Jeremy Ruggaber

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

In 2000, a 15-year old Gavin persuaded his dad to buy him a ticket to see the Smashing Pumpkins on their farewell tour. They were to play the cavernous NIA in Birmingham, England. Gavin had not been to see many concerts before. In fact, his previous concert was Jamiroquai. Gavin had listened to Siamese Dream for all of his childhood years, and had in fact learned to play the beginning of "Melon Collie and the Infinite Sadness" on piano. He had a "Zero" T-shirt. Upset as he was about Machina, the Smashing Pumpkins were still Gavin's favorite band. He had looked forward to this chance to see them for months and months.

Eight songs into their farewell to all of Birmingham, Billy Corgan left the stage for a costume change. When he came back, he announced to the crowd that, in fact, we hadn't cheered enough, and that he would be leaving and taking the band with him. Forty-five minutes into a very expensive arena gig, the Smashing Pumpkins left. Part of Gavin's childhood left with them.

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Mike Brooks

The Relatives, featuring Dallas.

Saturday in Dallas was a day you could choose to paint in the starkest possible contrasts, if that's your thing. Two big gatherings cut from an extraordinarily different cloth were happening within a relatively pleasant fifteen-minute stroll of each other, and how often do you get to travel from one event to the other in Dallas without touching a vehicle? Sure, this particular trip required a brief hop, skip and a jump over an on-ramp for I-30, through some trees, and past several parking lots that looked less than welcoming, but that's about as good as Dallas paths get anyway.

First up was Saturday's biggest event, the Homegrown Music and Arts festival. Fitting neatly inside Main Street Gardens and nestled between several skyscrapers, everything about this day in the park was spectacular. The weather was perfect, as a clear blue sky provided the citizens of Dallas with a constantly pleasant temperature. The attendance was fantastic and varied, with a very high adorable child/adorable dog ratio among the crowd and a lot of blankets and local art and relaxing. I'm pretty sure someone hotboxed a portapotty at some point. It was just that kind of place.

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Photo by Jim Louvau for Phoenix New Times: Slideshow

Father John Misty in Phoenix a couple months ago.

Last night in Dallas there was a man seemingly composed entirely of hips, the James Brown of Americana-folk, Mr. Father John Misty. He glided across the stage of the Granada Theater crotch-first, the first man to perfect the penis-led moonwalk. It was as if he was made only of the finest, slinkiest material, like none of him had joints or muscles or the other things that might make you and me the laughingstocks of the town should we attempt such a thing. If I tried to do whatever it is FJM is doing, rather than appearing to be a tall, sinewy willow I would in fact be revealed as the graceless hippopotamus that I am.

See also:
-The Relatives Show at the Kessler was a True Religious Experience
-The Six Best Concerts of the Summer: 2012

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Barbara Anastacio

Five short years ago, Grizzly Bear played before a transfixed and adoring audience of perhaps 100 people on the cramped stage of Club Dada. Touring to support their break-through album Yellow House, the band brought to stage the unique and peculiar blend of soaring vocals, tight harmonies, literate lyrics and precisely fussy instrumentation heard on that album. Although ostensibly "led" by singer Ed Droste, it was clear that each member contributed to a fully realized musical vision. It was a powerful performance by what seemed to be genuinely personable guys. Last night, on a stage with far more room and with an inspired lighting production, the band once again delivered a mesmerizing performance, but this time to a nearly sold-out Palladium audience.

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Kiernan Maletsky

Drowning Pool wings it.

Dallas' own Drowning Pool has a new album -- its first with lead singer Jasen Moreno. He's the fourth man to fill that spot and the transitions haven't always been easy or smooth. But the band is clearly comfortable with Moreno. Comfortable enough to take a crack at an unrehearsed acoustic set last night at the Boiler Room in Deep Ellum, which bassist Stevie Benton owns.

And so before a small crowd of old friends and social media contest winners, the new look Drowning Pool strummed and screamed its way through the hits. They managed some eight songs sprinkled through an hour of vague chatter and drink recipes (ask 'em about Jingle Balls sometime). "It's like Storytellers but not good," quipped drummer Mike Luce.

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Kerry Maletsky

Consider the damn state of things when a songwriter with a decade-plus experience, in front of an adoring sellout crowd at the Granada Theater, says the following halfway through his set: "Alright, we're gonna do a Harlem Shake video."

Bob Schnedier pulled on a Luchador mask after he said it and instructed everyone to just move around, basically ("It's preferable if you take off your clothes while you do it"). I don't know if that's an accurate guide to the Harlem Shake or not -- I do know that it doesn't matter. And he triggered the Baauer track and demanded the house lights and more than a thousand adults went generally apeshit. He let it go for a couple minutes then cut the track, pulling the mask over his head to reveal a wry smile. "Well done, motherfuckers."

And then he and his excellent band ripped into "The Californian," a rock and roll song as mean and big as the Wild West.

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The Relatives in the '70s.

You, as a resident of Dallas, should know the story of the Relatives by now. For anyone that doesn't, a quick refresher -- formed in the 1970s and dissolved in 1980, the Relatives, led by the Reverend Gean West, left little evidence of a mesh of gospel and funk that never caught on despite the favorable prevailing winds of the time. Reformed in 2009 after an Austin record producer found a rare pressing in a record store and tracked them down to Dallas, The Relatives have produced a record of genuine quality in the newly-issued The Electric Word. This concert at the Kessler, ridiculously, was the release party for their debut album, 43 years on from their formation.

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Christian McPhate

Last night, Eric Clapton and Dallas-born guitarist Doyle Bramhall II set fire to their Stratocasters' fretboards. Their fingers slid across the neck, bending strings until they bled the blues. Feeding off a musical energy straight from the Crossroads, the talented guitarists empowered some of Clapton's greatest hits with a musical vibe that felt as if it were kissed by a devil before leaving heaven.

Of course we're talking about Eric Clapton, a recipient of 17 Grammy Awards, the Brit Award and three-time Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame inductee, so anything less than magnificent would have been hell.

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Mike Brooks

You did St. Patrick's day. Now you feel rough. If only, you think to yourself, there was some sort of beach where I could relax with a cheap cocktail on the sand and maybe listen to some music. But you're in Dallas, and you're at least five hours drive from the nearest beach.

Ain't nobody got time for that.

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Mike Brooks

A spitting, snarling, unbridled Nick Cave stalked McFarlin Auditorium last night, displaying the same unmatched punk fury he's been doling out since The Birthday Party. Audience members got abused. Cave thrust his crotch everywhere. He sung particularly intense lyrics directly into the faces of people in the front row, leaning down so his face was six inches from theirs, pointing right at them and spitting with fury.

In short, he's right up there amongst the best frontmen of this or any generation. No one on the circuit can both command and terrify a crowd quite like Nick Cave. If you match an incredibly rare chance to see such a showman with one of those infrequent reverent audiences that are there for the music and not as a social, drinking night out (not that that's always a bad thing, obviously, I'm just saying concerts are musically better when people shut up), absolute ear-splitting volume, and periods of such intensity that I felt sure people would start keeling over, you have yourself one of those rare concerts where everything comes together .

See also:
-The Ten Best Nick Cave Songs
-The Five Biggest Sellouts at SXSW

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