THE BEN DAHL

It’s been a long time, Internet. Style Villain will be back in the relatively near future with a full-on launch…of sorts. All that really means is that I’m actually going to get around to taking a bunch of pictures of all the shit I need to review that’s sitting on my floor proper blogger style. It’s going to happen sometime between right now and. . . the future. Yeah. You’ll know when it happens. In the meantime, feel free to leave some comments here about how ridiculous the site looks right now, or bet the over/under on the amount of time it will take for me to actually update the homepage. The line is 32 days. Proper bets will be rewarded with BRZN something or other.

[Offer only valid in contiguous United States and subject to whatever the hell I have lying around that I don't like. But hey, it's free.]

The Kaweco Liliput Al Fountain Pen is built like a brick shit house–except you can use it to draw pretty pictures or write your magnum opus. Read my full review at The Pen Addict.

Price: $55
Buy: JetPens
Rating: Would buy again!

The Nixon 51-30 is a huge watch. Correction: The Nixon 51-30 is a fucking huge watch. With a 51.25mm diameter case (See what they did there? Nixon is so clever.), the watch monopolizes all of the wrist real estate of even the most big-boned individual. Weighing it at approximately one metric ton, it single-handedly has the power to make you walk lopsided. In short, this is not a watch for the faint of heart.

However, if you’re looking to make a “go big or go home” sort of statement (for one reason or another), this is the watch for you. It’s got a rotating bezel with countdown timer for long dives that you’ll never use. It’s got a screw down crown and tide control. The screw down crown has been relocated to the 9:00 position (along with the tide control) to prevent fucked up hands when spilling (it’s a skate/surf watch). Moving it is a great idea – in theory – but unless you’re built like The Rock the case is still going to dig into your wrist and the relocated crown is going to dig into your forearm. Still, it’s not a bad idea if you shred the powder/street/surf because sooner or later you’re going to eat it. When you do, you’ll be thankful you’re only left with a $300 watch bill instead of a thousand dollar insurance deductible. Which brings me to my next point – the price.

Currently available for $325+ at Back Country depending on trim (ceramic/wood/spinners), it’s not the cheapest watch on the market. You could pick up 30 Darch watches, 6 limited edition Timex pieces or even 2 Nixon Rubber Players for that amount of cash. We’ve established that it’s huge, mildly uncomfortable, pricey and totally capable of destroying your wrist in epic fashion. Why buy it? Because it’s huge, mildly uncomfortable, pricey and totally capable of serving as a bludgeon. All of the same reasons it’s a horrible idea – in theory – are what make it the best idea in watches. It makes a statement. It can’t be ignored. You would – quite literally – have to be blind not to be able to read this watch. For all its flaws, it still looks damn good. If I were buying it again (I would) I would opt for a bracelet instead of the weird “midnight” leather option, but those are the sacrifices you make for a $150 discount from Whiskey Militia.

Bankruptcy isn’t the only byproduct of an addiction to Gilt Man. It frequently results in casual neck noose acquisitions like the Ben Sherman dogtooth stripe plaid tie you see here. For all intents and purposes (i.e. according to Google) dogtooth stripe is something limited to Ben Sherman, so feel free to inform me otherwise if necessary. Even if the pattern was dreamed up by someone at Ben Sherman, it doesn’t change the fact that this tie just plain looks good. On to the fine print.

On the backend (we’re all enthralled with the little details), the tie is Made in China of 100% silk. The silk part is great, the China part – not so much. Whatever. I’m all for sustainability and everything, but cost and looks are the larger factors for me. [Ed's note - If you're looking for something on the more sustainable, socially responsible end of the spectrum, I highly recommend you check out Commerce With A Conscience because it's filled with stuff that you will end up buying.] If a tie ends up lasting long enough to become a “heritage” piece that’s great, but I’m not planning on it. Which isn’t to say that this tie is made poorly because it’s not. You can tell from the pictures below that the seams and stitching are still good quality.

It’s only been knotted up twice, but based on the comments at the company Christmas party this is going to be a big hit. You can’t really go wrong integrating a little color into your wardrobe, especially if you can rock a 2″ skinny tie. Unfortunately, if you’re interested in this particular number, you’re going to have to bide your time. At the time of writing, it isn’t available anywhere. I picked it up from Gilt for the bargain basement, final sale price of $24.

Update: It’s technically sold out right now, but you can get on the waitlist right now.

Hi, my name is Ben and I have a problem. That problem is Gilt Man. How am I supposed to pass up Ben Sherman, Steven Alan, and Gilded Age ties for $111? Technically, since I had an account credit, I only paid $5 for shipping. Seems like a small price to pay an order which includes a wool knit Steven Alan square bottom, Ben Sherman Dogtooth Stripe and a Gilded Age cotton plaid.

Here’s hoping this unhealthy addiction doesn’t end up with a purchase from Worst of Gilt. Until I get tiem to actually wear these – and do a full review – enjoy the pictures. As always, you can click to embiggen.

Last week I talked about how I was starting the In Search Of feature and the first thing in my seemingly endless quest would be the perfect notebook for notes, drawings, concert reviews, ish, etc. Fuck saving the best for last, we’re starting with the reigning champion – Field Notes.

Field Notes are diminutive in size (3.5″ x 5.5″), contain 48 pages (each side counts as one page) and are available in ruled, grid and blank. They also happen to be loaded with helpful applications, coordinate spaces and other Farmer’s Almanac type shit that I find intriguing – but have absolutely no use for. They’re bound together with three adequately placed staples. They hold them together pretty well and I can’t really think of any good way to romanticize staples. This is, first and foremost, a memo book, so don’t expect ridiculous fabric straps, unnecessary pockets and an unusable first page. You can literally graffiti every part of the little notebook that could.

In case you haven’t skipped ahead to the pictures yet, the blue memo book is beat to shit. For once, this torture testing wasn’t intentional. The blue Field Notes was subjected to approximately 12oz of Ketel Red Bull in the line of duty at The Metro. Yes, I just got it; no, it wasn’t my fault. The cover got scuffed and worn down in a few places. The ink appears to have bled, but not in the typical sense. The notes on the opposite side of the page are visible through the page, but the ink hasn’t bled through. It’s like holding a piece of paper up to a light except the lines are a slight haze of purple (probably the inks fault). If anything, the “patina” has improved with the addition of the original alcoholic energy drink (RIP 4 Loko).

What seemed like a ruinous tidal wave of deliciousness actually turned into a character creating moment for that particular Field Notes. The entire experience added some extra flavor to the notebook. Even though I won’t purposely waste more alcohol recreating the process, I quite like that it happened.

3pk for $10 at Field Notes

Unless your head has been up your ass for the better part of the calendar year, you are already in the know about the Timex Oversize Camper. It popped up on GQ, Por Homme, Hypebeast, Selectism, Sartorially Inclined and most of the other sites you read while pretending to work. All this coverage is great for Timex and their little-military-watch-that-could, but it made the Timex Oversize Camper jump the shark faster than Three’s Company. But that was April and this is now, so hopefully the hype has died down. Not to mention the fact that, even with all this coverage, no one had any real world shots or experiences with the watch itself. The Internet hype machine was just regurgitating the same olive drab marketing picture over and over and o…you get the idea. Regardless of all the reasons not to, I pulled the trigger.

I bet on black. It’s not that I’m not a fan of the olive drab, but the black got nowhere near as much coverage as it’s camo counterpart. I also wanted a simple, inexpensive, stereotypical black number to offset the growing number of rubber, silicone and/or ridiculously colored watches in the box. Or maybe this is all just me rationalizing because Nordstrom didn’t have the olive one in stock.

After dropping a little over $50 on it two weeks ago, I’m still on the fence. Is it oversized? Only in the same way you are after Thanksgiving. Compared to your former self, sure, you’re a little bigger. It will fade in a few days, and even then it’s only a difference of 2mm (watches are measured in mm; turkey guts in inches). Don’t forget the fact that most standard watch measurements factor in crown as well, so the whole 42mm the Oversize Camper is packing isn’t really anything to write home about. If you’ve ever worn something like a Nixon 51-30 – or you have big wrists – this watch will seem downright tiny.

The only real gripe I have with this watch is the ticking. It’s fucking loud. We’re talking loud to the point it will haunt you in your sleep Tell-Tale Heart level loud. You get over it after a while, but every once in a while it creeps up out of nowhere and forces you to reconsider your previously permanent attachment to your own wrist.

Was it too hyped to begin with? Probably. While I agree with Michael Williams and L.A.S. about most of their points, it’s still a better alternative to some of the other options (including other Timex offerings) in this price range. If you need a sleek watch that’s going to grab some attention, this is still one of your best bets.

$50 at Nordstorm: Black / Olive

In Search Of: is going to be an ongoing feature where I torture test products from different manufacturers designed to fill the same niche market. First on the chopping block is the pocket notebook.

Given the amount of writing that I do, a quality pocket notebook is essential. Right now, I’m running Field Notes, Moleskine, and Piccadilly notebooks through the gamut of live concerts, spilled beer and the County Comm Embassy Pen. There are some see-through pages, some frayed covers and some bleeding, but all of them are holding up admirably well. Next week I’ll do individual posts on each of the three and we’ll see where it goes from there.

If you have any suggestions for notebooks I should murder with words, leave a comment below.

Sometime last week (maybe the week before), Twitter was abuzz with crazy amounts of Lands End Canvas deals. Prior to this round of purchases (some shirts, these belts and the madras tie you saw last week), I was a total newbie to the brand. Now that I’ve learned the error of my ways, I’m seriously kicking myself for not picking up the Lands End Canvas Boots featured in Valet. Now I know better.

The Lands End D-ring Web Belt comes in four colors (khaki, olive, orange and blue) and checks in at a bank breaking $12. If you’re not beginning to sense a theme here, I will click buy for just about anything I’m interested in if it’s less than $50. Yes, I have a problem; no, I’m not going to do anything about it. Based on the size chart, I ordered the belts in Large. I have a 34 – 36″ waist, but I tend to take around 2″ onto belt measurements so that the overlap hits a belt loop. Based on the actual measurement of the belt (46″), Lands End Canvas factored in some overlap because it’s for a 36-38″ waist. Seeing as how it’s much better to have too much than not enough, I have no problem with this. Width wise, it clocks in at 1 3/8″ wide, so it will fit through damn near any loop openings.

The D-rings are supposedly a pewter finish over brass. Even after beating them up all weekend there hasn’t been any chipping so we’ll just have to take their word for it. The belt definitely has a bit of heft to it, which makes it work exceptionally well with the D-ring “mechanism.” Alternating between blue and orange for the past few days, there has been zero slippage – which I have found to be uncommon in D-ring belts. The leather is decent quality and adds a little flair to the ends of the belt. Muted pastel colors mean they’re definitely going to find a home on your chinos and shorts in the summer, but you can probably work them into the mix now if you’re willing to be a little adventurous.

Bottom Line: They hold it up. Pick one (or four) up before they sell out.

Available in khaki, olive, orange and blue for $12 each at Lands End Canvas.

With summer drawing to a close, it’s time to pack up all your madras (pretty cool Lands End article about the history of madras) and throw it in storage until the next time it’s about 70 degrees out. Nonsense. If anything, now is the perfect time to start scooping up all the leftover goodies that brands are clearing out – at bargain basement prices of course. Like this Lands End Canvas Cotton Madras Necktie. $16. Do you know how frequently you spend more than $16 on something you’re only ever going to use once – or is consumable? If you made a list I bet the frequency would surprise you, but that’s not the point. This tie is a steal at $16; it’s still a great deal at twice the price.

The Lands End Canvas description bills it as River Blue Plaid. As you can tell from the pictures, that’s a pretty apt description. 100% cotton madras is a good place to start, but simply saying it’s the fabric of our lives doesn’t really do it justice. This tie is ridiculously soft. Snuggle soft. (Conveniently enough, it would probably look good on the bear too.) On one hand, it makes wearing it a pleasure (super soft handcuffs), and it’s easy to get a good knot. On the other, it’s so soft that it occasionally bunches if you wear it under a sweater, and the knot can be difficult to get out if you pull too tight. The build quality is excellent (solid seams, minimal edge fray) and the badging is very, very tiny.

It’s safe to say that this is the best deal in men’s neckwear right now. Unfortunately, by the time I received my order Lands End Canvas had sold out of the tie. The item number is 38845-3XN7 if you want to do more hardcore digging on your own or wait for a restock.

When it’s not sold out, it’s $16 at Lands End Canvas.

Ben Howard is not a huge name in the US. If you don’t listen to 93XRT (the radio station responsible for putting on this show), you probably know more people that have no idea who he is than ones that do. That needs to be corrected almost immediately.

The thing about Howard is that, at first glance, he seems like a relatively unassuming Brit. For the record, that also means he’s pretty and has an accent that makes girls weak in the knees. Hell, it’s still a sexy accent even if you’re not a girl and/or interested in men. But none of that is the point. Howard perfectly totes the line between restraint and all out reckless abandon with a humble fervor that makes him the guy you want to listen when you’re hurting and also the guy you want to have a celebratory drink with. Somehow, he is both of those guys simultaneously. He incites sing-alongs. He croons. He sings from a place that makes everything he does idyllic, and spacey, and soulful yet somehow he remains grounded.

It sounds like music from Grey’s Anatomy. The type of music that starts softly in the background to set the scene of an imaginary hospital in a real town that’s just as famous for its coffee as its grunge music, and then crescendos to a cacophony of hands and voices during the crucial, pivotal season finale death of a character you’ve spent years learning to love. Ben Howard’s music is like that, but it’s real. Real emotion. Real pain. Real joy. You can’t help but be moved. Even if you have no idea what he’s saying initially, you’ll pick it up by the third chorus. That’s the story of Howard’s music live. You walk in with no idea who he is and walk out with a new crush/bro/bro-crush/artist to share with your little sister and/or music insider friend. When you boil it all down, he’s the musical performance equivalent of date night and the morning after.

SHOW DATE: Wednesday, September 26, 2012
WORDS BY: Ben Dahl ( @thebendahl )
PHOTOS BY: Tracy Graham ( @tracygrahamcrkr )

If you’re not current on your Taking Back Sunday history (what the hell were you doing in high school?), here’s how it works: TBS releases Tell All Your Friends in 2002, then the original lineup disbands. New members come and go; the band goes mainstream, and then the original lineup reunites for the eponymous Taking Back Sunday. Conveniently enough, the reunion is just in time for the 10 year anniversary of Tell All Your Friends.

I’ve seen shows performed by every iteration of this band at venues throughout Chicago (and some in surrounding states) and never been disappointed. Like Wisconsin cheddar cheese and Bears football, Taking Back Sunday–Tell All Your Friends specifically–is something that I grew up on. It was the perfect amount of angst, screaming, loud riffs, crashing drums and sing-a-long to become an anthem for everyone that needed something nonconformist to get behind. Time passes, people grow up and new kids pick up the banner. So here we are, the old guard and the new, standing shoulder to shoulder in a a sold out Riviera Theatre to hear Taking Back Sunday perform Tell All Your Friends in its entirety.

The show opens with tracks that aren’t from TAYF. Some people actually seemed disappointed. I had my issues with this show, but getting upset about hearing a bunch of bonus tracks before a band plays your favorite album start to finish is just fucking stupid. But I digress. TAYF sounds almost as good right now as it did a decade ago. Adam Lazzara’s stereotypical antics are still everywhere you look. He still runs bounds around the stage (and the rest of the venue for that matter) gesturing wildly, and yells at fans for having their phones out. He still screams at the top of his lungs, from the bottom of his heart. And yes, he still dabbles in autoerotic asphyxiation by constantly spinning his microphone cord around his own neck. Nolan, O’Connell, Reyes and Cooper all sound pitch perfect compared to the album–within a marginal error of variance–except everything is much fucking louder, and they all run around the stage too. In other words, it’s exactly what you would expect this band to sound like live.

With the original lineup back in place, seeing TAYF live is a bit like going to your 10yr high school reunion. Everything and everyone is different, but it’s all somehow the same. Granted, with Taking Back Sunday you don’t have to deal with all the awkward pauses, questions about kids, or someone showing up in a Ferrari to try to impress people they haven’t seen in years, but the concept is the same. The more things change, the more they stay the same. The music was a big middle finger to parents, the establishment, society and shit in life that just didn’t make sense. We all grew up–including the members of Taking Back Sunday–but the music didn’t change. It’s still fun to listen to, and a blast to see live, but it doesn’t mean the same thing it used to. It’s a one night trip down memory lane to a time period that doesn’t really exist anymore. Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the best trips I’ve taken all year, but with the added clarity of booze it became apparent that the music just didn’t age as well as the people you grew up listening to it with.

DATE: Saturday, October 6, 2012
WORDS BY: Ben Dahl ( @thebendahl )
PHOTOS BY: Brendan Shanley ( @lostinprint )

There isn’t a single post on Lost In Concert that doesn’t have fantastic pictures (except maybe the one that I shot), but this series of pictures excels for a few reasons. They perfectly capture moments in time, while still telling a complete story. The range of emotion runs the gamut from soulful and sultry, to boisterous and loud.

It would be difficult to argue that that wasn’t at least partially affected by Dragonette bringing their own ridiculous, completely over the top, epilepsy-inducing lighting rig with them, but the fact remains the same: Outside of being there, or watching minute long YouTube clips from the show, this is probably as close as you’re ever going to get to being able to reach out and touch Martina Sorbara. I can tell you without a doubt that that’s a place that a lot of people want to be.

Equally at ease with only a microphone and mood lighting as she is with a guitar slung around her neck in the spotlight, Sorbara steals the show in her charming Brooklyn hipster meets dance hall queen, by way of Toronto, style. On top of fantastically hypnotic work from husband/bassist/producer Dan Kurtz and drummer Joel Stouffer, Sorbara’s alarming voice leaves you with no doubt that she “just came to say hello.” And say hello she did. Even the people attempting to take notes about the show were dancing, and there might have been a total of five hands not in the air throughout the performance. It was basically a mandatory dance party with a light show that would have made an EDM producer cry.

SHOW DATE: Tuesday, September 18, 2012
WORDS BY: Ben Dahl ( @thebendahl )
PHOTOS BY: Tracy Graham ( @tracygrahamcrkr )

There’s something decidedly indie rock about California Wives. When you mix a bunch of guitars, soothing airy vocals, drums and keys, that’s to be expected. When every single member of your band could easily double as a character from a music video produced decades before, and your lead singer leaves behind finishing a doctorate to pursue music, it’s also easy to draw a comparison to Weezer. But, in addition to being “indie” (for lack of a better word), California Wives are also something different.

California Wives, live or otherwise, are a sonic love song to the 80′s, and there’s no shortage of things to love. They’re indie without putting you to sleep. Rock and roll with emotional intelligence. Dancy, maybe even poppy, without being vapid and shallow. They also happen to be fun while remaining relevant. Right at home in the calm, cool lighting of Lincoln Hall, it became infinitely clear why everyone loves this band so much.

Seeing California Wives live is a bit like going back in time to attend your parents prom–without all the weirdness associated with your own mother falling in love with you. It’s music in the style of an era that Autotune all but killed off. Music with passion that makes you think about TVs with antennas, boys falling in love with girls and an experience that didn’t require tweets or wall posts to enjoy. Music that set the mood, put you in the moment and didn’t let go until all of a sudden the show was over. Yeah, it’s kind of like that.

SHOW DATE: Wednesday, September 12, 2012
WORDS BY: Ben Dahl ( @thebendahl )
PHOTOS BY: Tracy Graham ( @tracygrahamcrkr )

There once was a band named Scattered Trees. They played Lincoln Hall. They played The Vic. They played their way into the ears, and hearts, of everyone in Chicago. They broke up (kind of), but life goes on… an on. Horrible puns aside, On An On was born out of Scattered Trees and includes the familiar faces of Nate, Alissa and Ryne.

Bathed in the light of ambient video projections, the three of them (and a drummer) gave everyone a glimpse into the next chapter of their methodical, melodic book. The pitch was perfect. The audience connection could be felt. The harmonies were harmonious, and the melodies were melodious. The music itself is on the softer side, but it’s not without an energy and a bite. Everything they played would have fit perfectly on the soundtrack to Drive. Quite honestly, if you can listen to the music of On An On without tapping your feet then there’s something wrong with you.

The name and the lineup might be different, but everything that Chicagoans grew to love is still here. At the end of the day, it’s like a different language translation of the same book–subtle changes make all the difference in the world. On one hand, we’re all a little sad that Scattered Trees is gone. On the other, On An On was born out of the ashes, and picking which one you love more is like trying to decide what the best Radiohead album is, or telling one of your kids you don’t love them as much. The next chapter in the lives of these three ridiculously talented–and might I say, good looking–musicians is one that’s as open and colorful as the music that resonates from the stage.

SHOW DATE: Tuesday, September 11, 2012
WORDS BY: Ben Dahl ( @thebendahl )
PHOTOS BY: Tracy Graham ( @tracygrahamcrkr )

Just like the contrast between Yo-Landi’s eyes and her skin, or these pictures, Die Antwoord is a black and white affair. They’re polarizing. No one likes Die Antwoord. You love them, or you hate them. That complete lack of middle ground is what makes them so fucking amazing to see live.

If you don’t like hip-hop, or electro or rave (everything that makes up their Zef style), and you were at Lollapalooza, you were probably hanging out at a different stage on Friday. That was a mistake. Die Antwoord pulls out all the stops when they perform. Yes, Yo-Landi occasionally sounds like a mouse being stepped on speaking in tongues, but she also prances around the stage with reckless abandon and makes sure everyone gets their fucking hands in the air. And when she stares into your soul with those demonic black eyes you kind of forget everything going on around you… even if it’s a quick shot of her ass.

Ninja’s delivery is better than ever and he continues to serve as the base that Die Antwoord is built on. His intensity can’t be contained by his vocal chords along and he performs with his whole body. When he decided to crowd surf, he got dropped. He laid on the ground screaming “pick me up motherfucker!” until the audience complied. That’s either a healthy dose of respect on the part of the audience, or sheer terror that he’d chase them around with a katana like he did in the “Baby’s on Fire” video. Either way, it’s fantastic.

Yeah, I fink they’re freeky. You should too. None of that means you can’t won’t have the time of your life seeing them live–even if you don’t like their music. Black, white, or fifty shades of gray, Die Antwoord is fucking phenomenal.

DATE: Friday, August 3, 2012
WORDS BY: Ben Dahl ( @thebendahl )
PHOTOS BY: Brendan Shanley ( @lostinprint )

Greg Dulli, Rick McCollum, John Curley, and whoever happens to be drumming, are rock stars. Not was, as in the past tense, is. A decade later (there are accounts that differ between 11 and 13 years), The Afghan Whigs can still fucking rock/thrown down with the best of them/fire on all cylinders/take it to 11/insert only-slightly-amusing rock cliche here.

The truth is, the core members of The Afghan Whigs do look a little worse for wear… but you never would have suspected it based on this performance. Sure, they’re a little more According to Jim and a little less Sheen-era Two and a Half Men (off-camera, of course) in looks these days, but that doesn’t stop them from winning in the performance department. Even with the hiatus, they’ve been doing this for a while. They know how to work a crowd. Dulli can still–somehow–simultaneously growl and croon. McCollum and Curley’s twang, strum and backbone remain in tact and help take the emotion to the next level.

After the sabbatical, they’re still cool. (Have you seen that seat belt buckle guitar strap?) It’s approximately the temperature on the surface of the Sun, but The Whigs made no sacrifices. They played their music, music with a legitimate message I might add, on the afternoon of opening day, Lollapalooza, 2012. In my opinion, The Whigs threw out the first  pitch of Lollapalooza this year, and it was equivalent to the Cirque du Soleil pitch from Padres/Royals in 2011 (if you have no idea what I’m talking about, watch this). There was just enough flash and just enough dancing to get people unfamiliar interested, but it wasn’t at the expense of the purpose. In baseball, that’s a strike. In the case of The Whigs, it’s good fucking music.

DATE: Friday, August 3, 2012
WORDS BY: Ben Dahl ( @thebendahl )
PHOTOS BY: Brendan Shanley ( @lostinprint )

In a post-day-one Lolla wasteland, surrounded by thousands of crushed Bud Light tallboys and even more fans, two white, southern gentlemen stumbled aimlessly through the fog on to one of the giant corporate platforms in Grant Park to play some tunes for a drunken, dehydrated and totally exhausted crowd. Obviously, we’re talking about The Black Keys. Unfortunately, those keys didn’t unlock anything deep down inside.

Don’t get me wrong, I like The Black Keys. I really like The Black Keys. The idea of two white guys playing a slightly modernized version of the Devil’s Music is only eclipsed in excellence by its execution on their recorded tracks. The music has a vibe that plays regardless of the situation. It lends itself to teetering back and forth, rocking out or just getting some shit done. When Auerbach and Carney took a Lollapalooza stage for the third time (they played in 2005 and 2010 as well), they didn’t disappoint in perfectly performing a big chunk of their collected works. And therein lies the rub.

It was perfect. Too perfect. Surrounded by backup musicians (they took a break at one point, but that’s irrelevant) and engulfed by a light show visible from space, The Black Keys went to work–but not before an introduction by Mayor Rahm Emanuel. They ran through “Lonely Boy,” “Howlin’ for You,” “Run Right Back” and a bunch of other songs that, if you’re a fan, you would have liked to see live. Auerbach had just the right amount of twang in his guitar and grittiness in his voice. Carney didn’t miss a beat and chewed gum like a boss. But, it was too perfect.

In 2005, and parts of 2010 for that matter, there was no signal to MIR, no backing band and no GQ haircuts. The shows weren’t perfect. They fucked up. The sheer unimpeachable energy of the two Keys was undeniable. It was the essence of The Black Keys. This show lost its luster because of its synthetic nature. Walking away from the set I realized that, except for all of the screaming and cell phone lights, there would have been no difference in sound between an iPod plugged in in the booth and the cadre of men on stage.

DATE: Friday, August 3, 2012
WORDS BY: Ben Dahl ( @thebendahl )
PHOTOS 1, 3-9, 12 BY: Brendan Shanley ( @lostinprint )
PHOTOS 2, 10, 11 BY: Will Rice for Lollapalooza (@wiLLLrice)

In Chicago, on any given day, there’s roughly a 90% chance that music at the coolest place to be is being provided by Kid Color. Whistler? Check. Smart Bar? Double check (he’s also the assistant music director). North Coast? Later this year. Lollapalooza? Sunday at 12pm on Perry’s Stage. Why does Kyle “Kid Color” Woods keep getting invited to entertain hundreds, if not thousands, of people on a daily basis? Because he knows how to mix better than the portly, mustachioed gentleman in the arm garter mixing your cocktails.

Just put this on and keep reading:

And no, before you ask, we didn’t plan the interview shoot to include the same clothing he’s wearing in that Soundcloud profile picture.

Along with a personal talent pool large enough for Michael Phelps to swim practice laps in, Woods is, quite seriously, one of the nicest human beings I have ever met. It’s almost difficult to imagine a sunshine and rainbows sort of personality not being completely devoured by the music industry, but it’s true in Wood’s case. He doesn’t have a bad thing to say about anyone. Every comment on his immense collection of Soundcloud tracks gets personally responded to. The same goes for tweets, texts, Facebook messages, smoke signals and notes passed to the DJ booth in a crowded Smart Bar. I’m willing to bet money on the fact that, if you were cold, Kyle Woods would give you the shirt off his back. Not because he feels obligated to, just because that’s the type of guy that he is. That type of genuine interest and involvement would seem like a contrived pleasantry coming from anyone else. From Kyle, it’s nothing but genuine. He really just wants to help out.

With that, let’s talk about clothes for a few minutes because, in case you haven’t noticed yet, Kyle is a pretty stylish guy. Don’t get me wrong, all the guys that came through have their own individual style. But Kyle, with absolutely no provocation, showed up on a 100 degree day with a suit and accessories from Tie Bar. Now that’s what I call preparation. In addition to that, he commented on what we were wearing. Anyone that comments on an interviewer’s shoes immediately gets bonus points. But again, it just goes back to his character. He doesn’t care that he’s the artist and you’re the media. We’re all just people creating something together.

All creations are not created equal, though. Woods’ music is a house-y blend of disco and soul that makes you feel like you’re watching Saturday Night Fever, while listening to Arthur Conley, in a thousand person club with a sound system the size of a couple Cadillacs. All music can be considered art on some level, but Woods has a unique style entirely. The music imitates the man creating it. The youthful exuberance (he’s only 24), attention to detail and smooth transitions are all there. It’s devoid of jarring tempo changes and can be enjoyed for hours at a time. It will make you move your ass like you’re on your way cross-country from Orange County to Chicago for Lollapalooza to catch Daft Punk like Woods was in 2007. The most important thing to take out of all of this, though, is the fact that it’s fun.

If you’re listening to him spin at one of the eight places he’ll be at in the next five days (Seriously: Lincoln Square Auditorium / Old Town Social / FOX Good Day Chicago / Lincoln Hall / Lollapalooza / Primary / Rehab), you’re going to have a hard time preventing your feet from moving. The kid that looked up to Derrick Carter and interned for Darkwave Disco, is now supporting acts like the formerly mentioned Mr. Carter, Cut Copy, Holy Ghost!, is returning to Lollapalooza this year for the second time and has some original tunes on the horizon. Until they’re released, you can preview two of the tracks right here:

Even with all the success, the most startling thing about Woods rise to DJ phenom may be his attitude. It hasn’t changed. Woods remains the same down to Earth guy that will hang out on your porch and shoot the shit for hours at a time over drinks. You owe it to yourself to see him Sunday at 12 on Perry’s Stage. Make sure you wear comfy shoes.

WORDS BY: Ben Dahl ( @thebendahl )
PHOTOS BY: Tracy Graham ( @tracygrahamcrkr )

The light slowly rises stage right like the sun coming up over the horizon… and then it creeps over the bottom of the window sill and hits you in the face like you were out drinking all night mere hours ago. You throw your phone and roll over so that you can squeeze in another nine minutes of sleep.

Everything confirms you’re still in a dream state. The noise that surrounds you is washed out and somehow dulled–like the sound of waves crashing on the beach as heard through a seashell. There’s a voice that beckons you into consciousness, like a siren song attempting to wake you from your slumber, but it’s just out of reach. Then there’s the crash of a bass drum. Just like that, it’s over. The idyllic, lemming-esque head-and-shoulder bop is replaced with a much more jarring, almost mentally dislocating, cadence as formal as the attire the “Liars” are dressed in. They stand on stage illuminated musically and visually like Patrick Swayze in Ghost… if he was responsible for playing himself and the Righteous Brothers.

On some level, everything that comes off of the stage just sounds like noise. The noise that would come from a stage occupied by the likes of Radiohead–if the car accident screwed up more than one of Thom Yorke’s eyes. That’s not a bad thing. It’s not a great thing either. It just is. It’s Radiohead mixed with Beach House. An Orwellian drum machine operated by a skilled technician through the haze of the hangover that you (and I) know is inevitable. It’s unconscious. Cerebral. Disjointed. Disconnected. Chaotic. Grating. Tempermental. And yet, somehow, it’s also downright “lovely” in the chaos. The type of perfect chaos that defies description and cannot occur naturally. It’s manufactured. Actually, it’s orchestrated. Orchestrated by Liars.

Liars isn’t music to sing-along to. Hell, it’s music you might not even like. At times, it’s a dream. Others, a nightmare. Liars are the yin to their own yang. The Batman to their Robin. Jordan to Pippen. Lohan to cocai… well, you get it. But honestly, if you’re in the mood to unplug and go on a mental vacation, Liars is some shit you’ll seriously enjoy live.

DATE: Thursday, July 19, 2012
WORDS BY: Ben Dahl ( @thebendahl )
PHOTOS BY: Tracy Graham ( @tracygrahamcrkr )