalist on the album’s first track, “Wreck Me.”
Atlantic Records signed Ferrick in the mid-1990s, at a time when artists like Liz Phair and PJ Harvey were making waves and the industry was intent on finding the next alt-rock female phenom. Eventually, as the industry evolved, Ferrick went on to form her own independent label, Right On Records, and for the past several years has been signed with MPress Records. She’s released 17 albums throughout her career, including four live records.
Ferrick will be back in the Tampa Bay area this fall, performing at Club Jaeb at the Straz Center on Oct. 28.
Dopapod brought two high-energy sets to a packed house on Saturday night at Dunedin Brewery’s sold-out 5th Annual IPA Festival.
The iconic folkies — Amy Ray and Emily Saliers, who have written music and performed together for nearly three decades — are playing with a full symphony orchestra, creating a more bombastic sound.
“It’s nothing like playing to a drum beat,” Saliers said in an interview with Creative Loafing. “A big orchestra swells and grows. It’s a wonderful experience, but it’s challenging.”
Heading into "The Streisand Songbook" last night at the Mahaffey with the Boston Pops and Ann Hampton Callaway, I was admittedly more excited about the singer than the orchestra. I'm a longtime fan of Callaway, and had enjoyed talking with her in a phone interview before the show. So when I looked at the playbill and saw that she wouldn't be coming on till after intermission, I was a little dismayed.
Shouldn't have been. Turns out hearing a full-on orchestra dig into Broadway overtures and, gasp, Marvin Hamlisch, was a hell of a lot of fun — and an experience you don't get when you see a show on Broadway or at the Straz, where the orchestra is often out of sight in the pit, not front and center in all its glory. Suave young Pops conductor Keith Lockhart led the white dinner-jacketed ensemble with grace and even a bit of nimble soft-shoe, leading his musicians through the urban bedlam of a Bernstein suite from Wonderful Town and West Side Story; the sly lilt of Jule Styne's overture to Gypsy; and the irresistible hooks in Hamlisch's Chorus Line overture, including the unmistakable opening piano chords of "One."
The ostensible connecting thread between these selections was that they all bore some connection to Streisand. That thread got stretched pretty thin at times: the theme from Ice Castles? Turns out that's another one by Hamlisch, a great pal of Streisand's. And Hello, Dolly? OK, right — as Lockhart reminded us, Streisand played Dolly in the flop film version of the Jerry Herman musical. The orchestra's rendition of the all-too-familiar song was my least favorite number in the program — you need a Carol Channing or a Louis Armstrong as the astringent to Herman's sugary melodics, and the Pops version bore dangerously close to elevator music.
At first, I worried that Ann Hampton Callaway, armored in a Kate Smith-y blue gown and Michelle Obama bangs, was going to do her segment in full emcee mode; the intro was a little too rah-rah, kind of like a PBS pledge break ("if you love Streisand as we do …"). But once she settled in, all doubts faded.
SATURDAY, JUNE 12
Waking up to a late start, we realized we needed to venture back out to Walmart to pick up some crucial supplies for the group, a process that only took only about 45 minutes; from what I've heard, GA passholders can't leave the farm at all. Though momentary civilization was a nice break, especially the wifi, while we were out I missed the first of four Blind Pilot sets. Though I'd recently seen them play at Crowbar, I've been playing their album nonstop and really wanted to see the band perform in front of a crowd this large. I heard they played a cover of the Grateful Dead's "Friend of the Devil," which would've been really cool to hear at a festival with jammy roots.
After the relaxing morning we'd just experienced, emerging out into the masses was like encountering a scene from The Grapes of Wrath. Mid-day in the hottest sun of the weekend, the day pass holders had invaded the festival in what seemed to instantly double the amount of sizzling sunburned bodies sprawled in the dust. It was bizarre realizing just how different this festival is for general admission, as we shook our heads in sympathy for the swarms of people waiting in line to fill their water bottles. [More after the jump.]
You see, there is a bit of a caste system to the wristbands that provided access to this year's completely sold-out festival. The vast majority of Bonnaroovians have GA wristbands. They stay in tents, rarely shower (if ever), buy food from vendors (often eaten while walking), and spend hours baking in the hot sun to get a glimpse of bands amid thousands of others in a grassy field. Of course, that's if they aren't passed out in one of the plentiful spots of shade, simply too exhausted to carry on to the next show. The next level is VIP, which offers better access to the stages, private campgrounds with showers, or RV rentals. The highest level of wristband is Roll Like a Rockstar, a special package that provides accommodations on a fully stocked tour bus, chauffeured golf carts whisking around on hidden back roads, private viewing areas and restrooms, and hospitality lounges spread throughout the farm.
Our group wasn't just rolling like rockstars, we were rolling as rockstars. We wore the coveted yellow ‘Artist’ wristband, with full access to nearly every area at Bonnaroo one could ever wish to see, and plenty of perks that no paying attendee can experience. I didn't realize before the trip but this is much more access than even press receives, as my experience seems to have been much different from Andrew's. We didn't have a tour bus or golf carts, but none of that nonsense mattered because we had the most superior access to music out of anyone in attendance.
Sometimes, the good things in life are just about knowing the right wonderful people.
We were instantly sucked in by heavy bass filling the grassy area in front of This Tent, walking right into the private viewing area at the foot of the stage to catch the beginning of Danny Brown's set. His biting delivery and filthy lyrics were nearly overcome by the bass, which up this close twitched the hairs on my arms to the beat. This was the first of several fantastic hip-hop sets we wandered into, and my introduction the the unbelievably enthusiastic Bonnaroo crowds. I've never seen anything like how ballistic the packed tent became when Brown shouted out, "Bonnaroo, y'all some freaky motherfuckers! You gonna be getting dirty up in those titties later?" Brown played a bit of Blondie's "Rapture," dancing around onstage to recapture the crowd's attention before launching directly into the aggressive "Die Like a Rockstar."Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr.. Their indie-rock seems deceptively simpler live than recorded, as I'd never realized their perfectly harmonized songs are fleshed out by recorded electronic elements. Not only did the band bring a killer cover of Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You," they also brought a little something special for the crowd. Josh Epstein explained that they were so grossed out by the porta-johns when the band played their last festival that they decided to buy a bottle of Dom Perignon and leave it in one of the 7,500 facilities spread across the Manchester farm. Though Epstein encouraged "whoever finds it, goddamnit, have a good time," I'm pretty sure anything I found in one of those things would be staying there for the next person to enjoy.
From the back of the field we caught the last two songs from Orgone. Their funky R&B had Soul Train written all over it, like a fantastic 70's blaxsploitation soundtrack. Vocalist Niki Crawford encouraged the crowd to get into her vibe, saying "Orgone has been making sweet, sweet love to you for the last hour. Did you feel it? How you gonna make love back to us?" before the crowd enthusiastically responded with a sing-along to "Love Maker" as we started our walk back to This Tent. Stopping briefly by one of the smaller side stages, the Great Taste Lounge Brewed by Miller Lite (one of the thankfully rare visible sponsorships), we enjoyed some psychedelic basement rock from Monstro before continuing on to catch Yelawolf. [MORE photos, video and wraps after the jump.]
Here I am once again, typing away in a musty press trailer and basking in the air-conditioning at Bonnaroo here in Machester, Tenn. While I laugh at my peasant friends who are currently sweltering in our cheap tents drinking equally cheap beer at 10 a.m., the joke's on me. I'm working. [Text by Andrew, most photos by Mike.]
Through some masochistic sense of consistency and a strange fondness for this pleasurably depraved festival, I did the same thing again last year. And now, I've returned for a third round.
I'll break Bonnaroo down day by day with set recaps, mundane observations, and whatever else pours into this unwashed head of mine. Check it out after the jump.