VALHALLA KITTENS, ANTI-LOVE PROJECT
Great Scott 8/28/03
It’s The Plan, the now-Thursday-soon-Saturday series in which Great Scott morphs from frightening BU pickup spot to bizarrely clean and pleasant rock club! I arrive in time for about four songs from Anti-Love Project. And a fine project it is. The overwhelming feel I get here is Sonic Youth when Kim sings. This is good. Two guitarists throw out a wild-ride mixture of fast melodic riffiness and avant-noise skronk, while the glittery lead singer shrieks and growls. The rhythm section is tight. The whole thing is punky and rich and fun.
Valhalla Kittens now have enough songs that I can be disappointed to not hear the one I wanted, which is an important step forward. I still get plenty of their thoroughly unique brand of girl-group math rock. And this time the audience is actually standing up, which enables us to join in when taught the dance steps. They are notably precise tonight, and these are complicated songs. The kittens could be heard more, and the bass, as usual, sort of blows everyone else away; this band seems to have ongoing trouble with balance. (It’s the heels.)
Perhaps the only factor marring my enjoyment of the evening is the creepy fan guy dancing in the front. On the one hand, you’re glad he’s obviously having a good time. On the other hand, he really is really creepy, and if he’s having such a good time he should focus on his own enjoyment of the music, and let other people do likewise. In particular, he needs to leave the women alone. If I were club personnel, I might have spoken to him the second or third time a woman backed away in fairly obvious alarm. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
THE SECRET CHANNEL, THE INFORMATION
T.T. the Bear’s 8/22/03
T.T.’s is nice and dark tonight, the way a NIGHTclub should be (there’s no annoying, bright light shining in your face, as at The Middle East upstairs.) And The Information’s dark take on early ’80s punk and new wave fits in nicely. This band has a good energy on stage although with six people in the band, I’d expect as much. Their first song, “The New Deal” reminds me a little too much of an Interpol song. The songs following are good but I think they need more hooks. “Queer” has a catchy synth octave hook. The singer has shaggy hair and jerky movements, and his vocals inhabit that familiar grey area between lonely and pissed off. I like it when the bleepy synth lines contrast with the heavy, Verbena type bar chords of the guitars. Some memorable, echoey, keyboard lines carry the last, best song and hint at what this band could be, given a few more dynamics.
The Secret Channel, a four piece, are more straight ahead and hard hitting with good melodies and tightly crafted songs. “I Know I Was Wrong” features a fluid yet biting guitar solo with bass and drums running wild and an earnest, angry vocal. It’s always nice to hear some concise, old fashioned lead playing on a vintage Rickenbacker. But this intense music demands better lyrics. “I will never fall in love again”? “I hate your attitude/you are so fucking rude”? Do better, please. And the bass player might take a little less Ritalin next time, his spastic dance moves are distracting. Still, I’m impressed by their energy. (Laura Markley)
WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE, ICHABOD, ELDEMUR KRIMM, PARANOID
O’Brien’s 9/12/03
Everything I like about hard rock music is summed up in Paranoid. In the tradition of COC, Black Label Society and southern metal in general, Paranoid write songs that mimic these greats without ripping them off. The drummer’s thrashy style does a lot to prevent the plagiarism, his quick, crisp style belonging more to modern metal. But the vocalist/ lead guitarist in this power trio is laying down an old school, crunchy, heavy metal soundwave. The bassist is laying down some mean Geezer Butler style fills. The whole band digs in and gallops along through splashy puddles of staggered distortion in a unified evocation of Sabbathy simplicity. Then they’re sounding like Soundgarden’s lost album. They rock so hard that they’ve got the old timers in the crowd yelling “Who the fuck are you?!!!” with a desperate need to know in their voices. I predict that people won’t need to ask in the future.
The Gibson-fueled quartet of Eldemur Krimm continue the trend of ’70s hard rock influence in this night at O’Brien’s. No, I have no idea where they came up with that name, but the retro vibration runs even deeper here. Very guitar-driven, with all the instruments supporting a fat, thick sound as deep as the sin of man. I keep being reminded of obscure ’70s hard rock outfits, but can’t decide which one. They’re an informed synthesis of the past three decades of rock, with compositions that stomp, explode and cruise along. The tall, long-haired, lead singer/guitarist is talking some bizarre, humorous shit in between songs, which gives evidence of where the rich character of their music comes from. They’re a band whose music has an aura of mythos to it as if their catalog is a canon that the crowd is being initiated in. The room responds favorably throughout.
At first I think Ichabod is a band dominated by a great bass player. His cool, watery bass sound stands out throughout their set. Combined with a lead vocalist with an interesting, almost off-key singing style and a drummer who’s a rattling, bass thud of adrenal discharge, Ichabod sounds pretty good. They’re another band dipping into the well of obscure ’70s hard rock sounds, at times alien, sometimes scary, at others just strange. The singer erupts now and again, gravelly rage blaring from his throat. They maintain a level of meanness for their set, and that power seems to come from their bassist, who the whole band seems to orbit around (I later find out that the guitarist was having technical difficulties the whole time). By the end, the lead singer is screeching like one of Tolkein’s Ringwraiths. They leave the stage just as they were getting warmed up.
We’re All Gonna Die take the stage to much cheering. OB’s is now filled up with people getting in to see this hard rock power trio. In an evening of bands carrying on the traditions of hard rock, these guys are the kings. They unleash their savage guitar sound/rock and roll vocals, hectic, precise drumming and rock solid bass line, and OB’s is suddenly the epicenter of a sweet audio discharge. There’s so much of what I would consider outstanding musical influences woven into We’re All Gonna Die’s sound. The crunchiness of pre-Napster Metallica, the vocal intensity of The Cult, the attitude and heaviness of Sabbath, the cocksure slickness of Zeppelin, the three piece firepower of Cream. This stream of incessant, driving music washes over the crowd like manna from rock and roll heaven. The downbeat gets so thick and sludgy you can smoke it. It ends all too soon. (Joe Hacking)
THE CHARMS, TRIPLE THICK
The Abbey Lounge 9/5/03
The Abbey has a spiffy new sign over the stage! It looks positively out of place amidst the heavy, grey air and sticky floors, but it’s nonetheless lovely. Playing under the sign when we arrive are Triple Thick. I can’t actually speak too well of their set—they are distinguished by really noticeably stupid lyrics, and they’re also pretty sloppy, to the point where they have to go over chord progressions before several songs, and they start one song off so obviously playing in different keys that they give up halfway through. Practice, practice. However, I want to like them because of the way they buck the gender-role trend: if a band has one woman and three guys, she’s usually not the lead guitarist. And she rocks, too; easily the best thing in the band. So practice hard, guys, and write some better words.
Finally, The Charms show us how it’s done. This is what we’re here for, and the space in front of the stage is jam-packed. New drummer Meeker is EXCELLENT, and already gives the impression that he could play these songs in his sleep. Now, to be fair, the lyrics here aren’t really any smarter or more interesting than Triple Thick’s, but when a band is this tight, with great melodies and great harmonies, perfect stage presence, and the best damned guitar solos you’re likely to hear, I’m perfectly happy to sing along with “yeah yeah, baby, yeah.” The Farfisa has an elemental rightness in the context of these songs. We get a Zeppelin cover for an encore, and I’ll take Ellie Vee over Robert Plant any day. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
THE REAL KIDS, CAGED HEAT
The Abbey Lounge 8/12/03
Jill Kurtz is easily one of my fave female singers in Boston, right up there with Jen Rassler. She’s so gutsy and it’s hard to believe that big voice is coming out of such a skinny little body. Her voice can rise from a whisper to a scream to underline her conviction, she can croon with bluesy longing as well as croak out her disgust. On “I’m Gonna Get to You,” her tightly wound vocal trades off with the bass line. Allen Devine plays his usual incisive lead guitar and sings some backing vocals along with the bass player (who has his own great punk band called The Collisions). “Losing You” is a country rock number with tandem vocals but I wish I could hear Jill’s guitar better. “Animal” ends it with scorching harmonica from Jill. This is a crowd favorite, a bluesy song that builds to a chaotic finish.
The Real Kids take the stage and play yet another inspired set, with “Bad to Worse,” “You Gotta Lose That Girl,” and “Not the One” being highlights for me. Just what is a “Taxi Boy,” I’d like to know? I might need a lyric sheet on this. I also love the melancholy feel of “Somewhere West of Nowhere” that turns around on the bridge to a more upbeat sound. It seems to reflect life’s ups and downs. That simple guitar intro creates such suspense and then the kick drum starts thudding, the guitars get louder and it just explodes. I love the longing and honesty of John Felice’s lyrics that are kept tough and raw by the together musicianship of Billy Cole, Chris Barnard and Jimmy Birmingham. They care about getting the feelings across and that’s what the fans get off on. (Laura Markley)
LOVELESS, FRANCINE, SEÑOR HAPPY
T.T. the Bear’s 9/6/03
Tonight is a woefully underattended Q Division NEMO showcase at TT’s. I don’t understand why Loveless, with their excellent, rocking, catchy songs, expertly played, aren’t huge stars, although the fact that I like them is usually a bad sign for a band’s marketability.
First up are Señor Happy. While I’ve never seen them before, I’ve seen three quarters of them in other things: the drummer is also in Loveless, the bassist is in Godboxer, and Jay plays guitar and sings in Godboxer and The So and Sos. (When I ask him after the set how many bands he’s in, he laughs, but is unable or unwilling to name an exact number.) The lead singer is kind of weak—his voice is not bad, but he’s tentative, and his pitch isn’t always great—but the songs are good, and all the instruments are fine. The drummer is particularly good, and sings able backup, and I like Jay’s guitar leads. They prove to be my second-favorite band of the night.
I saw the lead singer and drummer/backup singer of Francine recently on The Other Side of the Bear. As I suspected then, there’s a lot more going on in these songs, and Clayton Scoble is a perfectly able guitarist when he’s only trying to play one guitar part. And as they did then, the two voices complement each other nicely on these lovely and interesting melodies. However, they have The Mid-Tempo Rocker Problem; these songs worked really well as quiet acoustic numbers when we were all sitting down, but as rock songs they get boring in the aggregate.
At last Loveless go on, a little late, for a slightly abbreviated set. It’s basically the same Loveless set they always play (their songs are great, but they should write more of them) with a really remarkably good mix. The vocal mix is especially great, and I can hear every note that Dave and Jen sing, a rare pleasure. All four of them are really on tonight, individually and collectively. The guitar timbres are even more feedback-drenched and wild than usual, while the vocals are tightly controlled and beautiful. During the set Dave announces that he has one copy of the long-awaited album, and as Tom and I are demonstrably their biggest fans in Boston, if not anywhere, he gives it to us, and our joy is complete. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
SCREAMING FOR EMILY
The Chicken Bone (Framingham, MA) 8/28/03
I always hear such good things about this place. It’s supposed to be a hot new spot for talented local acts. Obviously, Screaming for Emily is not one of them. Disappointed would be an understatement. Maybe if my friends told me this place sucked, I wouldn’t expect much from the entertainment. I swear I saw these guys at a local “Battle of the Bands” in 1988. They were probably the next big thing in spandex and hairspray. It’s funny how the flash masks the fact that these guys have no talent. What I am seeing tonight onstage is a sad attempt at originality by a band without any. Their songs are boring at best when played in the same chord, as if they own the rights to it. Trying to salvage some recognition from the audience, they end with a pathetic acoustic cover of “Brown Eyed Girl.” Still no applause. I am chalking this up to a bad night for the club. I will visit here again soon, for this place has potential. Screaming for Emily does not. (Sue O.)
THEY’RE GONNA GET YOU, NEW YOUTH
Skybar 8/27/03
The New Youth… yeah, they’re young but I don’t hear anything new. They sound like radio ready punk funk to me, with a white rapper dude in baggy pants, some slick guitar and bass playing and rhythms that sound like reggae here, hip hop there. Sometimes the singer drops the mic and plays conga while the guitar player does some Santana type solos with wah pedal. They’re fluid and obviously good musicians but this is not my thing, what can I say. One song has lyrics that sound like “hell no, we won’t go/ Babylon sister.”
They’re Gonna Get You are a new surf band with Rachel “Ms. Organa” (formerly of Psychodaisies) on keyboard, Danny “Mr. Zen” on guitar, Dynamite Andy Excuse on bass, and Devito on drums. They play a fun, slapdash set of Dan’s originals plus a few covers of classic surf tunes like “Magnum 44” (“Pipeline” to those less in the know… and no, I didn’t know that, they told me!). Dan is a wildly energetic player with butt shaking dance moves that threaten to distract you from his scorching surf stylings. He changes guitars a few times (I wince when he throws down the beautiful lyre shaped one) and they come unplugged twice. I like the creatively titled songs like “Marsh Mel O Slut” and “Siddharta Was a Fag.” Rachel plays some roller rink sounding organ plus some cool glissandos while Andy announces each new song in a deep, horror movie host voice. Once “they” “get me,” I’m wondering what’ll they do to me. (Laura Markley)
BANE OF EXISTENCE, ASCENDANCY, KEVORKIAN’S ANGELS, TERATISM
Boston’s Dead, O’Brien’s 9/4/03
Teratism is barrage death metal with demon-lord-of-zombie-army vocals. The drummer’s like a battalion of stormtroopers all firing at once with full mortar support. Twin guitars like twin 30 caliber cannons raining death from the wings of strafing fighters. Teratism is explosive, magmic, convulsive, and all this with no bass player (they’re still looking). We’re witnessing world class metal here, full of mad stampedes for the edge of the abyss. The guitarists pull off frantic dual leads, rolling staccatos, whirring groans, ethereal drones and stone grooves, eluding the specter of death metal clichés and concentrating on the underlying groove. Like Phantom Limb, these guys refuse to let a missing bass player stop them, but time does just as they sound like they’re getting warmed up.
There are few bands in Boston that can overwhelm the senses so righteously as Kevorkian’s Angels. Their ability to play beyond the range of non-musician perception makes them a tough cookie to crack, but when you finally comprehend what they’re up to, you understand that this is trance metal, so concentrated and intense that it may one day have a martial art designation. The fact that the crowd is responding more actively to their slower stuff still leads me to believe that the average audience finds them hard to decode, but they’re like Frank Zappa, the more you listen, the more their music opens up to you. As usual, this performance is being driven by the almost mythological speed of their drummer and the equally amazing ability of the band to keep it tight. The discipline required to perform like this is grounds for canonization into the heavy metal sainthood.
I reviewed Ascendancy a few months ago when they had the ballsy chick bass player, but this time out they’ve got some dude who apparently has learned their catalog in some ridiculously short amount of time. He’s pulling it off, but the band understandably sounds different, with a lot more guttural low end. The rest of the sound is splashing cymbals, rotary guitar drones, spastic kick drum, gargling demon burbling musical froth. The kachunka rhythms and anvil hammer snare make it sound like this band represents the thrown pushrod in the engine of western civilization. The guitarists suddenly stroll out of O’Brien’s and walk along the front of the building, playing metal at the intersection of Cambridge and Harvard via their radio transmitters. The effect within O’Brien’s is that of a disembodied band. The effect without is a lot of confused motorists. They return to the stage and finish up to massive applause.
You can tell Bane Of Existence is psyched about their upcoming gig opening for Overkill. Like a cruel thought manifested, Bane brings to the room the sound of oblivion, a sonic wall of crunchy, wargasmic guitar and bass that pushes up a mountain of metal energy. Behind the guitarist and bassist is one of the most dynamic and stoic drummers in the city. He melds well with the rock/metal opulence of his other gig, Noosebomb, but it’s obvious that Bane is where he puts his energy. It’s the fact that the rest of Bane utilize him to such full potential that makes them worthy of adulation. His bandmates take his hellacious hammerings and build a solid wall of human will as the set progresses, thickening it with every minute. The singer’s out front, working to produce the vocal expression of their sound. Bane finishes another Boston’s Dead off nicely at O’Brien’s. (Joe Hacking)
FRITTER, STARR FAITHFULL, EILEEN ROSE
The Paradise 9/11/03
I wonder if I’ll ever say, write, or type “September 11” without this feeling again.
Everyone at the show tonight, of course, has to acknowledge this most un-festive of occasions, but we’re here to rock, and rock we will. This is part of The Rising Tide series, presented by Anngelle Wood of WFNX. Eileen Rose and her band are playing when I arrive—a bit of a shame, as I have apparently missed amusia entirely. Eileen and her band are okay, but her songs are a bit country-folky for my tastes, and I find I really dislike her voice. There’s something nasal and flat about it, flat not in pitch but in timbre. But the songs themselves are pretty, the band are skilled, and when they leave the stage and Ms. Rose plays the last song solo-acoustic, I think it works a little better in this setting.
Starr Faithfull has got the music in her. And it’s tryin’ to get out! It’s tryin’ to get out! Her voice is a fabulous screaming, growling thing, and her guitar playing is serious virtuosa stuff. There are also a bassist and a drummer, and in fact both play creatively and well and sing good backup, but I find myself forgetting that they’re on stage. She’s that captivating. The songs themselves are really kind of simple and straightforward, and I think that they wouldn’t particularly grab me if there weren’t this force of nature singing them and playing kick-ass solos. But there is!
Finally, Fritter play to a dwindling crowd, as it’s a school night and the T is closing. Their streak is unbroken: I’ve still never seen these songs played by the same lineup twice. Elizabeth Steen’s voice is pleasingly gruff tonight, kind of soft and furry. Peter Moore is singing harmony, and I love the way their voices blend. They seem a little under-rehearsed at one or two points, studying cheat-sheets in mid-song, and Elizabeth complains of technical difficulties, but musicians this good can wing it in style, and the small crowd is appreciative. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
WELK, GLADYS THE MULE, AWAKENING STICK
O’Brien’s 9/13/03
Co-fronted by the bass player and the guitarist, a long-haired testament to searing solos, Awakening Stick plays a set of driving, in-your-face rockers. I find this power trio’s songs just long enough and the guitar solos—a rarity these days—just short enough. You could say that they’re ’70s influenced but that’s not entirely accurate. This band seems to draw from a number of influences, processes all that information, then spits out a crunchy-but-melodic guitar-based sound that’s entirely their own. I notice that the audience, indifferent at first, gradually becomes capitivated. By the end of the set they’re nodding to one another doing the white man dance. One guy even holds up a lighter.
Gladys the Mule doesn’t capitalize on the energy of the opener and regrettably puts the brakes on the night with their singer-songwriter/ jam band sound. I want to like this four-piece; after all, they are well-rehearsed, technically proficient, and seem earnest in their quest for appreciation (besides, I admit to being drawn to affectionate animal names). But they remain in mid-tempo jam band mode for most of the set which becomes increasingly tedious. Similarly, their stoicism as well as their rumpled appearance gives the impression that they rolled out of bed and onto the stage without the benefit of a cup of coffee. Maybe caffeine kicks in for the last song, though—an energetic rocker during which the guys actually become animated. I only wish they had spiced up the set before the end.
Headlining is Welk. I’ll spare them the implications of the name, but let’s just say that they bear no resemblance to that “wunnerful, wunnerful” show my grandparents used to watch on Saturday nights when I was a kid. They’re a three-piece electronica-guitar-art sound fusion band with a rabid following. Their keyboard-based soundscapes—you can’t really call them “songs”—meld into each other throughout the set and culminate in a frenzied apocalyptic crescendo which elicits enthusiastic whoops and yelps from their fans, one of whom is inspired to attempt, however badly, some Russian-style squat kicks around the bar. Welk’s set is devoid of vocals with the lone exception of an alarming piece that involves much incongruous and off-key yelling amidst the keyboard acrobatics a full thirty-five minutes into their otherwise droning and meandering exploration of their keyboards’ tricks. Welk is like high modernist art—the kind we’re not supposed to admit we don’t get. (Robin Umbley)
HELICOPTER HELICOPTER, THE COLLISIONS
T.T. the Bear’s 9/13/03
I arrive at T.T.’s just as The Collisions are about to go on. They take the stage and launch immediately into a fairly faithful cover of “Pablo Picasso Was Never Called An Asshole.” At this point, I’m inclined to like them. Nor am I disappointed, as their whole set is good, silly fun. The songs themselves are slight and simple things, but they sing good harmonies and they all play their instruments well. I’m particularly fond of the drummer; I love a man who knows how to use his floor tom.
Headlining, and the reason I’m here, are Helicopter Helicopter. This band have the complete package: really great songs, (assuming you like their brand of beautiful melodic power-pop, which I do) two excellent lead singers, both of whom seem perfectly happy to sing backup as appropriate, and both of whom are ALSO excellent lead guitarists who seem perfectly happy to play rhythm as appropriate, a fine bassist, and another great drummer. This is the first time I’ve seen them with Dave Foy on drums, and I am suitably impressed. They play a nice long set, more or less evenly divided between songs from the new album and the (to my taste) even better previous album, with a couple of their older and maybe a little punkier numbers thrown in. A big chunk of the crowd left after Dressy Bessy were done, but those of us who remain are loud and enthusiastic, and the band seem happy to be home. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
THE PHEROMONES
T.T. the Bear’s 8/31/03
Labor day weekend and I’m going nowhere. T.T.’s seems like a good idea, why not? They have beer, seeing as I just ran outta PBR.
New to town, but not rock, The Pheromones hold your attention with an early Mellencamp sorta sound (and if you say you don’t like early Mellencamp, you’re a bloody liar). Apparently the band had just pulled themselves together; the bass player is new. The drummer just flew in from Seattle, where the band began, about a week before. But you’d never know. They are tight. They flow effortlessly through a set of straight ahead rock ‘n’ roll, including a kick ass cover of The Clash’s “Train in Vain.” Their sound has the feeling of what you’d want on your CD player if you were throwing a party. This trio is the kind of band that stops conversations. They reek of rock. (Bebe Gunn)
BUXTON, PAUL SCHNEIDER
The Kendall Cafe 8/19/03
My only disappointment in this evening’s show is having arrived at the Kendall Café too late to catch more of the Paul Schneider set. When walking in the trio is on stage jamming through their final song, the small café filled with funky and beautiful sound that I note to check out again. Happy with the memory of what I just heard and the many posters of progressive rock and folk-y singers covering the walls, I am suddenly both excited and uncertain about seeing an acoustic show by the very un-acoustic Buxton, who will next take the stage.
I have found myself seeing a lot of this band over the past few months, attending almost every Buxton show since January—both for local support and for my own musical cravings. So by now I have come to know their songs as well as the ones daily commuters hear on the car radio driving home. During each set I look forward to particular favorites, notice new, standout tunes, and occasionally find myself singing along when the pop-rock melody gets too addictive. This might explain why I am finding their acoustic show at the cute, quaint Kendall Café to be so refreshing! For a band with guitar driven rock that aims at giving the loudest performance possible, planning an acoustic show seems like a tough, maybe even impossible, gig—but worthy of the challenge. The boys of Buxton are true musicians and lead singer Scott Chase writes songs that are likable in any context. Breaking things down and emphasizing lyrics turn these rock stars into poets and call attention to musical arrangements that I had yet to notice. Even though I will always look forward to the next rockin’ Buxton show, I’ll remember this particularly for its proof that Buxton’s songs don’t sound so good just because they’re loud and powerful, but because they’re written well and being played with skill and care. (Vanessa Earl)
HO-AG, CAN’T, BIG BEAR
Choppin Block 8/31/03
I’ve been dying to see Big Bear for weeks. They take they stage first—two guitars, bass, drums, and this singer that looks like my friend’s eight-year-old niece. The guitars start to thrum, people start elbowing up front, and this tiny girl opens her little mouth and just SCREAMS like nothing I’ve heard before. The sound is so rich and huge and balanced—they’re laying out everything I love about The Melvins and this chick is actually banging a tambourine against her hip as she thrashes around with her pixie haircut and her unholy howling and holy shit, I want to drop everything and follow this band wherever they go. They play five songs, each better than the last, and by the end of their set I’m drooling, ready to buy anything and everything they have and the tiny girl says, “We have a mailing list.” Sadness sets in. Big Bear, I love you. I really do. Make me a fucking tape already.
Can’t—nee Jessica Rylan, one woman noise band—is setting up in the back. She only brought this ten watt speaker and the modulated synth that she built. The sound starts low and slow like she likes it—she’s really an old lady at heart—and I wish her speaker was louder because the club is pretty crowded, no one is paying any attention and she deserves all the attention in the room. The tension builds and people start milling around her. She dances and she’s electric. She hums and squawks and twitches and strangles her voice in her throat and through a CB mic. She moves a knob a fraction of an inch and a beautiful rumbling sound emits from the speaker. She’s mastered the art of explosives at the lowest range possible. I don’t know why she calls herself Can’t, because she can do whatever she wants and it will still sound incredible.
Ho-Ag just came back from a two week tour and you can hear it; their songs are instinctual to them. Their songs are closely knit and multi-faceted, like four minute suites, and are so catchy that you walk away singing them although they are like a complex equation. Matt Parish, their singer and lead guitarist, slings his forearm over the mic like he’s your next door neighbor just having a chat over the fence and he’s not actually singing these sharp, surrealist melodies. Patrick is supposed to be their rhythm guitarist, I guess, but he plays effects so they sound like a compromise between keyboards and guitar; they occupy a space that no other sound will fit. Top that off with the rumbling bass of Dave Dines and the drumming finesse of John Rue and you’re never disappointed. Ever. (Donna Parker)
AD FRANK, CLAYTON SCOBLE
T.T. the Bear’s 8/25/03
“The Other Side of the Bear” is T.T.’s Monday night acoustic series: small, quiet, and soothing. Clayton Scoble is playing guitar and singing as I arrive, with someone (I missed the introduction.) helping out on light drums and backing vocals. They do a mixture of originals and covers, and the songs are good Monday-night songs, mellow and relaxing. I’m not crazy about the guitar; either some of these songs have a tonal structure that’s weirder than I can follow, or it’s just out of tune, and on some songs it seems kind of labored, but the highlight here is the singing. Whether singing in octaves, as they do on one song, or in lovely harmonies on most of them, the gruff baritone and lightweight tenor add up to way more than the sum of the parts.
Ad Frank headlines solo. He is an incredibly gifted songwriter, turning out one gorgeous, bittersweet pop epic after another. Ad’s voice is pretty rough tonight, but his piano playing is just beautiful, spare and delicate and intensely musical. He doesn’t actually play keyboards with his band, The Fast Easy Women, so it’s a treat to hear this set. The covers that he chooses fit really well with his songs, and we get one great new tune that elicits heartfelt murmurs of approval from the audience—the “Other Side of the Bear” equivalent of a standing ovation. In mid-set he switches to guitar for a few songs, then back to piano for the big finish. He threatens to end with a fairly faithful cover of “What I Did For Love,” but fortunately follows that with an upbeat rocker of a Fast Easy Women tune that sounds great in this stripped-down setting. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
SHATTERED EXISTENCE, PARANOID
The Skybar 9/7/03
I saw Paranoid at a VFW all ages show down in Kingston, MA in June with a bunch of other great bands I’d love to see in Boston. Paranoid are the only ones who’ve made it so far. Since June, this power trio have gotten much more savage, tight and edgy. These three younguns’ are channeling an updated old school southern metal sound adeptly here at O’Brien’s this evening. The guitarist/ vocalist invokes Zakk Wylde in all his warbling harmonic glory and Pepper Keenan in all his iron-shod chunkiness. The drummer seems twice as powerful and focused this time, and the bassist has a good old time of grounding this heavy, clever sound through a thick, dense-as-lead accompaniment with the drums or guitar, depending on the moment. The sound they’re laying down is fresh, heavy and full of quicksilver slickness. I hope to see more of Paranoid in Boston.
The Pantera influence in Shattered Existence is obvious, except that I like the lead singer’s voice better than Phil Anselmo’s. More straightforward and old school than a lot of the area’s other metal units, SE nevertheless maintain a level of intensity and deftness that sets them apart in the field of their peers. Tonight, a good part of this intensity comes from their drummer’s symphonic style, the cymbal and double kick work sometimes sounding like a wall of falling boulders. The groove he lays down gets picked up and amplified by bassist and guitarist, and then Shattered Existence are GROOVIN’! They explode from the stage as if all the agents from every major label were in the audience, judging them. Their compositions discharge from the modest Skybar stage like coolant through a nuclear reactor, the hooks where they should be, the frantic runs placed where they work. Pretty heavy, dude. (Joe Hacking)
TANYA DONELLY, KRISTIN HERSH, JULIANA HATFIELD, THE STONE COYOTES,
BLAKE HAZARD, THE SO AND SO’S, ELIZABETH STEEN, JAMES O’BRIEN
Rockingham, VT 8/15/03-8/17/03
Rock in Rockingham is a three-day indie rock party in Vermont, mounted by the crew of Fort Apache studios in their new country home and centered around Kristin Hersh and Tanya Donelly. The party begins Friday night with New Faces Night at Rick’s Bar & Grill. The first New England band is James O’Brien and the Church of the Kitchen Sink. I am a bit frustrated by this band. The best thing about them are their lyrics, which are amazingly cool and bizarre and evocative. The vocal melodies are also quite good. The principal frustration comes from his singing: if he just had a crappy voice, that would be one thing. Instead, he apparently has access to a really good voice, which we hear maybe 30% of the time, but most of the time he seems to clamp down his throat and choke the music out through his nose, giving it a strangled, nasal, constipated tone. It’s a real shame, and the boy needs to practice really hard until he sings well all the time, reliably. Then he’ll be pretty great. The Church of the Kitchen Sink, alas, have no promise of greatness. They’re all absolutely fine, and resoundingly mediocre. Not one of them ever does anything interesting.
I’m a big Elizabeth Steen fan and I’m really looking forward to her set. The first song she plays is unfamiliar to me, a big treat, and the rest are from Mockery, her album with her band Fritter. Tanya and Dean sit in on a few songs, Tanya singing backup on “Milktoast” and “Scapegrace Sister.” (This is the fourth time I’ve heard some of these songs performed, with a completely different lineup each time!) They sound fantastic, and Elizabeth seems to be getting more comfortable in the front woman role. She entertains the crowd with a reading from “The Existential Poetry of Donald Rumsfeld,” which is really funny until it occurs to me that this man really does control the US armed forces. Scary stuff, kids.
Next up, The So and So’s, from beautiful Boston, MA. I’ve never seen them before, and I’m really impressed. They are an awesome rock band. The songs are pretty good, and lead singer Meghan Toohey has a terrific voice and great attitude. I have heard of her as a folk singer, but here she’s a rocker. The other guitarist and the bassist both sing good harmonies well. The drummer is totally solid, if a little boring. The coolest thing about them is the two guitarists, who switch off lead and rhythm duties and occasionally share the lead in an excellent, really interesting way, so that the lead comprises the lines both of them are playing fused together.
The next day I head over to the big tent in a parking lot which is the venue for Saturday’s show. First on the bill today is Blake Hazard, joined by John Dragonetti and his laptop. John plays bass on one song, and guitar on the rest; the laptop provides drum machine sounds, of which I am no fan. Blake plays guitar and sings, and it’s like it always is when I see her. Her demeanor is so ludicrously sunny and happy that I want desperately to like her, but her songs are pretty and bland and, ultimately, boring. I honestly do not remember a single thing about a single song that she played.
The Stone Coyotes are my discovery of the weekend. They’re a three-piece out of western MA, and a family affair: singer/songwriter/guitarist Barbara Keith, her husband Doug Tibbles on drums, and his son John Tibbles on bass. Barbara is a fabulous, wailing rock chick—the killer song “First Lady of Rock” is on the album Born To Howl, which pretty much tells you what you need to know. Doug gets a full, complicated rhythm out of just two drums, hi-hat, and one cymbal! And John steps up near the end with a fiercely complex slap part on one song. I attempt to nucleate a standing ovation, with moderate success.
Juliana Hatfield is daunted to follow them, but the crowd loves her. I honestly don’t know why; to me, she’s Blake Hazard without the pleasant disposition. I’ve just never liked her songwriting, and her guitar playing is pretty pedestrian. But it’s solid, and she does have a lovely voice, and she gets probably the loudest response of the day so far.
Finally, it’s the beginning of the Main Event. Kristin Hersh takes the stage to thunderous applause and plays a set that has me in tears. She starts out with songs from Sunny Border Blue, her 2001 solo album, and an old Muses song or two, before pulling out the big guns. I had accepted that I would never hear “The Letter” played live, since she’s said many times (including today) that she hates the song. But she plays it for us, and it is devastating. As I am regaining my composure, Andrew Bird joins her with his “punky fiddle” for five songs, including Throwing Muses’ “Hook In Her Head,” which is the greatest piece of music anyone has ever written. Oddly, they play nothing from her most recent album, which Andrew plays on, but there’s another show tomorrow.
No encore, because Tanya Donelly is the headliner tonight. She starts out alone and acoustic (after some unnerving mic issues) on “The Bees,” a fan favorite. She is soon joined by Dean Fisher on guitar and drums, the legendary Rich Gilbert on guitar, pedal steel, and mandolin, and Elizabeth Steen on gorgeous high harmonies, with occasional keyboard and eggs. With four musicians on stage, the sound is still very solo-acoustic (especially since Tanya’s attempts to play electric guitar nearly get her electrocuted by a mis-grounded microphone!). She plays a mixture of her solo stuff and Belly tunes, including radically countrified acoustic versions of mega-hits “Feed the Tree” and “Slow Dog.” “Keeping You” is sung to her young daughter, playing in the center aisle. For an encore, she calls Heather Rose up to the stage to sing harmony on “Silverfish,” and when a second encore is demanded we get a funny and fabulous solo acoustic version of “Red,” a big rocker from Belly’s last album. They practically have to herd us out of the tent to make us leave.
Sunday’s venue is the Rockingham Meeting House, a 200-year-old church, for acoustic sets from Tanya and Kristin. I believe these may be the most uncomfortable seats I’ve ever sat on. We are nevertheless mesmerized and immobile for both sets. Tanya, Elizabeth and Dean play the just-finished (like, three days ago) new album in its entirety. The songs are soft and spare, with lots of Elizabeth’s gorgeous piano. Highlights for me, on first listen, are “Devils Everywhere” and “Butterfly Thing,” the latter built cleverly around the idea that, if our actions can have huge unforeseen consequences, I’ll just stay in my room. She finishes with a few older songs.
Last, Kristin sets up with Andrew Bird and we finally get to hear some songs from The Grotto. They’re beautiful and haunting—having a Throwing Muses album come out the same day really freed these songs to be quiet and meditative. After Andrew leaves she plays mostly older solo songs, and then Tanya comes back and they duet on “Two Step,” the Throwing Muses breakup song. If there’s a dry eye in the house, I certainly can’t see it. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
We get lots of calls from bands asking for coverage of their live shows. Please be advised that shows are never assigned for review. Noise writers cover what they choose to attend. It’s logistically impossible to honor or acknowledge these requests. The Noise has always had its ears closest to the ground in greater Boston. If you’re doing something even remotely exceptional, we’ll be the first to tell the world. If you’re horrible, same thing.
No ones figured out a cure for the common cold. Teams of philosophers are still struggling with the chicken-or-the-egg problem. And it took generations of mathematic genius almost 400 years to solve Fermats Last Theorem. The world we live in is filled with complex, multi-layered puzzles.
THE MODEL SONS
