|
|
|
|
photos by Maxi del Campo, Santander, Spain |
|
|
LIVE REVIEWS Denver Westword Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang played a spare set comprising an acoustic guitar and keyboard. As with all of the duo's musical ventures, Krukowski and Yang have made the bare minimum go a long way in terms of the emotional impact, allowing the emphasis to fall on the strength of the songwriting rather than bombastic gimmicks. Opening with a cover of Tim Buckley's "Song to the Siren," Damon and Naomi exuded a quiet intensity of feeling that continued through the final song. Throughout the set, Krukowski displayed an impressive sensitivity to understated dynamics and voicings that made even the most minimal of passages rich with subtle textures. Yang's spectral keyboard work served as the sonic spirit of the music, augmenting the beautifully ethereal character of her voice. Krukowski's own singing was passionate without distorting his voice or ever coming across as overwrought. After a short set that included "Lilac Land," "New York City," and "I'm Yours," the duo closed with a hushed and dreamy take on a Leonard Cohen classic, "Bird on a Wire." It's rare that you would call a band's music graceful, but that was a salient trait of this performance--tasteful yet powerfully and emotionally honest. CRITIC'S NOTEBOOK Performer There was a diverse range of young and old cozying up between the rows of used CDs and records as Damon & Naomi took the stage at Amoeba Records, all eager to hear the soft and alluring melodies of a seasoned pair of performers. The band was there promoting their new release, The Sub Pop Years, a collection of some of the most popular tracks off their last four albums released on the label, and even found it slightly humorous that the stage was set alongside the "oldies" section of the music store. Their set consisted of a few of their older hits as well as a handful of covers, ranging from Tim Buckley to Barbra Streisand. Although the cover songs were thoroughly entertaining, they held no weight in comparison to the original pieces performed by the two musicians. Naomi's voice was captivatingly haunting, maintaining a sense of radiance through its unsteady, yet bewitching sound. Her style of singing was similar to that of Dolores O'Riordan of the Cranberries in that it was elegant, yet powerful. Damon's guitar playing commanded the room, alternating between a sweet, almost lullaby-like sound, to upbeat rhythms that lifted spirits and ensured a positive atmosphere all listeners. The keys had a breezy, slightly hollow sound that helped tie together the overall tranquil experience. The performance illustrated why Damon & Naomi have been around and thriving for so many years. Their mature, yet captivating style is appealing to both their older fans and younger generations who appreciate the raw beauty that music can convey. Boston Phoenix Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang anticipated psych-folk and freak folk with their own '90s Amer-indie take on the British folk tradition. They pride themselves on playing unapologetically slow, sad music. Or they just can't help themselves. These days, they're touring behind their Sub Pop Years compilation (20|20|20), and at the Y, despite the gorgeous sadness of it all, I was reminded of how funny they are in concert. Krukowski delivered one dry-witted one-liner after another between songs, introducing "New York City" as "echt '90s indie rock," and pointing out that several songs on The Sub Pop Years were written "in a rent-controlled apartment right here in Central Square." Karl Marx, who features in "Eye of the Storm," was referred to as "a 19th century romantic poet." And then there was the music, still gorgeous after all these years. They began with Tim Buckley's "Song to the Siren," Krukowski taking the lead vocals, Yang harmonizing. Damon & Naomi's principle collaborators in concert on recent records have been Neil Young-ish pysch-rock guitarist Michio Kurihara (of the Japanese band Ghost) and the Boston horn duo of saxophonist Bhob Rainey and trumpeter Greg Kelley. Here it was just the assertive strum of Krukowski's acoustic guitar and Yang's keyboard -- especially effective when played in its rich, sonorous organ setting. Like the Buckley --- and despite what Krukowski said about "New York City" -- everything they played sounded both up-to-the-minute and timelessly ancient . "We're going to play this song as slowly as possible," Krukowski said before "Lilac Land," the "saddest song in a career of sad songs." At times, the combined vocal harmonies -- Krukowski's high keen, Yang's long-toned laments -- and the mix of acoustic guitar and keyboards, conjured a third voice, as if the Y's acoustic itself were a "sympathetic" string being sounded. Sadness never felt so good. Microphone Memory Emotion (New York) Anyone who has sort of followed Damon and Naomi's career from 1992 to the present knows that they can rock quietly. That's what Damon and Naomi proved again in their subtle and soulful performance Saturday night. Damon and Naomi are most famous for their work in 90s supergroup Galaxie 500. It has been almost 20 years since that alternative trio broke up, and although it only recorded three studio albums, it left an indelible and influential mark. Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang, who played drums and bass respectively in Galaxie 500, carved a niche in psychedelic folk music as Damon and Naomi, with a sound that hearkens cult artists like Tim Buckley and Nick Drake. (Not surprisingly, the other former member of Galaxie 500, Dean Wareham, hasn't drifted into obscurity either. Wareham went on to front Luna and is now part of the husband-and-wife musical duo Dean and Britta with Britta Phillips.) In live shows, Krukowski plays acoustic guitar and Yang performs on the keyboards, which was the case on Saturday when the duo returned to New York City for a show at Le Poisson Rouge (formerly the Village Gate) as the opening act for A Hawk and Hacksaw. The performance coincided with Damon and Naomi's recent release The Sub Pop Years, a 15-track compilation of music recorded for the Seattle indie label between 1995 and 2002. The short live set was interestingly bookended by a pair of covers: Tim Buckley's "Song to the Siren" and Leonard Cohen's "Bird on a Wire." In between were songs that drew from Damon and Naomi's time at Sub Pop as well as a few tunes from their own label 20/20/20. Krukowski and Yang alternated on the lead vocals with the former strumming on his acoustic, and the latter providing atmospheric textures through her keyboards. Both of them contributed wonderful harmony vocals as well as some strong individual performances: Yang on the very moody "Lilac Land," and Krukowski on "Turn of the Century." City Life WHEN Damon & Naomi started recording together in the early '90s, they didn't consider playing live, thinking a band without a rhythm section would be 'the worst kind'. It's credit to their talent that they made it work, especially as the duo started out played bass and drums themselves. Naomi Yang is a renowned bassist, having developed a unique approach to the four-string whilst with the influential, reverb-soaked '80s indie stars Galaxie 500. Tonight, however, she plays synth, producing suitably celestial organ tones to flesh out Damon Krukowski's simple, resonant acoustic guitar. High and higher harmonies hang in the air and the music floats serenely, unencumbered by the earthy tones of the traditional rhythm section. Clearly blessed with enormous brains, Damon & Naomi chat amiably between songs, sharing urbane jokes about misheard lyrics and apologising for selling 'coals to Newcastle' by performing an English folk song - the stark, beautiful ballad 'Cruel Queen'. This, along with the sumptuous 'New York City' and stormily graceful 'I'm Yours' (both on new compilation album The Sub Pop Years) are the highlights of a classy set. In spite of the glacial pace of the songs, the show spins past quickly and seems over before it's even begun. Yahoo Music UK The Luminaire is filled with a cloud of mournful expectancy. From the opening strums of Tim Buckley's "Song Of The Siren", everyone knows they're going to get an onslaught of dreamy, folk-pop laced with unhappy tales of better times in better places. The keyboard is muffled. The vocal is strained. The tone is set. It can be difficult to take music that's so persistently down seriously. It almost seems shallow, or lazy, to only cover one strand of extreme human emotion. Damon introduces "Lilac Land" saying "it's about as sad as you can get". Once you've reached the bottom, you go back to the top, right? Maybe. Between songs they're light-hearted. Damon tells a funny story of his afternoon in the Freud museum, followed by an explanation and a ditty about how living in New York is like "living in a box". You always bump into people. He doesn't like it. Then it's back to the serious business of his melodies. Back to the bottom. The flitting creates an eerie mood. The Luminaire could be a camp fire, we could all be listening to ghost stories, or at an intellectual Christian camp dissecting the implied meanings of the Old Testament. They both have the air of youth camp leaders. It's weird. They're both softly-spoken and clearly deep thinkers. Naomi's role is secondary to Damon's, but her contributions are crucial. With her keys, she either sends piercing squawks through the dense fog that Damon filters across the room like a human smoke machine, or provide organ sounds for him to rumble along on. They play old songs, and they play new songs. They play "Turn Of The Century", and they play "The World's Strongest Man", their contribution to a Scott Walker tribute album. It is stripped down to reveal its dark, cold soul. They have short songs, and they have long songs. But all of their songs, without fail, are sad songs. Their words and overtones creep through the Luminaire like slow-moving tentacles. And they hang heavily in your mind, and around your heart. The Wire All Music.com The sold-out crowd seemed to still be arriving when Damon & Naomi began. In order to do justice to their new album, Within These Walls, which is richly augmented by horns and strings in addition to Kurihara's guitar, Damon & Naomi brought along Bhob Rainey (nmperign) on soprano sax and Helena Espvall (Espers) on cello to fill out their live sound. Beginning with "The Well" and "Lilac Land," the band played much of the new album but also performed "The Wind's Twelve Quarters" from Kurihara's album, Sunset Notes. Naomi did a fine job singing the Japanese lyrics originally done on the album by Ai Aso. Damon also sang a beautiful song called "Ueno Station," dedicated to Japanese singer/songwriter Mikami Kan (who is one of four artists featured on International Sad Hits, the third release from Damon & Naomi's 20/20/20 label). Throughout the set, the cello, soprano sax, and Kurihara's guitar weaved a beautiful tapestry of sound around Damon & Naomi's songs. The soundman did an excellent job: all the instruments were clear in the mix despite all being in about the same register. Too bad he couldn't turn down all the people toward the back of the room who were talking too much and too loudly. Up by the stage, though, the crowd was pretty enraptured. "Stars Never Fade" was another highlight, with a wonderful solo from Kurihara. They closed the set as they close the album, with "Cruel Queen," which Damon described as "the quietest song of the night." Based on an old traditional folk song, it was a daring way to set the stage for Boris. Harp The reason we're visiting this tidy place is that we've been invited to attend a preview show for the tour Damon & Naomi are about to begin with Japanese heavy-rock monsters, Boris. This pairing may seem impossibly anomolous, but there is a conceptual methodology to its origins. The common factor is guitarist Michio Kurihara. Kurihara (best known in the U.S. as the lead guitarist for Ghost) has just guested on Damon & Naomi's Within These Walls (20/20/20) and Boris' Rainbow (Drag City), and he will play with both in concert. Kurihara is present for this evening's performance. Other auxiliary members are Bhob Rainey on soprano saxophone and Helen Espvall on cello. We head to the living room (or as close as we can get) and the music starts. Damon jokes about the idea of facing Boris's black-robed audience, but he seems up to the challenge. Their brief set is lovely, mostly drawn from their new album. Listening, on a balmy autumn evening, to Kurihara's haunting electric guitar, it seems possible they might even draw a few new converts from the Boris crowd. And why not? Even stoners like to be neat. The Washington Post The Boston Herald Utterly beautiful. That was the sound of the music that Cambridge couple Damon and Naomi parlayed, sequestered in the cozy ICA's theater Saturday night, two floors below Andy Warhol's peculiarly watchful image, exhibited in the gallery above. Most songs came from their stunning February release, ``The Earth Is Blue,'' which is Damon and Naomi's first album of new material in five years. The pair, Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang, founders of defunct '80s indie rock-pop band Galaxie 500, performed with their regular collaborator, guitarist Michio Kurihara (of Ghost), and improvisational trumpeter Greg Kelley. One passage saw these players rise up in a jarring clash of sounds. But with Krukowski strumming an acoustic guitar and Yang switching between swooning melodic bass and keyboards, a delicious harmony ruled. The performance swapped Yang's baroque-pop singing with Krukowski's folk huskiness, and flawlessly twinned those tones on Galaxie 500's ``Blue Thunder'' and Tim Buckley's ``Song to the Siren.'' The sublime finale segued Caetano Veloso's ``Araca Azul'' with ``The Earth Is Blue,'' which peaked with Kurihara's plangent notes and Kelley's piquant tejano touch. Not exactly Warhol's confrontational cup of tea, maybe. But these artists, clearly, never subscribed to Warholian pop culture's stifling 15 minutes of fame. Now Playing New Beats An aura of tragic magic was in the house when the duo of Damon and Naomi played in Brooklyn's Northsix the other night. Their fragile, melancholic sounds with only a guitar, bass, and harmonium brought new meaning to the term unplugged. It was music to its barest essentials. The Guardian (UK) If the Damon of Damon and Naomi were Damon Albarn, one might expect a gig comprised of a beginning, an end and something in between. But Damon Krukowski and his wife Naomi Yang (once two-thirds of the influential American avant-rockers Galaxie 500) have other ideas about live performance. For a start, the audience are treated like unexpected guests who have popped in just as the hosts were heading for bed. The current album, Damon and Naomi with Ghost, takes quiet-is-the-new-loud a step further than their previous records. It's a collaboration with Japanese psychedelic wanderers Ghost, whose wispy guitarist Michio Kurihara joins them tonight. Their pastoral neo-folk virtually dissolves on contact with the Garage's smoky air, and all but the first rows can forget about hearing much beyond a faint hum. The few who are near enough are transported, listening with eyes closed as Naomi's clear voice washes over Damon's acoustic guitar and Kurihara's electric doodlings. A cover of Song to the Siren lends the folkie standard a grace that over-familiarity had all but extinguished. As it drifts to a stop the couple flop back in their seats; if they were alone, this is when they would put the kettle on. The feeling of barging into their private domain hangs in the air, but the music becomes more emphatic on The Great Wall, overpowering Damon's Dylanesque rasp. Naomi's tour de force, Tanka, is even more of a wig-out, all three musicians genteelly straining at their leads and changing the topography of the set. At which point, of course, it ends, leaving those at the front mesmerised by this whisper of a show. San Francisco Chronicle NME It's the exact moment in the late-'60s when the hippies realised that, instead of just dreaming about the countryside, they could run away to it. Reconstructed with the aid of Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang's psychedelic folk, that moment of idyllic possibilities haunts the Garage tonight. Yang's harmonium drones hazily and the unfamiliar smell of clove cigarettes hangs in the air. Nice vibe, then. This is where the decade-long journey of Damon & Naomi has brought them; away from the pioneering slow-mo sadness of their first band, Galaxie 500, to an even quieter place. The clearest map reference is given by a cover of Tim Buckley's 'Song to the Siren'. So far, so NAM. The trump card, however, is guitarist Michio Kurihara, a visitor from the Japanese band, Ghost. Initially, Kurihara's ebbing electric atmospherics are even softer, more evanescent thant Krukowski's acoustic guitar. Gradually, through the astoundingly subtle freak-out of 'I Dreamed of the Caucasus', he adds more volume and an extra dimension to this already lovely music. "This is our pseudo-anthem to go with our pseudo-legendary status," says Krukowski, introducing 'This Car Climbed Mt. Washington', and by now Kurihara has emerged from the mist and is bending air like a brittle Neil Young. Get the camper van engine running, it's time to head for the hills. L.A. Weekly Before starting his band’s gorgeous headlining set at the Knitting Factory on Halloween night, singer-guitarist Damon Krukowski looked out at the audience of seated dozens and commented wryly, ?You think your tour’s going great, everything’s taken care of, then you find out the police have blocked off all the streets around the club you’re playing . . .? We all laughed, but it was a chuckle as much at our own recent transport misery as it was at Damon’s dry delivery. Still, the cruel act of godlessness that had made for an aggravating start to the evening had already been redeemed by an unannounced opening act’s (Ana D.) performance. . . . Damon & Naomi and Ghost’s performance was a second act of kindness. Concentrating on melancholy songs from their new Sub Pop collaboration, the Boston–based Damon and Naomi (on bass and some sort of tabletop pump organ, respectively) traded vocals in complement to three members of Tokyo’s finest psychedelic-folk band, Ghost. This transcontinental match is a wonderful one: The songs, firmly in the balladic/anthemic tradition of every troubled troubadour you’ve ever heard (Chris Bell, Nick Drake, Tim Buckley, Velvets, etc.), gained much from Ghost’s tastefully detailed instrumental embroidery — and especially from Michio Kurihara’s staggering electric guitar, which, given more free rein live than on record, was by turns elegant, meditative, lyrical and blazing. |
|
