Live Reviews
VOODOO SCREW MACHINE
Harper’s Ferry
8/25/04
The music of Voodoo Screw Machine is parodistic cheesy heavy metal schtick, to the extent that I find it somewhat tough to get through. But the delivery! Stony Curtis is an absolute monster, with wank-metal guitar skills that beggar belief. Frontcreature Thermos X. Pimpington actually sings a bit tonight between throaty roars and he’s surprisingly good. But the point is the spectacle. He starts out wrapped in a Hello Kitty comforter, throwing it off to reveal a huge black-leather-and-steel S&M; dress thing. The next few songs are certainly extreme: body parts fly, Satan is invoked, you know the drill. But things really get going when Kitten Pearl comes out in a Naughty Nurse outfit, pushing a pram. The next several songs (regular parts of the VSM repertoire, masterfully adapted) become a story of Thermos abducting and brutalizing her infant charges, her flight, and her lethal revenge. Then there are reciprocal zombifications, and electrical tape. I’m told that they’ve been banned from ever returning to Harper’s Ferry, to no one’s great surprise.
THE UPPER CRUST, LYRES, UNNATURAL AXE, THE DOGMATICS, THALIA ZEDEK, BEEFY/DC, ROCK BOTTOM, THE DOWNBEAT 5, THE TURPENTINE BROTHERS, BIG DIGITS, THE COUNT ME OUTS, MILO, FRANK MOREY BAND, LINDA VIENS Bye Bye Lilli party
The Middle East Downstairs
9/11/04
Booker and club manager Lilli Dennison’s smiling face has been a mainstay for years at The Rat, The Green Street Grill, her eponymous nightclub/ restaurant on Somerville Ave., and most recently, Zuzu. But sadly for us, she’s leaving Boston, presumably to reinvent nightlife in New Orleans. Some of her favorite musicians and friends are here tonight to bid her a fond farewell.
Linda Viens starts things out with a couple of sweet voiced, heartfelt songs on acoustic guitar. One song’s lyric accepts the transience of relationships: “I’m not saying that he’ll stay/ just that it’s beautiful today.”
Next up is the Frank Morey Band, a three piece with Scott (formerly of The Shods) on drums. Frank wears a porkpie hat, sings, and plays harmonica—there’s a stand up bass player, too. They do an extended “Got My Mojo Workin’” with quick, syncopated New Orleans style drums from Scott and it sounds awesome. Scott gets up and plays the stand up bass with his sticks at one point while Frank plays a wailing harmonica solo. This band is so much fun, a highlight of the night.
After them, Milo Jones, the mustachioed hipster takes the stage. He used to play at Zuzu a lot. He sings a seductive bossa nova and plays some skillful, understated guitar. Milo ends with a song about how it’s good to cry and feel those “raindrops on your face.”
I have to like The Count Me Outs since two of them are from my home town in Central New York. Mark Peretta used to mow my grandfather’s lawn but luckily he’s moved on to bigger and better things. Smart, noisy and unpredictable, The Count Me Outs’ music is ironic but not obnoxiously so—their main thrust is to rock. They’re nice to look at too—Hilken’s fashionable all in white, with pointy shoes to match her pointy guitar. Winston looks like an extra in a Blaxploitation film and plays fuzz bass like one, too. Mark reminds me of Ted Kaczinski except more right brain oriented. On one song he sounds like Julia Child having a hissy fit. I love that bit of Brian May type guitar he throws in at the end. I can’t see the drummer too well but his furious fills keep the crowd energized.
The next band is Big Digits, they’re all wearing white, it’s some kind of rock/ rap spazz-out i.e. not my cup of tea. I hear the lyrics “dance, dance, casino” as I’m on my way to the bathroom. They cover a Phil Collins song just to put a final nail in their casket.
After that, The Turpentine Brothers play an amazing set. They’ve really improved. Justin is singing in his own voice, instead of trying to sound like somebody else. His guitar playing is raw, simple punked up blues with Tara’s drums ominous and simmering underneath. They’re becoming another tangent of Mr. Airplane Man but with their own unique sound. Ms. Turpentine Woman?
The Downbeat 5 take the stage and deliver the goods per usual. JJ’s guitar is dead-on rockin’ and Jen’s gritty, wailing vocals captivate the crowd, especially on the upbeat rocker “I’m Just an Outcast.” Their ’60s inspired, powerful rock ‘n’ roll is life affirming to the max. I need to get their new stuff on CD.
Next up is Rock Bottom, five guys decked out in sailor suits, aviator shades and long curly wigs. They start with that epic slice of cheese from Kansas circa 1976—the FM radio hit, “Carry On My Wayward Son.” It’s note for note perfect and anyone who rode in a car in the 1970’s is smirking and nodding at the masterful level of kitsch. “I was soaring ever higher… then I flew too high.” They also cover Judas Priest’s “You Got Another Thing Coming” and end with Zep’s “Bring It On Home.” You want this band at your next keg party.
I’ve never seen Beefy/DC before and had no idea what that meant. Well, it’s simple—they’re an AC/DC cover band with beefy singer, Ray Neads. They really rock with AC/DC’s buzzsaw guitars and lethal rhythms. Ray can do a perfect Bon Scott as well as Brian Johnson. Highlights: “Sin City,” “Let There Be Rock” and “Whole Lotta Rosie.”
I miss a band, and when I get back Thalia Zedek is ready to go on. Lilli introduces her as “the first woman rocker in Boston to blow my mind,” and I’m sure many of us would say the same. Thalia’s ragged, world weary voice and sad songs are quite a switch from the cock rock we’ve just seen, but they hit home. “Everybody Knows You’re Leaving” is a perfect goodbye song and “Sailor” features artful violin.
The Dogmatics are next and the crowd crams in front and goes nuts (I spot Michelle Paulhus of The Dents among them). I’m not sure what’s so great about this group, I think they sound like a poor man’s Real Kids. But I get the feeling that having this opinion in Boston is like preferring the Yankees to the Red Sox, so I’ll shut up now.
Unnatural Axe from Dorchester is another legendary Boston punk band complete with singer, Richie Parsons, who spits beer and bangs his mike against his head (no blood but I did notice a red spot on his forehead). Their speedy, scathing punk rock and funny lyrics go over well.
Lyres bring it into the home stretch with a fast and furious set of their classic songs: “How Do You Know,” “Loving Cup,” “Tear You Up,” “Don’t Give It Up Now,” and “Help You Ann.” The band is sounding especially tight and focused and Jeff’s a wild man on keys and vocals. I love his one note on organ as Danny plays the blistering guitar lead on “Loving Cup,” then Jeff takes his solo. They’re certifiably On Fyre.
Last—and I’m knackered by now —is The Upper Crust. Lilli and Lord Rockingham (or is it Lord Bendover?) exchange some witty, upper class banter and then the bewigged dandies launch into their AC/DC-esque brand of Victorian hard rock. I love their lyrics: “He wears pantaloons/ he likes French perfume/ He sleeps till noon/ He’s Little Lord Faunterloy.” After such a super night of rock ‘n’ roll, I hope Lilli comes back and leaves a few more times so we can do it all over again.
NEW BLOOD
The Middle East
7/12/04
New Blood’s combination of heavy rhythm-driven riffs and a more mellow hollow body guitar sound earn them a high score on the rock front. An opening with an arrhythmic build up complete with screeching violin (care of Rigel) sets the tone for the show. New Blood come out and play hard and heavy, yet singer Andy Milk somehow cuts through with a fantastic voice. It is always interesting (and these days all too rare) to see a frontman for a true rock band that can actually sing. It would be hard to classify New Blood, but they almost sounds like Creed without the wussy sucking part. For my taste, I would like to hear them complicate their transitions some and get away from the 4/4.
The show is highlighted by two events. 1. Andy breaks a sting on his knockoff Epiphone hollow body so he grabs a real Gibson hollow body instead (and leaves the humidifier hanging on it for two songs) and 2. an inflatable Hulk that comes out for the last few songs. This is, unfortunately, the last show for bassist Christian Alongi, so New Blood will need an infusion before they can play another show. Rigel and Andy, along with guitarist/ backing vocalist Evan West and drummer Jeff Stineback say that New Blood will be back once a suitable replacement is found (go to newbloodband.com to check them out and maybe become a member).
BRETT ROSENBERG, MUCK &THE; MIRES, THE CRYBABIES, THE SHELLYE VALAUSKAS EXPERIENCE, ALLEN DEVINE GROUP, DIN
The Abbey Lounge
9/11/04
More of the New England Pop Music Festival, meaning six bands and full sets, meaning that Din start at 6:45 p.m. It’s hard to rock when the sun is up but they do a very credible job. They are short a guitarist today so Eric Brosi us is filling in. Not bad, I say. He played lead guitar in the late, great Tribe, so it’s kind of pointed out to me that one can hear echoes of that band in Din. It’s a similar sort of smart, poppy indie-rock songwriting. The guitar leads are more front-and-center, though (which is also the case when Bart is playing), and they have a couple of songs with a thick, crunchy metal feel, one of which they introduce by saying, “Here’s where we get called ‘eclectic’.” Din switch up their configuration a lot over the course of a set, with three different people playing bass at various times. Their last song has an especially gorgeous piano part.
It’s still quite early when Allen Devine Group go on, and the place is not exactly packed. (Allen responds to the applause after the first song by saying, “Thanks, you five.” I count six, but maybe he’s not counting Roy, who booked the show.) They’re a three-piece playing fairly simple bar-band rock songs. The focus is really on the instruments; Allen’s not a great singer, though some of the bassist’s harmony singing is nice. But he’s a stellar guitarist—confident and creative. The drummer is perfectly steady and involved without getting flashy and the bass lines are pretty and intricate and even occasionally a little flashy. They do a particularly fine job of throwing in a faster number whenever the energy of the set starts to ebb.
Next are The Shellye Valauskas Experience from Connecticut. And here we get to the fundamental problem with a Pop Music Festival. These kids are good. Really good. Shellye has a beautiful voice, and writes lovely, gentle pop songs. I’m so bored, I want to cry. If they were the first such act I’d seen in the last couple of days, I’d be loving this, but they’re at least the third, and I just can’t get into it. It’s all so gentle. Sorry, Shellye; another time, perhaps.
The Crybabies are more energetic. They’re also a pretty weird experience. One tries hard not to judge appearances, but it’s difficult to miss the fact that their lead singer looks like a middle-aged accountant named Irving. Sounds like one, too, for about the first song. Then his voice is warmed up, and he’s rocking out, howling and shaking a tambourine. The songs are old-fashioned rock and roll songs, maybe a bit dated-sounding for me but energetic and well played. The bassist sings some really good backup, although she may be having monitor problems; she mysteriously cringes after almost every note she sings. She sounds great to me, so I don’t know what the trouble is.
I’ve heard a lot about Muck & the Mires, but it’s my first time seeing them. They’re working a serious look, all black & white thrift store fabulous. They are a classic garage rock band, playing short, fast, ultra-simple songs with minimal soloing. One song follows another with no pause, and I think they get about 17 songs into a 45 minute set. Unfortunately, they all sound almost exactly the same to me, so I enjoy their energy and execution, but the set drags on a bit. Their drummer is fantastic; I have to shamefully admit to having (or having previously had) a bit of a guilty bias against female drummers, but this woman pretty completely cures me of it. She’s hard-hitting, lightning fast, rock steady, never boring, and absolutely tireless. They draw easily the largest and most enthusiastic crowd of the evening.
Brett Rosenberg is on last. I, and to a large extent, the rest of the crowd, am sort of All Popped Out at this point, but Brett has a quiet, low-key vibe that sets a perfect night-ending tone—great songs. He starts out alone, just playing the guitar and singing. It’s a weird set with a Grateful Dead cover and a drunken request for the Birthday Song. (Honored.) He is joined, sporadically, by members of his band. His normal drummer couldn’t make it tonight, so Jason Dunn fills in on drums. He makes several noticeable mistakes, but he’s got good time and pretty impressive fills for someone who’s not actually a drummer. When they all sing harmony, it’s really wrenchingly beautiful. Six hours of music, and the audience still musters the energy to shout for an encore.
PRESLEY, RADAR EYES, LADY OF SPAIN
The Abbey Lounge
9/1/04
On this Wednesday night, the Abbey hosts only a smattering of diehard scenesters. A few friends of the bands, Radar Eyes (who are beginning their September residency tonight), Presley, and Lady of Spain are in attendance alongside the Inman Square regulars and a few local rockers representing bands that have the night off. There are maybe 35 people in the venue when Lady of Spain takes the stage to kick-off the show.
It is clear that Lady Of Spain prides itself on its frontal guitar assault. At first Tim O’Connor and Anna Cimini seem most comfortable hiding their voices behind tasty guitar licks, but once the duo establishes their guitar footing, the vocals follow close behind. By the time the band finishes their third song, they all seem settled. There is evidence of Courtney Love caliber pipes shining through in Cimini’s voice. O’Conner’s range finds a home somewhere on the vocal spectrum between Randy Newman screaming his balls off and Frank Black holding back a bit. Drummer Allen Esser has already given his toms a thorough beating and traded sticks for mallets to bring a bit of texture and finesse to the table. The stage tech has pulled Charles Morton’s bass up to an audible level and a few more fans are trickling through the door.
While Lady of Spain generally tests on the harder side of the pop litmus chart, the thoughtful craftsmanship behind each song remains evident. This music is far from math rock, but there are no three-chord ditties here either—just thoughtful and dynamic music. Songs like “Death” (a Velvet Underground-ish croon) and “The Office” (the set’s closing song) that feature backing vocals by Morton are among the best in this band’s arsenal. It is a bit curious that a group with three capable singers (O’Connor, Cimini, and Morton) displays only a handful of harmonies during a 45 minute set. Lady Of Spain would benefit from a heartier helping of harmonies, but overall they put on a brilliant performance tonight.
After a short break in the action, the second band takes the stage and comes out rocking. Frontman Jason Gilles is dressed like a longshoreman in Navy-issue whites and looks like a young Jim Morrison, but he and his band sound like a two-steppin’ Black Sabbath. Bad-ass guitar chops, driving basslines, and punchy drum fills envelope a verse-chorus-verse formula throughout their set. This formula works well for them as they seamlessly keep the audience engaged and entertained from start to finish with their contagious hooks defined by a subtle twanginess. The crowd has thinned out a bit for Radar Eyes but that takes nothing away from the healthy serving of sonic gunplay happening between guitarists Joe Ledbetter and Uriah Theriault—both fire round after distorted round into the night. This band is loose in all the right ways and their ability to operate on stage as one cohesive unit is second to none.
This is a school night and it looks like fractions were assigned for homework because when the night’s final act begins the crowd is half of what it was when the show began. Nonetheless, Presley jumps head-first into a semi-structured pop odyssey to start things off. Immediately it is clear that this band is overflowing with talent, but the music is not easily swallowed. The three-piece shoe-gazers display bumpy, if not downright jerky, movements from triumphant crescendos to sparse spooky lullabies to punishing pop hooks. Presley is consistent only in their flux. There is toe-tapping and head-bobbing in the audience—but before long there is a tempo change, or a key change, or a complete song change and the fans need to reevaluate the rhythm. Presley’s abundant quick shifts leave breathing room for very dynamic music to emerge—dynamic music that requires a great deal from its listeners. This band makes extremely engaging music—never once is the audience’s interest suppressed during the show.
BIG BEAR, PARTS & LABOR, TIGER SAW
Great Scott
8/29/04
I have come here for Big Bear, ready to be screamed at. Tigersaw take the stage and their first song begins with a single guitarist slowly picking out delicate notes while three people sing harmony and the drummer brushes hesitantly at his kit, apparently loath to actually make any sound. The next song is similar. One of the singers does pick up another guitar, and the third eventually plays cello, and then bass. But it’s all very, very slow, and gentle and quiet, and the drummer never touches a stick. (I mostly hate brushes, except as a very rare change of pace.) His kick drum has a big, boomy sound that I like, that probably wouldn’t work with faster songs, but it has plenty of time to reverberate in these glacial outings. They’re pretty songs, but they’re maddeningly gentle and soothing. Audience response is, shall we say, restrained.
Parts & Labor are more the sort of thing I came here to see. A three-piece, they use a lot of electronics to lay down layers of noise and fuzz, then play bass and guitar and sing surprisingly simple, pretty melodies over them. The drummer is Dan from Neptune and Young Sexy Assassins, and we are assured that he has learned all of these songs since last night! I can’t quite believe it: he’s wonderful, steady and sure through strong, varied drum lines, and while he has a few cryptic notes that he consults for each song, it doesn’t seem possible that he can remember all this with so little help and practice. Once again, I am thrilled to see a real crowd of people here for a challenging show on a Sunday night.
Big Bear have a new guitarist since I last saw them. Aside from that, nothing has changed, and that’s the way I like it. There’s an ambitious, driving rhythm section—always perfectly together. The two guitars have a powerful, noisy tone—heavy on squealing distortion—and play weird chords and complicated patterns that don’t exactly gel into songs, but still provide a very satisfying level of musicianship as they pull me to and fro. And over it all, Jordan’s amelodic screaming is wild and incomprehense while she beats the shit out of her leg with a tambourine. (She has padding taped to her jeans to permit this.) I love the way she subverts the common idea of the chick lead singer with a tambourine; she looks like she could kill you with that thing, and sounds like she’d like to. I wonder what she’s saying sometimes, but the whole experience is so visceral and pure that I sort of don’t want to mess it up with concepts.
BEAT SOUP, GOBSHITES, COUNTRY DOCTORS
Sean O’Tooles, Plymouth
9/10/04
The Country Doctors play what used to be called country music. Unfortunately, “country music” today means pop music played by people with Texas accents wearing ten-gallon hats. Tonight, The Country Doctors play it the way it used to be played in honky-tonks and beer joints in the days when Merle Haggard and Waylon Jennings were considered outlaws. They do a slew of remarkable original songs, sung by front man/ rhythm guitarist Eric Doberman, and a handful of perfect covers, including Haggard’s “Tonight The Bottle Let Me Down,” Hank Williams’ “I Saw the Light,” and Townes Van Zandt’s “Poncho and Lefty,” the last of which is sung by the bass player, Joe Allonby, in a raspy voice that sounds like it belongs to a cross country trucker from the deep south. Lead guitarist Eric Moss plays so tastefully, and so sweetly, that I almost didn’t notice how damn good he is. And the diminutive drummer, Andrew Lypps, holds the whole thing together, in a whiskey soaked sort of way. The crowd has fun, there’s even some swing dancin’!
This tour-de-force performance is followed by the Celtic-punk stylings of The Gobshites. They are without their accordion player tonight; still, this is probably the best I’ve heard them sound. Pete “Seamus O’Shite” Depressed is a master at holding the audience’s attention by figuratively spitting in their collective face. They run through their usual collection of Irish songs played like The Ramones and old-school punk songs played like The Waterboys. The crowd particluarly enjoys their cover of Black Flag’s “Six Pack,” but there’s no question that The Gobshites finest moment is Shane MacGowan’s “Haunted,” a duet between Pete and bassist Cathy Cah. As usual, the fiddle player is sharp and inventive, and makes sure that the rest of the band remembers the Celtic half of their schtick.
Now enters Beat Soup, a 7-piece ska band that defies even the most rhythmically challenged bar rat to resist the urge to get up and dance. The last time I saw them they had a three-piece horn section, but tonight are without the saxophone. The trumpet/ trombone combo are plenty, however, along with the two guitarist/ singers, a keyboardist, a bassist, and a drummer. Their music is so much fun my face hurts from smiling. Their standout original is the improbably titled “Miriam, Your Toast Is Burning,” which is a fast paced dance special. I also particularly enjoyed their version of Vince Taylor’s “Brand New Cadillac.” There is much dancing and singing along, as well as a spilled drink or two, courtesy of Gobshites Chris and Cathy Cah.
THE ALIENIST OUTFIT, THOSE WHO WAIT, CONSTANTS, HARRIS
T.T. the Bear’s
9/2/04
I’m really psyched to see Harris again. Their mix is weird and not that great: everything but the drums is actually pretty well balanced, but the drums dominate the experience mercilessly. Good thing they’re so good. I’m struck by how well their first four songs display the range they’re capable of. A hooky little pop song, albeit with a bit of a twist and some nice screaming near the end, then the second is all twist, with its weird rhythms and wholesale shifts of tone and mood between sections. Then there’s a pretty, gentle instrumental, with folky guitars, that segues into more of a hardcore screamer. And they do it all so well! We then get some new songs that fall somewhere in the middle of the fairly expansive territory they’ve staked out so far. They close with a lovely wordless chorus that really sticks with me.
Now for Constants, who, at long last, are celebrating their CD release with actual copies of their actual CD! There’s a jarring screwup in the first couple of seconds, and then they lock in together. The mix is perfect. The effects on the guitar and vocals are just right: pretty and spacey without turning them into a wash that loses contact with the fantastic rhythm section. This is weird, excursive stuff, wandering from section to section, picking up old themes and turning them over to find out what they had hiding underneath them. As such, it’s kind of a wild ride, and it can get pretty disorienting if you don’t have a sense of the route. My very favorite part is a bit that has a 10-10-10-12-12 rhythmic structure and a beautiful guitar line that crops up at a couple of different places in the set.
Those Who Wait have a LOT of drums: five toms, snare, and bass (double-kick, naturally), eight cymbals, two hi-hats, and a couple of pads for electronic drum triggering. It’s very extreme and I’m not sure he needs all of that, but he does do some very ambitious things with rhythm, many of which I have a lot of trouble following. (Are they ultra-complicated? Is he messing up? Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt.) The strings are kind of tame by comparison but the singer is excellent, with a clear, powerful voice and simple, engaging melodies. One song is pretty emo with that excessively earnest delivery of an emotionally fraught line and the drop-to-a-whisper-then-repeat-it-in-a-shout thing. But the rest are strong, quirky, intricate songs. (He introduces the last by saying, “This song is called, ‘Your Songs Are Too Long and Have No Hooks.’”)
Not a lot of people stick around for The Alienist Outfit; I’m pretty tired myself, but I give them three songs and stay for their whole set. They’re a six-piece: drums, bass, keyboard, singer, and two guitarists, one of whom also sings. Most of the time, both singers are singing together. The guitars have interesting tone contrast, with one more mellow and the other sharper and more slashing in sound, but none of the instrumentalists really grab me in the first half of the set. It’s the weird vocal harmonies that pull me in. They’re not pretty, but they’re not dissonant either. They clearly go together but not in a normal way. The lead guitarist (the one who’s not singing, with the sharper guitar sound) branches out a bit later in the set and one song with a slightly cheesy mock-Hawaiian slide intro has some really neat soloing later in it.
ALOUD, THE COUNT ME OUTS
Great Scott
9/8/04
Not a lot of people here for The Count Me Outs, which proves to be a shame, as they are excellent. I recognize Hilken Mancini, of Fuzzy, and the other three guys look familiar, though I’m not sure why. This is tricky music to pin down. They’re basically punk songs—short and shouty with minimal melody. But, although simple, they’re not really straightforward. The more carefully I listen, the more I hear that there’s a LOT going on here. The guitars are killer and the bass is doing really interesting things. The drummer plays around the beat and throws in a lot of unusual patterns without ever overplaying and cluttering up the song. Late in the set, there starts to be some more overt weirdness in the vocals, solidifying the impression of a band with a lot of ideas to explore. The only thing missing, really, is vocal melody, and that’s not a problem, because Aloud is next.
Aloud has vocal melody to spare: two awesome lead singers that harmonize beautifully. They spend a bit of stage time complaining good-naturedly about a negative review that slammed them for being derivative, and it’s true that they’re not really breaking new ground. They just play good rock songs well, and what’s wrong with that? They introduce their hokiest song shortly thereafter, called “Rock ‘n’ Roll,” and for about the first verse it’s true. They seem a little self-conscious about the song, which doesn’t work unless you really sell it. Sometime around the end of the first verse, Jen gives herself up to the song, and it begins to kick serious ass. The new songs are strong—I’m particularly fond of Henry’s, actually, since we’re asked to choose—and the older stuff is polished and sounds great.
THE RUDDS, THE MONTGOMERYS, MY OWN WORST ENEMY, THE STEREOBIRDS, DAVE AARONOFF & THE DETAILS
The Abbey Lounge
9/10/04
This is night two of the New England Pop Music Festival, which means lots of bands playing full sets starting at 6:45. So even though I leave work early, I miss all of Eric from Auto Interiors and come in while The Details are playing. The Details are a good-timey sort of band: basic rock ‘n’ roll played with fantastic energy and a wealth of talent. And Corin Ashley, who is one of my favorite performers in Boston. And damn, can these guys sing!
The Stereobirds show up just as The Details finish up, having gotten somewhat lost on the way from Providence. Their new drummer has left them so they have a fill-in drummer for the evening. He’s very good, and he took this gig on ultra-short notice, so the fact that there are a few screw-ups is less significant than the fact that there are so few. Their mix is kind of awful; I can barely hear the lead vocals and the bassist’s backing vocal actually dominates when they’re both singing. But for all that, they seem completely into their performance and have a great, joyful energy onstage. The music is slightly countrified bar-band rock, and they sell it.
Next are My Own Worst Enemy, who play more the sort of thing I was expecting from a pop music festival. They are a three-piece with two guitars and a drummer (no bass). All three of them sing, with the two guitarists trading leads and the drummer adding occasional harmony. The songs are pretty and the harmonies are excellent. The guitars are mostly very simple, which is common in pop bands, but there’s a bit of genuine lead from time to time that keeps it from getting boring. The female singer can get just a smidgen off-pitch from time to time, but I really like her singing voice which has a delightfully real quality to it. I don’t know how to put it better than that—I could use the word “ordinary,” but that sounds negative, and I mean it in a good way. It’s like her voice isn’t some soaring instrument; she’s just a woman singing, and it sounds good.
The Montgomerys are a last-minute addition to the bill so only two of them were available. Both play acoustic guitars and Peter Montgomery sings. Early in the set, his songs are very pretty but lack the skewed worldview that made his work with The Irresponsibles so memorable. Later in the set, he gets a little wacky and it makes me happier. All the while, the melodies are really lovely little pop gems, and Tony Savarino is playing some seriously fancy guitar—complicated and beautiful that sets off Peter’s simple strumming and tuneful singing wonderfully.
Finally, it’s The Rudds. I don’t think of them as pop, exactly, but then, I don’t think of them as anything, exactly, except The Rudds. Cheap Trick with a tank of helium and a sense of humor about themselves, maybe, but they’re so much more than that. Tonight is the Technical Difficulties show; the bass just up and dies a few songs into the set and after spending a while trying to coax sound from it and making no progress whatsoever, they eventually soldier on without it. A replacement is found much later, but in the meantime one of Brett’s pedals dies during one song, leaving him also without sound while he frantically patches and plugs, and J.Po’s mic stand seems to want to take the mic away from him. Bad mic stand! NEVER take the mic away from J.Po! For all that, and notwithstanding that Brett’s guitar leads are awesomely over the top and things of consummate beauty and skill, The Rudds are all about J.Po, his witty charm, his freakily appealing stage presence, and his outrageous, perfectly controlled, multi-octave voice. As long as we can hear him, we are right there with them through all of their technological issues.
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.
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