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(Last week I was on vacation in Chicago; I saw a bunch of shows, including a rare appearance by Swedish electro phenom Robyn.)

Robyn’s self-titled album has been out in her native Sweden for a full three years. But amazingly enough, Robyn was just released in the U.S. a few weeks ago; it took the former ‘90s pop tartlet (“Show Me Love,” “Do You Know What It Takes?”) just that long to secure a distribution deal.

Then: Robyn, "Show Me Love":

Still, the wait for Robyn’s domestic release was well worth it. A glorious, witty distillation of ‘80s new-wave, modern electro, flamboyant gay disco and hip-pop, the disc proves that female musicians can be sexy, playful and smart – without dumbing down their music or cheapening their image.

Her set was all this and more last Wednesday at the Chicago club Park West. (With its curtain-lined stage and tasteful booths, along with open space near the front, the venue had the look of a modern jazz club; think a much larger version of the late club Finale.)

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Producer and emcee Black Spade played host to a who’s-who of underground talent in St. Louis for Friday’s show at the Gramophone. Prior to the concert, the room bustled with handshakes and hugs, as artists and DJs made the rounds to socialize, network and promote their latest projects. The atmosphere was unmistakably hip-hop, with DJs such as Agile 1 and Needles providing a mix of national and local tracks in the background.

When Black Spade took the stage around 11 p.m., the crowd had grown to near capacity as smokers filed in from the outdoor patio. Spade acted as master of ceremonies, introducing each act from the back of the stage. First to perform was Teresajenee, who sang an up-tempo R&B number and wasted no time in getting the audience to participate. The show proceeded with a mix of deejays and rappers including Family Affair, Plan B, Trackstar and Illspitta, among others. Each act played a short set (usually two or three songs), which gave the set a “mixtape” vibe, with a variety of different styles on display.

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Jeffree Star rules in the Internet – or at least MySpace – or so he would have you think. The cross-dressing singer who wails over an electro backing band certainly ruled the Creepy Crawl last night.

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It has been a wild few days for freelance photographer Nichole Torpea. The 22-year-old UMSL grad was shooting the My Chemical Romance concert at the Pageant for Riverfront Times this past Saturday night when, she says, she was assaulted by a member of the band's security team.

But she'll be shooting an MCR concert again this Friday at New York City's Madison Square Garden -- as a special guest of the band.

While taking pictures from the balcony of the Pageant during last Saturday's sold-out show, Torpea says, she was approached by a man she believes is a member of MCR's security team. The man, whom she later described to St. Louis police as six-foot-three, 210 to 230 pounds and dressed all in black, grabbed her arm, led her through a door to a stairwell and forced her to the ground. Torpea says the man paid little attention to the photo pass attached to her shirt.

"I was collapsing under his pressure," she says. "I had no idea what was going on. He had no ID and wouldn't tell me who he was. He kept saying, 'You know what you did. Give me the fucking camera.'"

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(Photos and review by Annie Zaleski; entire Flickr set here.)

(Marketa Irglova and Glen Hansard)

The central appeal of the 2006 movie Once is what happens when creativity and attraction intertwine in musical and romantic chemistry. Stars Glen Hansard (an Irish street busker) and Marketa Irglova (a pianist) find each other and experience a simple, but sweet, jolt: the irresistible pull toward another person, the intangible magnet spark, the intoxicating emotional rush and aching longing that come with dewy love.

The movie’s storyline – and Hansard and Irglova’s real-life musical collaboration, the Swell Season -- became even more poignant when it was revealed that the on-screen duo became an actual couple. This collusion of reality and fantasy is the stuff of which fairy tales (and fan fiction) are made; the couple’s heartbreakingly gorgeous harmonies and obvious songwriting gifts only exacerbated its ideal image.

Without that cinematic pixie dust surrounding Hansard and Irglova’s relationship, though, what’s left is reality – which perhaps isn’t quite as idealized or glamorous (although probably no less satisfying). At one point during the Swell Season’s sold out show at the Pageant on Tuesday night, Hansard embraced Irglova and sweetly slow-danced with her – and bless her heart, she looked embarrassed at such a public display.

(Hansard)

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(Photos and review by Annie Zaleski; entire Flickr set here)

Tegan and Sara haven't performed in St. Louis in years -- a fact Tegan mentioned in our interview outtakes and Sara reinforced at the pair's sold-out Pageant show on Sunday night. However, the charming onstage motormouth (at this show, that was mainly the jean jacket-sporting Sara) came to the conclusion that St. Louis "wasn't as dangerous" as she thought.

Tegan Quin:

Tegan and Sara Slide Show from Sunday, May 4, 2008 at The Pageant

Sara Quin:

Such banter (and a wholly impressive live show) ensured that the Canadian duo's arrival back to town was certainly worth the wait. The sisters began the set strong, with the So Jealous cut "I Know, I Know, I Know," the title track from its latest album, The Con and then another Jealous fave, "Walking With a Ghost."

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(Review by Roy Kasten; photos by Dana Plonka)

Saturday night at a capacity Duck Room, the Bottle Rockets started where most bands finish. They tore through “24 Hours a Day,” the hardest, most direct rocker in their catalog, like they’d spent the night warming up on Stooges and AC/DC covers, like they wanted to sum up a show that hadn’t even happened yet in a collision of ferocious guitars and militantly precise drumming.

But the band really was just getting started. After an opening set from Otis Gibbs (Indiana’s answer to Billy Bragg), vocalist Brian Henneman stood in front of a simple back line of three Fender amps, one Ampeg bass rig and zero acoustic guitars. He declared that the band considered setting up in the corner by the bar and standing on tables to give the impression of the low basement ceilings found in the old Cicero’s. (Another thing you didn’t know about the Bottle Rockets: The band’s first gig was to be at Cicero’s in December 1992; the show was snowed out.)

(Brian Henneman)

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At the beginning of My Chemical Romance’s DVD Life on the Murder Scene, guitarist Frank Iero says his group “is definitely a band that wants to save your life.” Let’s all take a moment to be grateful that the punk-influenced New Jersey rock quintet only uses its powers for good. At Saturday night’s sold-out Pageant show, campy frontman Gerard Way exhorted the crowd to jump (they jumped), put their hands in the air (they put their hands in the air), scream (they screamed), clap (they clapped, although not always in time with the music) and, during, “Give ’Em Hell, Kid,” do their best jazz hands. O, the jazz hands!

The crowd also sang—nay, chanted!—along with every song, swayed to “Desert Song” (My Chem’s version of a torch song), jumped up and down to teen angst anthem “I’m Not Okay (I Promise),” and, yes, cried during “Cancer” as Way crooned, “The hardest part of this is leaving you.”

The show lacked a little luster and was uncharacteristically low-key – but then again, My Chemical Romance has been on tour supporting its third album, The Black Parade, since early 2007, so it’s no wonder the band is exhausted.

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Melancholy Angie Mattson opened for Uh Huh Her all by herself last night in the basement with the ducky décor at Blueberry Hill. While the absence of her band and gloominess of the venue (even illuminated mallards don’t make the Duck Room a cozy den) decreased the brittle emotion found on tracks sampled online, the folk version of Angie Mattson wasn’t bad. Her lonely lyrics translated well to an acoustic sound, but some of the fragility didn’t carry over; slower tempo songs like “December” bordered on apathetic.

It took around fifteen minutes for Uh Huh Her to make an appearance after Mattson's set ended, to the shrieking pleasure of surrounding audience members -- who minutes before had engaged in an “Uh Huh Her” chant that died down when Camila Grey and Leisha Hailey continued to take their sweet time.

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Before discussing the particulars of last night’s Destroyer show, please indulge me in this conspiracy theory: The New Pornographers was created as a way to slip Destroyer leader Dan Bejar’s songs into the subconscious of indie America. Bejar’s standard three-song contributions to New Porno records have seeped into the brains of the hipsters young and old -- and like fluoride in our drinking water, we are the better for it. The theory is admittedly a stretch, but how else to explain the near-capacity show at Blueberry Hill? (And how else to explain the sub-par, Bejar-less New Pornographers show at the Pageant on April 19?)

A more plausible explanation is that Destroyer’s lush, loaded and sprawling songbook has found a core audience that wants to wrestle with Bejar’s perplexing lyrics and fall under the sway of his sometimes-manic, sometimes-seductive voice. Such was the case last night, as the crowd followed the five-piece band through sharp turns and hazy jams. On record, Bejar is the sole owner and proprietor of his songs, but he takes a more relaxed approach on stage. Looking like a bedraggled Cat Stevens, the singer is not the imposing figure that his songs suggest; he appears sheepish and good-natured, a bit aloof and sleepy-eyed. He began the show with “Crystal Country,” a gem from 2002’s This Night, giving an exaggerated, Dylan-esque drawl to the first series of syllables. From there, the band moved into “Dark Leaves Form a Thread” from this year’s Trouble in Dreams, one of the more immediate songs on that slow-burning album.

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Those expecting a grand piano on an empty stage at last night’s Alicia Keys As I Am tour stop at the Scottrade Center were mistaken; accepting Alicia Keys as she is only means yielding to legend. The concert included incredible lighting and stage production, weirdly fast costume changes, backup singers who could be professional dancers and one, Jermaine Paul, who is probably talented enough to make it on his own as a singer/songwriter.

(photo of Alicia Keys by Kristy Wendt)

Jermaine’s opening act seemed an embodyment of As I Am’s spirit; he stood alone with his guitar singing numbers he’d written himself. While not lyrically compelling, his songs were still good – and not coincidentally, I liked the ones that reminded me of something John Legend might crank out. Most impressive were “Talkin ‘Bout Love,” and notably, “Ready to Fall in Love” (both sampled on Jermaine’s MySpace page) which provided an instance when his gospel-influenced sound balanced the simplicity of sweetly hopeful lyrics.

It’s an understatement to say that I was less impressed with Ne-Yo.

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(See more photos here at this post.)

The Duke Spirit has all of the ingredients it should take to make a lasting first impression and win over new audiences. Liela Moss is a captivating presence, a confident lead singer with a classic voice that takes cues from Björk’s adventurous melodies and Nico’s dark sensuality. The quartet behind her was just as poised, laying off tight, raucous versions of songs from this year’s amazing Neptune.

It’s surprising and unfortunate, then, that the London quintet’s diverse, high-energy set on Friday night (where it opened for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club) wasn’t enough to rein in the wandering attention spans of the Pageant crowd. With a sound reminiscent of Pink Floyd’s early work with producer Joe Boyd, the Duke Spirit’s performance conjured images of ‘60s-London psychedelia, but didn’t rely on nostalgia or other throwback gimmickry for impact. Catchy single “The Step and the Walk” did seem to get through to the somewhat restless audience, and by the set’s end there was definitely a buzz in the room. Hopefully the band will give St. Louis another chance, as it would great to see them again on a headlining tour at a smaller club.

(BRMC, by Annie Zaleski)

Unlike its May 2007 St. Louis show (which was more or less a snoozefest), Black Rebel Motorcycle Club showed up and wasted no time in dialing up the intensity level: The Los Angeles trio blasted out of the gate with “666 Conducer” and “Berlin,” both from its most recent full-length release Baby 81.

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By Lauren Winchester

Click here for more photos of the show.

During the opening song of Van Halen’s two-hour set – its version of the Kinks’ “You Really Got Me” -- David Lee Roth bellowed, “Better late than never!!!” This wasn’t typical Roth-ian hyperbole though: After two show cancellations in the past six months (one due to a scheduling conflict, another due to medical reasons), many disgruntled fans weren’t sure if Van Halen would make it to St. Louis for Saturday night’s gig – or even if the show would be worth it when the quartet did arrive.

The Scottrade Center concert exceeded all expectations, however, and proved that not all mostly-reunion tours by legendary bands have to feel creaky and cash-grabby. Credit first a stellar setlist, which seemed geared toward the fans, especially because it contained a generous amount of album cuts and favorites from VH’s 1978-1985 golden age. In other words, 1978’s Van Halen (“Runnin’ with the Devil,” “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love,” “Little Dreamer,” “Jamie’s Cryin’”), Van Halen II (“Dance the Night Away,” “Somebody Get Me a Doctor”), Fair Warning (“So This Is Love?”) and of course 1984 (“Panama,” “Hot for Teacher,” “Jump”) were all well represented.

The enduring musical talent of the brothers Van Halen also inspired awe. Guitarist Eddie – looking like a typical California rocker, with red sneakers, hole-in-knee jeans and blond, spiky hair – impressed the most. Despite a trip to rehab and health problems (including a bout with cancer and a hip replacement – the latter of which didn’t stop him from leaping off the drum riser a few times anyway), he proved exactly why he’s one of the greatest guitar players of all time. At times it appeared like he had three hands, the meedlee-meedlee riffs and siren noises he unleashed were so lightning-fast; at other times, he conjured mournful blues melodies, channeled Hendrix’s elaborate solos and even coaxed out virtuoso-caliber symphonies. Heck, Eddie even played part of a song using a power drill– spurring Roth to say, “With all of this technology, Van Halen finally discovers the electric fucking carpentry drill.”

"Eruption" from the show, thanks to a random guy on YouTube:

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The cough-syrupy elixir of Red Bull and vodka was a necessary evil at around 11 p.m. last night at Dantes, while the decently danceable opener Bernard Jones throbbed in the background and kept “that one guy” (okay, periodically four guys) boogieing until Kaskade began his set after midnight.

(photo by Kristy Wendt)

Red Bull’s saccharine charge wasn’t unlike the cerebral experience of Kaskade’s remixes; these were beats that tripped the insulin receptors and bypassed the digestive system in an artificially sweet high suitable for a Saturday night. Kaskade is irrefutably pop-influenced, and uses vocal segues well, suspending them between beats so that they hang unaccompanied, like an expectation, before the synthetic pop of a familiar tune is mixed in -- most notably during the night’s hit, the melody to Eurythmics' “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” dubbed with Timbaland’s “Apologize.” This particular combination of old(er) and new pop seemed like an ultimate nod to Kaskade’s influences, and I would have liked to have heard more, especially considering how clever and contagious (and crowd-pleasing) it was.

While the crowd at 11 p.m. was sparse...

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(Photo and review by Roy Kasten)

Non-smoking shows are all the rage. I wouldn’t argue against them; I would retain Split Lip Rayfield as barristers.

The easily sold-out show at the Duck Room on Thursday night was non-non-smoking, a gloriously eye-burning, lung-choking, clothes-stinking, pit-sweltering morass of first and second-hand self-destruction. Plus: Banjo.

It’s sick, of course, as SLR guitarist, singer and songwriter Kirk Rundstrom pretty much smoked himself to death. He’s been gone for over a year now, and the Kansas trio has smoked on -- in the case of mandolinist Wayne Gottstine literally. In the case of its fan base, the same.

If you leave race out of it (and I know you can’t), rock crowds don’t get much more diverse than a Split Lip show. Skinheads, buzz cuts, sk8rs, pony-tailers, hippy twirlers, unredeemable punks, faux-trailerites and the real deal, dreads, and steroidal frat bros and their dates, moms and a grand dad or three. I counted 98 SLR t-shirts. Tattoos were legion.

Acoustic trio Drakkar Sauna opened, with a sound reminiscent of the Holy Modal Rounders, only punk, as if the band once knew how to play their instruments but then forgot. The band’s not nearly as jammy as its name suggests. It sings of hysterectomies and Lord praising, with sharp, high voices, the kind of voices that might flow from from jaws jammed with Wrigley’s tinfoil wrappers and tobacco. They showed no fear of maracas. When SLR’s Eric Mardis joined in for one last number, the five-stringed instrument in his hands inspired wild shouts of delight—and it wasn’t even International Banjo Bonfire Day.

After a fair amount of feedback and sound issues, Mardis, Gottstine and gas tank bassist Jeff Eaton, got down to the bluegrass ass-whipping they did not invent, but which they’ve perfected, even without their thrasher soul brother Rundtrom. You could say some power was missing, some wicked attack, but that would be nit-picking, especially since the un-power trio can pick and slap like a hillbilly bitch-slapping machine set to louder than God.

And they still know only two speeds:

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