LOVELESS, GODBOXER, KAY HANLEY
The Lizard Lounge 5/6/03
Opening tonight, oddly enough, are Kay Hanley and Michael Eisenstein. Kay’s a big star, at least here in Boston, so I’m not entirely sure how it came about that she’s opening at The Lizard Lounge on a Tuesday night. She and her husband play guitars, she sings and he sings occasional backup. It’s… nice. The place is packed with frantic, loving Kay Hanley fans, and I wish her well, but the music just seems… nice. Pretty and safe. But that’s how you get lots of fans, I suppose. Anyway, I’m happy that the fans get to see her at the Lizard on a Tuesday night, and I’m even happier that they all leave immediately afterward so that I can actually see the remaining bands.
This is the first week of Godboxer’s Tuesday night residency at the Lizard. I’ve never seen this band before, and I like them. Kind of Gigolo-Aunts-y melodic/ harmonic power pop. The frontman/ lead vocalist, Aaron Lippert, mostly plays rhythm guitar, but takes a few leads. He’s a great singer and a decent guitarist. The other guitarist plays excellent leads and sings really good harmonies; I like him a lot. The drummer could be a bit more accurate, but he’s not bad. I probably won’t stalk them, but I’ll definitely see them again.
Headlining the evening is the return of Loveless. Dave Wanamaker, Loveless frontman, used to be in Expanding Man with Aaron Lippert, and they seem really happy to be sharing this bill. Dave is in rare form, firing on all cylinders. His voice sounds smooth, rich, and controlled, and then he throws his head back and lets out one of his magnificent screams. His guitar leads, which were great before, seem to have gotten better during the semi-downtime. And he seems really happy to be playing, which has not always been the case. The band is tight and rocking, and it’s so, so good to have Jen Trynin back. She’s the Wild Witch of the Wah-wah Pedal. I really don’t think I can describe or explain what she does with that device; it’s like she’s using it as a whole other instrument. Loveless close with “Suicide Machines,” on which the wah-wah is most indispensable, and the ending goes on and on and on in frenetic glory. Jen’s voice sounds great, and the mix is such that I can actually hear both of them singing! This is a rare and beautiful thing. I wish that this band would record these songs, so that I could hear them when they’re not playing, but as long as they keep playing shows as good as this one, I’ll keep coming back. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
THE STOVES, THE DRAGS, WHITE TRASH DELUXE
Midway Café 6/6/03
Still conscious at 10PM on a Friday for the first time in years, I shuffle my caffeinated ass to JP for this guaranteed doozie lineup. Hell, I’d gotten the tingles just hearin’ about it, and I wasn’t let down a smidge. WTD roll out large barrels of Thunders-ish pummel-rock, with switcheroo guitar leads and mock (?) macho forays into the crowd to get the chickies chirpin’. Drinks are ordered, served and powerslammed at tempos as snappy as the ones boomin’ offa the band, and suddenly life is good again. These guys are a regular barf-bag of happiness, and I mean that nicely. You gotcher elements of pain, abuse (self-, substance- and otherwise), smut, grease fumes, suicide, and all the usual worthwhile stuff, squinched into a big, bloody sausage of slobberin’ significance. As with all my faves, they got songs, chops, and a sense of humor. I feel I belong, and it doesn’t suck.
I’m further reassured to see Drags vocalist Rich Hoss gargling with Drano before their set. This guy’s voice makes my eyes bleed and my asshole slam shut. These are the moments I live for. It’s difficult to approximate with words, but if you can’t get out to see The Drags, you could always find a construction site and stand directly behind the dumptruck when it unloads about 17 tons of boulders onto yer worthless noggin. They’re beyond all those bullshit “galvanizing,” etc., dress-up terms. They show up, they scour your crotch with barbed wire, and they go home. I don’t ask for much more from musicians, especially at these bargain rates. At times, I wish they had two guitars, but I’m kind of a dork that way. And even though they skip their magically scabrous Elvis cover, my face still feels like raw hamburger when they’re done. This is turning into a great night.
A palpable buzz fills the room, and my skull. I love The Stoves’ dumb name and stupid stickers. They have lotsa fans who look like I’d actually enjoy talking to ’em, which is rare. I learn why in a hurry, because these guys promptly blow up into Sonic Spazz-ola Supreme, leapin’ and barkin’ and flailin’ and all that, but never like the choreographed douchebags you see on MTV. It’s that most exquisite kinda retardation that only those most un-ironically dead-serious about it can even begin to pull off. The singer is that in-your-face wise-ass from junior high who always managed to escape a beating because he’d make ya laugh right before he stopped fuckin’ with ya. Besides, no one is gonna top the lyrics, “I’m SICK! Sick of your SHIT! Sick of your TITS! Sick of your DICK!” anytime soon. If I had tits OR a dick, I’d have proudly displayed them in honor of this evening’s marvelous entertainment. (Joe Coughlin)
PLAN B, MAPPARI (CD release party), JABE, THE IRRESPONSIBLES
The Middle East 4/26/03
Cutting right into their set, The Irresponsibles have all heads turning their way. Boston-esque backing vocals – sounding like a rock musical, but without the need to tell a story. Lead singer Peter Montgomery high fives a kid in the front row wearing a Yanni jean jacket who’s hyped up ’cause this is no New Age crap. Just plain and simple-straight-up-rock ‘n’ roll. Good stuff. Such a fresh change from your typical Boston rock band. There’s some great songwriting here. Moving through the set into a slow jam, Peter Montgomery dedicates one to the ladies, the most over used line in rock. It’s effective, but reminds me too much of the lead singer from the Silhouettes in the film La Bamba. Completely redeeming himself, he screams in Sam Kinison fashion about a girl who did him wrong. Great songs. Great vocals. Tony the Tiger never tasted music like this.
“We are Jabe and here we go.” The crowd looks to the stage, ready for a roadhouse rock show. Watching Jabe on stage, you know each member just breathes music. You can smell it on them. The party starts and everyone’s taking part. The girl a few feet away from me knows what’s up. She accepts the invitation from the songster. She’s doing the poney dance. You know the one… Phish heads adore it and your feet (even the clean ones), just can’t help it. The place heats up as Jabe rips into “Kelley Maguire,” Sean Staples rocks hard with the mandolin and head-bangs to the train moving through the stage. Jabe introduces the next song as a Dylan tune. All out jammy-jam at the finale. Dave Westner sets up some great fills on the drums and Jabe takes the lead. Staples kicks Jabe in the ass to start the final number. Honkey Tonks and broken beer bottles are non-existent, but the music: that’s poetry, written with some spine. Gets you right here. Amazing band.
A packed house moves forward to join the only Yanni fan in the Cambridge area and Mappari takes the stage to celebrate their new release, the Firecracker EP. Word. These guys are professionals, no slackers on the music scene and the girls in front of me bumping butts show they dig it the most. The place erupts to the start of the set. Lead singer/ guitarist Will Dailey gets the crowd clapping during the opening song. Harmonies between Will Dailey and guitarist Cris Driscoll are killer. Not sure how to describe their sound, maybe early Police. Just great songwriting with kicking guitars and sick rhythms. Crazy presence. Will and bassist Glen Cancelleire do a signature back-to-back classic rock era photo pose as the crowd laughs with them. Kicking into the “Eye of the Tiger” riff, they let the crowd know that round 12 is over. Judges? Confident-assertive-in-your-face-rock. The sound will not escape you.
Plan B is like Mike Tyson’s punch-out with flashing red lights. They’re a very energetic band. Working the crowd like Little Mac did for Nintendo. 8-bit style. YEAH! The lead singer gets too close to a stage light and smacks his head during the opening number. The drummer must be a Danny Carey fan. He’s lovin’ the double kick drum. The music isn’t anything new, but they work the stage so hard that it’s hard not to find it entertaining. Kind of punk-core. Lots of running around the stage and synchronized jumping. Not really my thing, but they’re good at it. The lead singer gets the crowd to start the arm-waving ceremonies, while the lead guitarist goes on a Yngwie Malmsteen kick. Okay, we’ll let it slide. Mosh-pit fever hits the crowd. Some meathead pushes a kid down from behind. Security doesn’t seem to like that. Later dude! It’s over. This night has seen everything. (Joseph Kader)
WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE, INDU (CD release party), DRYFT, MEDICINE 4 TIM
O’Brien’s 6/13/03
I arrive too late to catch the first band, PLP. Depressing, because I’m told they have a very technical style in the mode of Faith No More, one of my favorite bands.
This is the second time I’ve seen Medicine 4 Tim, and I can’t believe how much heavier they sound this time. They’re like a blast of nitro-spiked gasoline, at times full of Black Sabbath heaviness, at others spitting out punk/ hardcore/ straightedge venom. Like Led Zeppelin, they encompass so many styles that they’re hard to classify. The lead singer is invoking Ian Astbury frequently, but just as often outputs a rich, powerful, feral growl/ roar. He’s a relentless desert sirocco of vocal onslaught. Tim the drummer seems happiest when the song structures crank at a balls to the wall pace, yet he revels in deft technical work as well. The rest of the band rages in between, grounding the forces of singer and drummer, etching out the compositions like welders cutting metal. They close with a Slade-like tune with Tim on the bagpipes, and the whole audience is clapping along in time.
The first thing I notice about Dryft is the bassist. He’s clearly the driving force in this group. The rest of the band radiates out from his sound. I really want to like these guys, they’re up there working hard, and they’ve got one of the best vocalists I’ve seen in a long time. He has a pleasing, mainstream voice when he’s not roaring, thus the mainstream sound of many of their songs. However, there are more than a couple of tunes that sound completely fresh. Compositionally, Dryft has a lot of potential with this talented lineup, but some of the songs just fail to deliver the explosive grand finales they’re very capable of achieving.
Indu is psyched. This is the CD release party for Borrow Your Barrels, their first full length release. They erupt upon the O’Brien’s stage with disciplined ferocity. This power trio’s tightness and musical prowess cannot be overstated. They get better with every show. Drummer Tom Lorusso is one of the best rock drummers this city has seen in years, and he and guitarist Mario Puente are hard wired, sticking to each other like glue. Bassist/ vocalist Paul Morrison is changing roles with each song. Sometimes he’s anchoring the rhythm while Lorusso does some lead drum work, other times he’s right next to Puente while he’s doing his frantic, legato power runs. This is rock ‘n’ roll on the edge, heavy metal for a world twisting in torment – complicated, risky, violent. I have no idea what they’re channeling up there, but it’s really not of this world. Awesome.
We’re All Gonna Die is one of the best rock bands in Boston right now. There’s a balance of talent in WAGD that makes for an even discharge of power out into the crowd. A sweet, crunchy, cranky guitar voice gives them a distinctive sound all their own, but it’s the intensity, the hard rock ethic that makes them a force to be taken seriously. While it’s definitely a matter of punk meets hard rock meets metal, there’s a lot of the energy in WAGD that made bands like Sabbath and Zeppelin so tremendous. Their songs are extremely well composed to take advantage of the power of this power trio. This is what grunge wishes it had been. These guys have the power to fill a room much bigger than O’Brien’s, and if they keep this up, I think it’s likely that one day they will. (Joe Hacking)
THE COLLISIONS, THE IN OUT, ALLEN DEVINE
The Abbey Lounge 5/23/03
Allen Devine start it off, a three piece who remind me of one of my all time favorite bands, Big Star. Devine has played with everybody but mainly Asa Brebner these days. He specializes in catchy, mid tempo songs with memorable melodies and lyrics and amazing guitar playing – ringing solos spun out with easy, not-trying-to-impress-anyone sincerity. The songs: “Wrecking Ball,” “Change,” “Is It Me,” and “And Your Bird Can Sing.” Just when I want them to rock out they do, on “Shiver and Shake.” I need his CDs if he’s got any.
Well, it’s a Friday night but the Abbey still isn’t crowded. That’s all right because only the elite are here, we who appreciate true art punks – The In Out. The rest of you might catch up some day. Pints procured, we take our posts before the stage. Dave Beach of Violet Squid guests on Flying V guitar and op art vintage Mosrite amp, providing an ominous tremolo underbelly to the brooding “Sense and Withdraw” – perfect. “Caravan” rocks down the road as “those arms and legs keep moving” and Todd plays a fractured yet inspired guitar solo. Andy keeps a steady groove on bass while Eric bashes out the beat. Mark Heng of The Jumblies guests on “The Turning,” providing, as Todd requested, an “Eno meets Amon Duul” touch. They leave us with “Scanned Document Jam,” a loosely structured effects fest with the lot of them freaking out in the key of strange.
Next are The Collisions, a three piece who play manic punk rock with a bit of klezmer thrown in. There are no horns tonight but the klezmer rhythm does bounce along on one number. Funny how close to punk that sounds. The blond bass player from Caged Heat fronts this band with snotty vocals and attitude to spare, even dropping his pants at one point. “She’s getting in touch with her evil side” must be about me. Jill Kurtz joins them on harmonica for one tune and was there an accordion, too? “You’re schizo!” he screams – that one’s about me again. It was a fun-filled, beer-soaked evening with Dave and Todd doing a Russian dance to the Collisions and jokes about a rich lady on Beacon Hill’s sex parties, as seen on Craigslist. (Laura Markley)
FREEZEPOP, TUNNEL OF LOVE
T.T. the Bear’s 6/6/03
A trio of shirtless waifs stand in front of the stage at T.T.’s, clad only in tiny shorts and striped stockings. A tom, a snare, a tambourine, and a crash cymbal have been set up in the audience area, as well as a tiny amp, a guitar, a mic, and a plaid suitcase adorned with Christmas lights. Tunnel of Love hardly seem ready to take the stage. In fact, they never do. Instead, the show begins with the gold-crowned, red-caped singer calling the audience “pussies” and then launches into an Iggy Pop-ish bit of thrash rock. TOL’s drummer remains standing throughout the entire set, stomping on the floor in place of an actual kick drum. The singer gropes, fondles, and wraps mic cords around the audience members throughout the set, which includes extremely trashy covers of “Wild Thing” and “Hey Joe.” Now that’s what I call a rock show.
When Freezepop takes the stage in color-coordinated tennis outfits, backed by colorful video projections and fronted by a fog machine, I can’t help but think, “These kids have money.” Unfortunately, all the money in the world couldn’t buy them any stage presence. The lead songstress, or rather, vocoded talkstress, bounces along to pre-prescribed Reason-ish drum loops in manner of a high school cheerleader while two bored keyboardists play along. I like synth-pop as much as the next girl. I love dancing to Adult or The Faint, or even Cibo Matto. But this sexless brand of dance music loses my interest after three songs. No one in the audience really dances. The video never synchs up very well. A kind woman in the bathroom explains to me that Freezepop is “ironic” and “sarcastic.” You call it irony, I say it’s “pastiche.” (Jenn Westervelt)
RED CHORD, THE CHARMS, SCAMPER, MALIBU LOU
Harper’s Ferry 6/19/03
As I enter Harper’s Ferry, Malibu Lou is treating us to his acoustic guitar stylings and some of the worst singing I have ever heard, toneless and miles off-key. Mercifully, it seems to be his last song.
Scamper is a sunny, melodic four-piece that make catchy, hooky pop songs with pretty melodies and great harmonies. If these songs had cheeks I’d want to pinch them, they’re that sweet. I’m reminded of a de-quirked They Might Be Giants. Nate is struggling audibly with a cold, which impacts his vocals, but he gets points for soldiering through, and some of the raspiness actually adds some depth at times. They should maybe scream more often. The guitar solos are infrequent, short, and simple, and I could stand an occasional minor-key excursion. But it’s impossible not to smile when this band is playing.
The Charms proceed to supply everything that was missing. Raunchy, sweaty rock? Check. Smokin’ guitar solos? They’ve got ’em, and they’re brilliant, spiraling deliriously out of control before landing back at the melody just in time for the chorus. The song they identify as a new one sounds like a punked-up ’60s girl-group number, and the Farfisa is the perfect accompaniment. The drummer is noticeably tighter than the last time I saw them, and lead singer/rhythm guitarist Ellie Vee is a sexy, sassy bundle of energy and attitude. My favorite moment in the set comes when she notices the bassist blocking her path to the mic, saunters over, and expertly hip-checks him out of her way precisely on the downbeat. How rock is that?
Headlining is Red Chord, a bluesy, boozy six-piece. A bluesy six-piece is a scary thing at Harper’s Ferry, home of Jam Band Hell, but if anything their songs are too simple and straightforward. Lead singer Andrea Gillis is in full-on Janis mode, drunkenly swearing about not being able to smoke and missing her entrances, but then howling and growling and rocking the room. She has pipes for days. The melodies are simple and kind of monotonous, and the various solos – guitar, keyboard, and saxophone – never really stray from blues basic. But it’s all about the singer here, and if she had to carry the entire band on her growl alone, she’d be up to the task. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
THE DECEMBER SOUND
The Milky Way 5/30/02
The lingering gourmet pizza eaters didn’t know what hit them. Singer/ guitarist Zack, bass player John and drummer Drew are a power trio to contend with. They sound so tightly interwoven, in synch (except for the beer damaged version of “Summer’s Gone”) and drunk on volume that you feel your head may explode. “Training Wheels” sounds like the new hit, with an upbeat, memorable guitar hook. “Un Morte de un Soldato” is a dynamic, exciting composition. On the slow paced “What’s Up With Being Down,” Zack’s yearning vocals make women feel faint while John’s loud, sexy bass line carries the melody. Drew deals out le rock with his dramatic style, lots of rolls and crashes. Zack’s wah pedal solo on his vintage Vox guitar sends the song into outer space and cymbal splashes punctuate the end. The finale: “Here Today,” which rocks so hard it’s like they’re all trying to outplay each other. These guys have December in their name but they sound (and look) very hot. This is nothing to drink cocoa to! (Laura Markley)
BARRY & THE REMAINS
The Regent Theatre, Arlington 5/17/03
The Remains set is an impeccably chosen mix of original material and covers from their 1966 Epic album and their Capitol demos that ended up on A Session With The Remains (Sundazed). Their 2002 CD, Movin’ On was represented by the ’50s, rootsy “Big Ol’ Dynaflow” and “Man’s Best Friend Is His Automobile,” the Tex-Mex tearjerker “Hard To Find (So Easy To Lose)” and my favorite, “Don’t Tell Me The Truth,” their 21st century nugget.
The Remains deliver their ’50s oriented songs sounding like a Billion Dollar Quartet of Chuck Berry on guitar and Jerry Lee Lewis on keyboards with a Bo Diddley beat. Barry Tashian and bass player Vern Miller play off of each other like the combo never parted. Billy Briggs magically conjures the perfect vintage sound out of his Yamaha. And as Tashian says, drummer Chip Damiana is the “heartbeat” of the band. Miller has the musical degree, but tonight reiterates that all The Remains are PhDs of rock ‘n’ roll. (Nancy Neon)
ERIK LINDGREN & SONARE WIND TRIO, LEAH CALLAHAN
The Lizard Lounge 5/7/03
Back once again to the Lizard Lounge, for another Scara’s Night Out, meaning more of The Inexplicable Sinus Brady. I arrive in very timely fashion, just as Leah Callahan is about to go on. I want to see her set because Brian Viglione is drumming for her. I love Brian. I’ve decided that I like Leah, too, as long as I don’t try to think of her as a musician, per se. She’s kind of a decent singer who writes okay-but-not-very-interesting songs. But she’s a really good performer, with gobs of stage presence, and if I just think of her as a performance artist, she’s wonderful. So tonight’s set is very enjoyable, and it’s really good to see Brian in another setting besides the Dresden Dolls. Amanda is so overwhelming, it can be hard to focus on anything else when she’s onstage. I’m particularly impressed when I learn afterward that Brian has improvised all these drum parts on the basis of one rehearsal, since it all seems perfectly smooth and polished, and his gift for dynamics is put to very good use in this set of widely varying songs. And he plays one song with an electric mixer!
After a bit more patter from The Inexplicable Sinus Brady, we are treated to the truly bizarre experience of Erik Lindgren & Sonare Wind Trio. Erik Lindgren is a longtime member of brilliant local institution Birdsongs of the Mesozoic, composing, arranging, and performing instrumental music that combines jazz and classical influences, and rocks. This is a similar project, even covering a Birdsongs piece, but his keyboard is accompanied by, yes, a wind trio. I can’t be sure, of course, but I’d be willing to bet some money that this is the first time a bassoon has been played at the Lizard Lounge. (Go ahead, prove me wrong.) More rock bands should have bassoons. I’m serious. It works exactly like a bass in the songs, but with a richer, woodier tone. I love it. From where I’m standing it’s a bit difficult to hear the flautist, but she seems to be coping well with some radically fast and complicated parts. This is just a really different, really interesting musical experience for someone who normally only sees guitar bands. My only complaint would have to be with the audience; if you don’t like the music, couldn’t you maybe duck outside to carry on your loud conversation? (Steve Gisselbrecht)
BOTTLE FIGHT, SALACIOUS CRUMB
The Middle East 5/20/03
It’s Tuesday night and to be honest, I don’t really feel like going out. However, one of my favorite punk bands, Chanticlear, is upstairs at The Middle East, so I slowly motivate for the long trudge to Central Square. Unfortunately Chanticlear is already finished when I arrive. However, another batch of old school punk hellions, Salacious Crumb, are taking the stage so I give the doorman my last few bucks and go in to check it out. Salacious Crumb, named for an obscure Star Wars character, like Chanticlear seem to be regulars at the punk rock dive on the other side of town known as The Chopping Block. It’s a familiar scene as the guitars and bass blare as a bunch of screaming hooligans knock each other around in front of the stage. They end with a good cover of The Ramones “Blitzkrieg Bop” in which several members of the audience pop up on stage and sing along. Hey Ho! Lets Go!
Next up is Bottlefight, who get my vote for possibly the worst band on the planet. They are playing way too loud, and not in a rocking sort of way. Its more like they have no idea how to play their instruments, let alone play the song so those problems will be solved by just cranking it all up and hopefully it will all work itself out in the mix. Man, did I feel bad for the girl working sound at The Middle East that night. So the bass amp starts cutting out but what does the guitarist do, just turns up and keeps playing an ear piercing solo. Not a fun time. If Bottlefight’s utter lack of stage presence and halfway decent songs didn’t scare people away, this pushed everybody out of the room. Thank God I am out of here. (Kier Byrnes)
GOO Zeitgeist Gallery 6/18/03
It is unclear what band I am seeing tonight; previously called Supergoo, they’ve threatened to shorten it to Goo, but apparently there’s already a Goo. I’ll stick with Supergoo while the jury remains out. (Sorry, I got the word it’s Goo for the time being… Ed)
They are already playing when I arrive at the Zeitgeist just after ten, and they play until midnight with just a short break. The concept here is loose, jazzy improvisational grooves that sometimes crystallize into song-like space rock. DJ Pace occasionally provides beats – an unnecessary distraction in a band with two drummers, in my opinion – but mostly adds snippets of speech or melody and some excellent rhythmic turntable fireworks. Peter Moore has the Zeitgeist’s grand piano to play with, which sounds really great when I can hear it. This is my great complaint with tonight’s show: no sound person. Eric kind of drowns everyone else out with the drums when he really gets going, and the turntable stuff is also turned up too loud much of the time. Dave looks like he’s probably playing subtle, interesting percussion on a variety of hand drums, but I can’t hear a bit of it while anyone else is playing. I ask Wil to turn the guitar up at the break, and that helps, so a sound person could probably fix all these problems.
I’m not normally a jazz/jam fan, so musically I find that this gets a little boring sometimes, while they cast around looking for a structure and listen to each other’s ideas. Those ideas, though, are first-rate; this show confirms my long-held opinions about Wil and Peter’s brilliance, and when they’re all locked into a groove and Wil solos, it’s a truly great show. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
SMORGASBORD
Zeitgeist Gallery 5/2903
Samburrito, a jagged samba-like jazzer infused with trademark dissonant melodies and stop-time perfection, Mark Bowden’s melodic solos and Derrik Albertelli’s manic guitar, kicks off Smorgasbord’s 30 minute acoustic set.
“Tardis” showcases Shah Hadjebis’s jazz bass dexterity while “Back To Earth,” a tastefully complex tune, proves Shawn McLaughlin, normally a seated behind a massive drum set but for this gig using a “blues” kit and mounted bongos (which he fluidly plays with his left hand while playing the rest of the kit with his right hand and feet) a drum god.
On “Tambourine Dreams,” Shah demonstrates that bass solos can be tasty, entertaining and succinct.
In a daring and successful move, the band closes with Dave Brubeck’s “Blue Rondo a la Turk.” If you never thought metal double-bass drumming could be thrown into a complex-time signature jazz tune, Shawn proves you wrong. (Marc Friedman)
BANE OF EXISTENCE, KURIXIS, RAISING KUBRICK, PHANTOM LIMB
Boston’s Dead
O’Brien’s 6/5/03
It’s been a while since the death metal band Phantom Limb said “fuck it” and decided to forge ahead as a two-piece. It’s not really a gimmick, it’s just that rather than wait around for the right bass player to come along, they’ve decided to keep gigging. This is Darwinian Theory in action, folks. Adapt to the loss of that limb or die. The singer/ vocalist looks like the most pleasant guy offstage, but up there, he is a channel for Beelzebub while simultaneously laying down an unscalable wall of death metal guitar. The drummer is right there next to him, never letting up, working hard to fill that bassist void. If these guys ever decide to get a bassist, he’s gonna have to be really good to keep up.
With the late genius movie producer’s name involved, I had expected Raising Kubrick to produce an artsy take on metal. What we’re getting is a savage three piece with two lead singers, a very unassuming looking metal chick and some severely disenfranchised dude. The chick is screeching like a Valkyrie descending from a blood red sky, the dude is growling a unique rumble-roar. It’s like a heavy metal Johnny and June Cash. They’re either exchanging romantic niceties or invoking a demon from the sixth level of Hell, I can’t tell. But it’s very interesting. Meanwhile, the three piece component is hammering along like an army of Dwarven smithies in the bowels of Khazad-Dum. They’re infusing the music with the kinetic energy of their leaping and gesticulations. There’s a cohesion to raising Kubrick that bespeaks a fortunate chemistry and a passion for metal. The crowd rewards their efforts with enthusiastic applause.
The three piece of Kurixis is very ambitious up there on the O’Brien’s stage. As their set begins, it seems the drummer is laboring under the demands of that ambition. Staccato rhythms interspersed with complicated prog rock bridges, runs and changes have everyone unsure of themselves at first. They sound nervous, like this is their first gig. And they have every reason to be nervous; O’Brien’s is now full of hardcore metal fans of every stripe. But Kurixis shakes off their apprehensions, finally tightening up and fulfilling their prog metal vision. Some compositions are just plain awkward and unsatisfying, but some are very strong, well synthesized pieces, full of what metal is all about. The crowd’s polite applause turns into genuine appreciation. They tap that energy and get really Megadeth-ish towards the end, winning the crowd over totally by the time they leave the stage.
With the memory of their performance at Metal Fest still in the minds of many in the room, Bane Of Existence take the stage. Their beautifully sludgy sheets of guitar distortion have me flashing back to Deringer’s in the ’80s at points, but Bane’s sound is very current at the same time. The vocalist sounds like he’s under contract to do commercial voice-overs on HELL TV. The drummer is going off like a chin gun on an attack helicopter, complete with rotor chop. Like John Bonham in Zeppelin, this drummer is the vital force in this band. It’s all rage and ferociousness up there, a bath of simmering anger drawn for all the room to bathe in. The place is packed as they work through their set. These guys are making a name for themselves, and they leave no one in the room curious as to why by set’s end. (Joe Hacking)
A .45 TO PAY THE RENT, HUMAN SHIELD
Charlie’s Kitchen 5/19/03
Things didn’t go so well the last time I saw Human Shield, which ended with them being forcibly removed from a club in Somerville back in November. Everyone deserves a second chance, though. Tonight, Human Shield seems to be on better behavior and with better stuff than they had during my last visit. Human Shield announces that tonight is the finals for their lead singer auditions, which is going to be held live in front of an audience. Well, it would have been if there was an audience here. Unabashed, Shield launches into a noise-laden set that consists of about a handful of songs. The first song actually shows some promise and has a definite groove to it. There might not be a lot of structure to these, ahem, songs but it seems like the band members are listening more to what everyone else is doing now rather than just trying to create noise on their own for the sake of making noise. Through three different singers, Human Shield eventually ends up doing their usual schtick, which is being notorious for being notorious with noise.
A .45 to Pay the Rent has a lot of sound. But how could they not with a kick drum that can be seen from space? A .45 displays some classic rock sounds with some good old metal influences flavored with a ton of rock and a healthy dose of Motorhead and GnR. Cool breakdowns and tight tunes make this band one to see. I even hear some early Aerosmith stuff in there for good measure. Apparently one of the hardest working bands around, I hear that this is their fourth show in five days. But they do not seem tired at all, even for a Monday, as they rail through a gasoline, oil, and fire set of rock. (Richie Hoss)
JAMES NOLAN, FRITTER, THE SCISSORMEN
The Lizard Lounge 6/11/03
At 10:30 The Scissormen take the stage to play to a Lizard crowd consisting largely of Fritter and me. This is very bluesy roots rock, a perfect soundtrack for the guy pounding Bud, chain-smoking Winstons, and drunkenly hitting on every woman who passes within hailing distance. There are three people on stage, but the drummer and percussionist don’t do too much that’s interesting; they’re there mainly to fill in the sound a bit around Ted Drozdowski’s slide guitar heroics. He’s fiery, and he works hard to raise the energy level in the nearly empty room, at one point embarking on a blues-mariachi tour of the room and playing at every occupied table with beer bottles, ashtrays, and other miscellany.
Next, at nearly midnight, Fritter play to a crowd that could charitably be described as “small but enthusiastic.” (Uncharitably, you might call us “nine obsessive-compulsives and the bassist’s girlfriend.”) Only three members are shared with the Fritter line-up I saw two weeks ago. In fact, this line-up is Count Zero, minus Brendan (who was there two weeks ago) and rearranged slightly. I like the idea of two different configurations of the same people as two different bands, and I can’t wait to see them open for themselves. They sound great; the songs are complex and beautiful, Peter Moore’s backing vocals are wonderful, and Wil Ragano masterfully plays all the guitar parts by himself, all to the accompaniment of Elizabeth Steen’s mighty Wurlitzer. I dream that one day this band will play to dozens of people all at the same time!
We shout for an encore, but there’s one more act scheduled, and precious little time for him to play. James Nolan plays solo with acoustic guitar, and sings rambling, countrified story-songs about woman troubles and life on the road. He does it well, and has a great voice, but it’s late and not exactly my scene. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
DISENGAGED, BANE OF EXISTENCE, RAVAGE, GUT
The Middle East 6/16/03
Lead singer Brian Morse is driving Gut tonight. His mic cord is spooled loosely around his hand, making it look as if he’s just pulled the electronic heart out of the machine that rules our society. He’s on fire tonight, and he’s bringing the rest of Gut with him. The opening slot sets the tone for the rest of the show, and the band is intent on setting a savage one. They quickly ease into their distinctive brand of scrap metal, a melding of metal, jazz, hard rock and thrash. They get themselves psychically interlocked and keep the room energy at an even, knife-edged peak for the duration of their set. Jeremy’s lead guitar work is standing out tonight, intricate, yet resisting overindulgence. As point men, Gut have achieved their goal – the crowded room is psyched on them and pumped up for the bands to come.
I was told Ravage are old school, and it’s true. They’re totally in the spirit of Iron Maiden and the other metal forefathers. Being from the old school, I can’t help but feel biased, but their compositional, vocal and lead guitar styles are refreshing to hear. The vocalist invokes such greats as Geoff Tate, Bruce Dickinson and Michael Kiske. In all honesty, the drummer is the only member of the band who isn’t up to the comparisons with the old school metal. He’s a solid drummer, but lacks the power and technical skill of the McBrains, Burrs and Rockenfields from back in the day. However, the band’s music is written with him in mind, and the overall effect is that of a time machine. If there’s a local band that does retro-metal better than these guys, I haven’t heard them yet. The crowd agrees with me.
If Ravage represents the Maiden/ Queensryche school of influence, then Bane of Existence represents the whole Wargasm/ Slayer school of metal. The vocals are more contemporary, but the soul of the sound comes from another old school. These guys are The Who of the Boston metal scene, and yes, the drummer is as decisive in the mix as Keith Moon. They’re producing a solid wall of dissonant, dirge-like channeled anger. The crowded room gets rambunctious as they play, and a group of hot chicks starts a mosh pit. You know it’s brutal when you see that. This is barrage metal, carried out with scientific precision – choppy, chunky slabs in sludgy pools of tuned down magma. Thrash overdrive refrains driven by that crazy, stoic drummer. The bass has the small hairs on my arms bending and the lead vocalist has insane vocal control. The crowd is losing its collective shit.
Disengaged know what they have to do after Bane’s ridiculously sick set. They unleash all they have upon the audience. Of all the bands this night, the guitars are the main element in Disengaged. The drummer is working with them, providing a solid but ever-changing foundation upon which the strings can do their thing. This is a band showing great promise for the future. They have what it takes. The lead vocalist is a relentless force, with a power of lung and vocal cord that is impressive even after the amazing lineup of bands which came before him. Things get really cacophonic up there in a very organized way, and the audience is right there behind them, pleased with their ability to follow up Bane’s awe-inspiring performance. Best metal night yet! (Joe Hacking)
CLONES DON’T HAVE BELLYBUTTONS, CANCER TO THE STARS
The Skybar 5/11/03
“Is it punk? Is it emotional? Is it new wave? Is it rock? YES!,” read Cancer to the Stars’ flyer. I feel relieved to have these questions answered because their intentions would’ve taken me much longer to decipher alone.
Punk? Let’s define punk: (adj.) utilizing minimal chords, and an ABAB form in two-and-a-half minutes or so. The songs consist of harmonic complexities and droning vocals. Many had no lyrics, just vocal sounds. The only “punk” element is their adorable singer maneuvering across the stage, flinging his guitar and nearly smacking their bassist.
Is it emotional? Seemed sad enough. As for new wave, was there a keyboard? Was it danceable? No. Now, as for rock, well, CTTS possess many elements of a good rock band. Power chords. Flashy moves. Crashy drums. But they lack songwriting, remaining liberated from hooks or choruses. A good band? Yes. A memorable set? No.
In the past year, I have gone to several Clones Don’t Have Bellybuttons shows. At every show, sprightly singer Jack Adams keeps me wondering how an enormous sound and incredible range comes from such a slight fellow. Jack doesn’t sing. He croons. He groans. He belts. And then he croons again, with lyrical whispers evolving into guttural screams. Adams turns red and his eyes roll back into his head. The madness continues with auxiliary spookiness supplied by Rob Barbato, who’s set up his bag of tricks on stage right. These tricks include a CBS Rhodes and a theremin. Rob plays carnival-esque melodies on keyboard and occasionally howls ethereally into his mic. Bassist Wes Stannard’s eyes remain downcast throughout the evening but stays in perfect time with drummer Orpheo McCord.
An appropriate Clones’ flyer might read: “Is it erotic? Is it eerie? Is it rock? Yes!” (Jenn Westervelt)
ACOUSTIC ALLIGATORS
Scioletti’s (Hudson, MA) 6/14/03
I was interested to hear this alternate, unplugged version of Alan & the Alligators. I know they can pull off their louder, more aggressive live act, but this was to be an encounter unlike any other. It’s one thing to hear a band do an acoustic version of their music, it’s another to hear it done in such a way that the song has a completely different format. I am not just talking about a song played slower, but a song that can be set to anything. When you hear the song rockin’ out on their CD, and then hear it acoustically, it could be folk, country, easy listening, whatever. It doesn’t necessarily have to fit into any particular genre with these guys. I think I like this version of their live show better, because it allows the audience to think. Alan’s smooth voice and universally appealing lyrics can be set to any tune you may have humming through your head, and I know the audience was humming along. It’s nice to feel mellow and mentally enlightened and have it be legal. Groovy. (Sue O.)
THE HIDDEN, BEYOND THE EMBRACE, CHRIS EVIL
The New Wave Cafe 5/30/03
We speed from the outer reaches of Cape Cod in an effort to make The New Wave before it closes, hoping to catch an enticing lineup. Several delays mean that we don’t arrive at the packed club until 11:30. Unfortunately, we just miss Day Of The Lords, the Joy Division tribute. We are, however, in time to hear Chris Evil. Evil’s punkish songs are colored by interesting rhythmic flourishes, but overall, the set is rather tame and unremarkable.
When Beyond The Embrace take the stage for a homecoming performance after touring with Opeth, it’s clear from the crowd’s excitement that their return has been greatly anticipated. Their hard-thrash assault is tempered by the melodies of singer Shawn Gallagher and the intricate, classic-metal harmonies of their three guitarists. BTE’s triple guitar lineup, while viewed as redundant by some, is a perfect method to bring to the stage the layered harmonies that so many metal bands can only achieve through studio overdubs. The rich blend of the three trading rhythm, lead, and harmony passages over the charging bass and drums is arresting as well as innovative. Beyond The Embrace are more evidence that Massachusetts is becoming a haven for sophisticated metal. Who would have thought?
The show is running late, and it is past one before punk-metal pounders The Hidden begin. Their signature hypnotic rhythms and infectious choruses convince many to stay later than they may have planned. Singer Kevin Grant’s heavy melodies sail over drummer Tanya Paglia’s tom/kick thundering, Mario’s solid bass, and the twin guitars of the brothers Brockman, whose alternating leads and syncopated chords achieve a unique stereo effect. After a powerful set of originals and a Mission of Burma song, The Hidden start Black Flag’s “Nervous Breakdown,” while Grant, still singing, snakes through the crowd. The amiable tension he invokes suddenly boils over as a confused spectator attacks the singer; equipment crashes to the floor as the crowd tries to separate the two. Grant, fueled by adrenaline and enraged from being sucker-punched, gets in a few kicks before it’s over. After an awkward moment of silence, the thoroughly rocked crowd applauds.
Kudos to The New Wave Cafe staff for hosting such a great show, for having an exceptional soundman, and for wiping up the blood so promptly. (T. Graham)
THE GENTLEMEN, QUICK FIX
T.T. the Bear’s 5/23/03
Tonight is Quick Fix’s record release party for The Push. I come in a few songs into Quick Fix’s set, and they’re already drenched in sweat. TT’s is packed. The crowd is totally worked up and loving the band, who are rocking hard and seem to be having a great . to be playing for a crowd that actually came to see them. The new songs sound great, as do the old ones. (But do they really have a song called “Bloodsucker” and another one called “Soulsucker”?) Lead guitarist Eric Barlow does some really amazing five-string work with a broken string flailing all around him. The vocals sound fantastic, although it’s hard to hear the lovely harmonies when standing in front of the bassist; as a consolation, I get to focus on his monstrously chunky bass lines, which come stomping in to drive the songs like an overloaded tractor trailer doing seventy that doesn’t crash in the tunnel. A great, rocking set and a band/crowd love-fest.
Headlining are The Gentlemen, whom I have never seen before. It’s kind of interesting to see last year’s Rumble winners the night after we saw this year’s winners crowned, but The Gentlemen are not my scene: too country/ bluesy/ rootsy for my tastes, by a lot. I give them the regulation three songs, and then make my way to the merch table to buy The Push and head home. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
Bands: Please be advised that shows are never assigned for review. If you’re doing something even remotely exceptional, we’ll be the first to tell the world. If you’re horrible, same thing.
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