Merge 25 – Thursday – Tickets – Cat’s Cradle – Carrboro, NC – July 24th, 2014

Merge 25 - Thursday

Merge 25 - Thursday

Superchunk, Reigning Sound, The Rock*A*Teens, The Clientele, Telekinesis, Eleanor Friedberger

Thu, July 24, 2014

Doors: 7:00 pm / Show: 7:30 pm

Cat's Cradle

Carrboro, NC

$49.00

Sold Out

July 24 - Cat's Cradle - Superchunk / The Rock*A*Teens / The Clientele & more!
Facebook Event for Merge 25 - Thursday
Tickets are non-refundable.

Merge 25
Merge 25
Merge Records invites you to North Carolina to help us celebrate our 25th anniversary at Merge 25, a 4-day music festival that now includes Teenage Fanclub, Mount Moriah, William Tyler, Reigning Sound, David Kilgour & the Heavy 8s, Imperial Teen, Telekinesis, Eleanor Friedberger, Hiss Golden Messenger, Amor de Días, Saint Rich, The Music Tapes, Vertical Scratchers, Hospitality, and Mikal Cronin!

This set of performers rounds out the already-announced line-up of Wye Oak, The Clientele, Destroyer, Caribou, Lambchop (performing Nixon), Neutral Milk Hotel, The Rock*A*Teens, Ex Hex, Bob Mould, The Mountain Goats, Superchunk, and The Love Language.

We have plenty more surprises up our sleeves, so stay tuned as we celebrate Merge 25!

Wednesday, July 23, at Baldwin Auditorium, Durham, NC
$35 – tickets on sale April 22 through Duke Performances

Lambchop performs Nixon
Mount Moriah
William Tyler
Thursday, July 24, at Cat’s Cradle, Carrboro, NC
$49 – a few tickets still available through Cat’s Cradle

Superchunk
Reigning Sound
The Rock*A*Teens
The Clientele
Telekinesis
Eleanor Friedberger
Amor de Días
Hiss Golden Messenger
Friday, July 25, at Cat’s Cradle, Carrboro, NC
$49 – SOLD OUT

Destroyer
Wye Oak
The Mountain Goats
David Kilgour & the Heavy 8s
Imperial Teen
Hospitality
Saint Rich
Vertical Scratchers
Saturday, July 26, in Carrboro, NC (outdoor party)
$59 through June 1 / $65 thereafter

Neutral Milk Hotel
Caribou
Teenage Fanclub
Bob Mould
Mikal Cronin
Ex Hex
The Love Language
The Music Tapes
Superchunk
Superchunk
If punk taught us anything—and it might have been just this one thing—it’s that loud, aggressive music can provide the sweetest release. Shouting out can clear your psyche of problems ranging from a copy-shop co-worker who won’t do his part to the realization that you, along with all your friends and loved ones, are hopelessly impermanent. It’s a fantastic tonic for a wide spectrum of ailments, like aspirin. Where do you hurt? Sing this—you’ll feel better.

Superchunk has offered up that sonic salve off and on for two decades, at various volumes. Like most great bands that started loud, they also explored the quiet, beginning the 1990s with a self-titled debut (which housed “Slack Motherfucker”) and ending them with Come Pick Me Up, a stately set that incorporated strings and horns. 2001 saw the even gentler Here’s to Shutting Up, but the rest of the aughts saw so little activity that the end seemed nigh.

And then Mac, Laura, Jon, and Jim decided to shout it out again: 2010’s Majesty Shredding is perfectly described by its own title—it’s a celebratory set of whoa-whoa-whoas from a group so thrilled by making music together again that they can’t contain themselves. It’s unsubtle in the best possible ways.

I Hate Music, which you’re hopefully listening to right this minute because you couldn’t wait to put it on, is Majesty’s dark twin. It’s similarly aggressive—often moreso—and every bit as energetic. It reflects the joys of a life spent immersed in music (“Me & You & Jackie Mittoo,” “Your Theme”), but there’s a dark undercurrent as well. That title isn’t tongue-in-cheek, but it’s really more a question than a statement: When you’re 20, lazy co-workers and romantic missteps number among your biggest worries; two decades later, life’s bigger questions knock louder and louder, demanding answers.

“Low F” finds Superchunk in classic mode—both classic Superchunk and a dash of classic rock: The rhythm section drops out for big choruses, and a guitar solo brings pure sunshine. “Trees of Barcelona” is similarly joyous; it’s “so happy, so happy to go with that flow.”

To borrow a phrase, I Hate Music rages against the dying of the light, and refuses to go gentle into that good night. The people and times that he’s missing haunt Mac’s lyrics this time out in ways both gorgeously sentimental (“You’re not around / but you’re still the window we are looking out”) and angrily cathartic (“All I see is a void”). “Your Theme” longs for someone and somewhere that he will never know again. (The original definition of “nostalgia,” as you may know, was “severe homesickness,” and it was treated like a disease. It applies here.)

But in the end, I Hate Music sounds to me like an album about love more than anything else: love of life, love of living, love of people, and yeah, love of music. It defies its own title so completely and diligently that it never even seems like a fair fight: There’s no pain this deep or yearning this severe without the type of love earned over a lifetime. “I hate music – what is it worth? / Can’t bring anyone back to this earth” goes the first line in “Me & You & Jackie Mittoo.” That song and its ten companions can’t relive the past or resurrect those lost, but they can keep them close enough to see and hear and celebrate. It’s dark in here, but if we conjure the right words and sounds, we’ll find our way out.
Reigning Sound
Reigning Sound
Reigning Sound's Greg Cartwright might posses songwriting talents equal to those of masters like Jagger & Richards. Memphis drenched rock albums like "Time Bomb High School" and "Too Much Guitar" could be modern day masterpieces likened to "Exile" and "Sticky Fingers".
The Rock*A*Teens
The Rock*A*Teens
The Rock*A*Teens were nothing short of a force of nature. Roaring out of Cabbagetown, GA, they blended a unique mixture of dark, swampy rock influences into a thick primordial stew that defies categorization ... Pop? Blues? Jazz? Rockabilly? Garage? Theirs was music of passion and lust, love and heartbreak, hope and despair, triumph and failure, heat and humidity. Less -

Distortion pedals buzz with washes of reverb, organ whines and piano rolls, drums pound with tribal intensity, and the vocals wail and ache and rejoice, wrapping around themselves in a feverish embrace. A cool wash of emotion and grit. A cleansing of your tired and battered soul.

“In that they were ‘arguably’ the best American rock ’n roll band of the ’90s, it is safe to say that the Rock*A*Teens were also the most underrated American rock ’n roll band of the ’90s.” —Dan Bejar, Destroyer
The Clientele
The Clientele
The Clientele formed a long time ago in the backwoods of suburban Hampshire, playing together as kids at school, rehearsing in a thatched cottage remote from any kind of music scene, but hypnotized by the magical strangeness of Galaxie 500 and Felt and the psych pop of Love and the Zombies. Singer Alasdair MacLean still recalls a pub conversation where the band collectively voted that it was OK to be influenced by Surrealist poetry but not OK to have any shouting or blues guitar solos. From that moment on, they put their stamp on a kind of eerie, distanced pure pop, stripped to its essentials and recorded quickly to 4-track analogue tape.
Bonfires on the Heath is in a sense a return to the Clientele’s roots; the dreamlike suburban landscapes first encountered in the early singles, their trippy sense of menace stronger now. Back in London, they’ve drawn on older traditions of English folk, which exist here side by side with the band’s more familiar bossa and pop elements. Mel Draisey’s contributions on piano and violin add beautifully to MacLean’s timeless, eerie songs.
Instantly identifiable, the Clientele sound like no one else, although they are cited as an influence by bands as diverse as Spoon and the Fleet Foxes. It’s been said that the greatest bands always create their own individual sound; the Clientele have gone one further and created their own world.
Telekinesis
Telekinesis
TELEKINESIS: A Factual, If Editorialized, Introduction

It's such an impossible thing, at this funny little point in history, to not look back: We're recording every little thing with our cameras that make the little noise like cameras used to make; we're measuring our actual selves against our online selves with hopeful resignation; we're rendering and retouching the record of our lives at every turn. If it can be perfect then let's make it so, goes the wisdom of the moment.

To be fair, there's a certain convenience about perfection. It's easy to wear and see and swallow and enjoy, and it leaves the heart light. It's also totally boring. And though occasionally friendly and welcoming, literal perfection in pop music is never, ever awesome.

Which is where Telekinesis comes in. On record, Michael Lerner is the sole member of Telekinesis, more or less. He writes, sings and plays the songs. His love of Japan knows no bounds, though he's never been. He's a fantastic drummer and a fearless singer. And he does not look back willingly.

I mean, you can forcibly crane his head around in a pinch (mortal danger and Seinfeld reruns qualify). But Michael's songs are ridiculously immediate, and he delivers them with blinding velocity. His approach to music isn't unlike those spikes at the rental car place: Backing up deflates the tires, and not in a pleasant way.

It's reflected in Michael's writing, too, this philosophy of ever- forward motion. These are big-hearted songs, written quickly and from the gut. Telekinesis is the geography of dreams; a school year abroad; love letters from Liverpool coffee shops to the Carolina coastline and Tokyo and everywhere in between everywhere; a road trip waiting to happen. And it's absolutely perfect, but not because anyone went back to fix it. It just happened that way.
Eleanor Friedberger
Eleanor Friedberger
At a time when most female singer-songwriters perform as alter egos, Eleanor Friedberger is simply, refreshingly herself. And that's just the way her fans like it. Having spent the last decade fronting the indie-rock institution The Fiery Furnaces (currently on hiatus) with her brother Matthew, in 2011 she emerged as a formidable solo artist with Last Summer, a thoughtfully crafted tale of memory and place couched in the organic pop of her '70s idols. Instantly, Friedberger established herself as a modern-day heir to the tradition of Donovan, Todd Rundgren, Ronnie Lane, and their ilk: Warm, nuanced, timeless songs. No gimmicks necessary.
The title of Friedberger's sophomore album is Personal Record, and it is, in a sense. Personal, that is. But not personal in the way of, say, a coming-of-age record, or a diary about the past, which Last Summer was. Many of the songs seem to be about love, or love lost, but whether any of the experience is hers or someone else's, she isn't saying. "It's not as specific a narrative this time," she says. "There's a universality to it." So incisive are the lyrics, in fact, that Friedberger's bassist incorrectly assumed that two of the songs were about him. "I loved that," she says. "I want him to feel like the songs are about him. I want you to feel like the songs are about you."
The term "personal record" also refers to an athlete's best, and the double entendre is apt. An intense decade-plus of touring and recording has burnished Friedberger's voice and imbued her songwriting with newfound depth; there's a maturity and mellifluousness to this outing that feels downright epic. It was always the Eleanor-penned songs that gave the Furnaces' albums their most poignant and graceful moments, especially in later work like I'm Going Away. Last Summer took that promise into full flower; Personal Record "is part of the same growth process," she says. Faced with a six-month gap between the completion of Last Summer and its release and accompanying tour, Friedberger holed up at home in Brooklyn; by the time the tour started, she had twelve new songs to road-test. Though most bands work this way, the Furnaces didn't. For Friedberger, touring with the unreleased material allowed her to flesh out a more rollicking, full sound from the get-go. "By the time I came home," she says, "I knew exactly what I wanted the songs to sound like."
She reunited with Last Summer producer Eric Broucek (the DFA-trained emerging talent whose clients include !!!, Hercules and Love Affair, and Jonny Pierce) to expand upon the warm, textured atmosphere of their first collaboration. Tracking began in fall 2012 with a week at Plantain Studios, the West Village home of DFA. To Friedberger's favored electric pianos and classic-rock guitars, they added a menagerie including an upright bass, an alto flute, a bass clarinet, and even a portative organ. (It's a device made of several recorders and a bellows in a frame that looks like a wooden castle. Or, actually, like Howl's Moving Castle.)
Production then resumed at Broucek's home studio in the Los Angeles hills, where the rest of the record was completed in just ten days. As the songs filled out, Friedberger went full-out in immersing herself in her romantic vision of that city. "I was just listening to Fleetwood Mac and Neil Young, driving around in a borrowed Prius," she says. "Walking along Point Dume, playing tennis at Griffith Park.... I ate hippie food every day. Lots of lentils."
The sun-warmed languor of the West Coast and its golden age of rock 'n' roll shines through in Personal Record. It's the aural equivalent of an afternoon jaunt up the PCH in an orange BMW 2002, fist pumping into the wind. "When I Knew" and "Stare at the Sun" rock out like the Furnaces' finest, but with that unmistakable Eleanor gracefulness. "Echo or Encore" is a lilting love ballad underlaid with with a bossa nova beat. "I Am the Past" evokes the mystical side of the Me Decade with meandering bass clarinet and a balls-out flute solo (seriously). Though Friedberger may harbor a bit of a '70s fetish, there's an idiosyncrasy and intimacy to her music that's undeniably modern. Above all, it's pretty. "It's such a romantic album to me," Friedberger says. "But more so than love for another person, it's really about a love of music."
Venue Information:
Cat's Cradle
300 East Main St.
Carrboro, NC, 27510
http://catscradle.com/