The Noise Archives: Live Reviews, Issue #220

StumbleweedsTHE STUMBLEWEEDS
The Plough & Stars
2/16/02

Boston’s bluesgrass band—yes yes, that is The Stumbleweeds’ undeniable title. Like most bands in Beantown they look as genuine as they sound. It helps a bit that they are not just playing the music—they live it, which is readily apparent right from the opening notes.
The tune “Wasted” comes barreling out and I expect a bar fight by the time it’s over, the crowd is that volatile. Red Sores’ licks are infectious—nobody plays steel pedal like him—wait who else in town even does play pedal steel? “Pickin’ n’ Sinnin’,” the title track off their new CD, is as catchy as a brush fire. You unexpectedly find yourself tapping your toes and the side of your beer glass.

The up-tempo numbers are unstoppable and unbelievable. Hell, if you only like bluesgrass a little, this band will push you over the edge into adoration. From what I can see there are plenty of people who are into the sounds. The Stumbleweeds are putting out and the Plough is packed, Yeah, it’s not hard to pack the Plough, but the people just keep coming in. (Bridget Unger)

JOHN POWHIDA, ROB ATTERBURY
Midway Cafe
3/6/02

This is a fine way to spend Hump Day without actually humping something. Rob Atterbury, resplendent in black Stetson and tie, croones classic country all by his lonesome (plus an acoustic guitar). Shit-kickin’ without all the shit, The Rob-Man peels off a good hour’s worth of well-loved glug-nuggets, sung from deep inside the heart and liver. While goin’ heavy on the Hank (including the usually-overlooked “Kaw-Liga”), there are also lovin’ spoonfuls of stuff like Merle Haggard’s “Mama Tried,” better known as covered by The Grateful Dead. It’s also a gas to hear ordinarily female-identified tunes such as “Crazy” and “Stand By Your Man” sung by someone packin’ a scrotum, proving that the greatest love songs are gender-neutral. And yeah, I know, “Crazy” was written by a guy anyway, thank you. Atterbury has a unique, arresting voice, and plucks crucially tasteful tendrils from his six-pack o’ strings. He also yodels, and dad-gum means it, Junior! Plenty of cows, but no bull here.

I’m not sure if this city deserves John Powhida. The Rudds’ guiding light has more class, talent and smarts than any given hundred songwriters I can name. Rarely does a solo act satisfy on the level of a full band, but this is one of those times. He can also be a funny bastard, with lots of bawdy in-jokes and self-deprecating zingers. Then, blink, and you’re back into some heartbreakin’ take on something as touching as Eurythmics’ “I Need You,” as soulful as Hall & Oates’ “Sara Smile,” or as gorgeous as Michael Jackson’s “Ben,” about the filthy fucking rodent. Powhida’s voice swoops around to all the right places, while his guitar playing is a marvel of efficiency and understated grace. None of which prepares ya for the Ultimate Coolness of his original songs. A lot’s been said, and a thousand times as much remains to be. I’m just glad I’m catchin’ it early before it gets too big and I get too deaf. (Joe Coughlin)

IRRESPONSIBLES, SPARKOLA
The Paradise (front room)
2/16/02

We don’t review non-New England bands in The Noise, so I’m not allowed to write about the godawful New Jersey caterwauling that opens the night. Except to say that it is during their set that I require alcohol and I pay $9.50 for a shot of Tequila and a bottle of water. $9.50? Fuckin’ Paradise.

Sparkola makes it all better. This trio is Steve Powers on guitar and vocals, Adam Buhler on bass, and Jason Sekos on drums, and if you expect these Countess/ Splashdown dudes to sound like either of their other/ former bands, you’ll be disappointed. Think of the aggressive alterna-funk of Gingerbutkis (remember them?) or the rocking ingenuity of Radiohead. Sparkola powers through this, their debut show, with a set of pop/rock songs oozing with fat funky bass and catchy melodies. Standouts are “Marmalade” and “Climbing Out Your Window.” When they finish their set, the small but appreciative crowd calls for an encore, and the band, though they look shocked, delivers. It’s good old-fashioned musicianship at its finest, and I can’t wait to hear more.

Between sets I sneak through to The Paradise main room and catch a little of The Sheila Divine, who’ve packed the place to the gills. The SD sound great of course, but I feel like dragging people back through the black curtain to catch The Irresponsibles.

Haven’t seen the Irros yet? Good lord people, get off the couch and see this band. From the tight-as-hell opening jam (“we don’t know what that was,” laughs Peter Montgomery later) to the hilarious “Sausage Party” (an homage to Weezer) these guys positively kick ass. Drummer Dan Rudack (also of Starla Dear) has switched to a full kit instead of his usual pared-down stand-up kit, and it serves the sound well. They rock, they’re funny, and they’re cute. What more can you ask for? (Lexi)

THE TAKERS, MR. AIRPLANE MAN, THE MODIFIERS, TODD GILES
Charlie’s Kitchen
2/25/01

These Monday night shows at the popular burger joint in Harvard Square have been going on for a year, but this was the first I’d heard about it. We arrived at 9 pm and it was already crowded. Todd Giles started things off, playing guitar and singing earnestly with his eyes shut, something about “the most deluxe house/with a skylight to look out of/hand towels and soap dispensers” He played some jazz chords mixed in with Bob Pollardisms on a red SG and ended on a soft, unexpected note. I’d like to see him with a band, only because I’m too impatient for the singer-songwriter sensitivity thing.

The Modifiers, a three piece, were next, playing loose and rootsy melodic punk rock. The first song had me wondering if they were the second coming of the Replacements. A group of fans who knew all the words stood in front, one spiky haired dude showing his dedication to the great god Alcohol with beer bottle caps glued all around his sweat-jacket hood. The guitarist/singer played a Les Paul that cut through the noise every once in a while with a ringing, memorable line, but it didn’t happen often enough. I agreed with my friend that they were “louder than they needed to be.” They also lost points for playing a cover of the hideously whiney “International Playboys” by Morrissey, the irony of which was cancelled out by the aural torture — but the “mod” kids probably loved it.

Mr. Airplane Man was next, a two-woman séance conjuring up the ghosts of dead blues men from Mississippi. Their years of busking have paid off; they’ve achieved the sort of soulful, intuitive nuance players need to make the blues sound fresh and not just the usual bar band rip-off. The duo have some new originals and I was excited to hear them branching out into garage girl territory and even ballads. Their delicate voices and harmony vocals contrasted nicely with Margaret’s from-the-gut slide guitar and Tara’s no nonsense drums enhanced by a tambourine cymbal. Howie Ferguson added some nice accents on maracas and tambourine.

The Takers had a tough act to follow but played an amazing, energized set. They started with “Miles Between” (aka “Twin Peaks”), a smoldering punk lament bringing to mind the haunted sound of Nick Cave. Mike Hibarger’s slow motion, minimally phrased surf guitar lines slithered through the song like a sidewinder. Chris’ drums show a lot of finesse, he never just bangs it out. Nick Blakey’s bass lines carry some of the songs, particularly the second one, an incredible pounder that got a lot of applause; only later did I realize it was a cover of DMZ’s “Don’t Jump Me Mother.” During “Looking Down,” singer Mike Carreiro leapt up on a table and tried to hang off the rafters except there weren’t any. Instead, a panel of the ceiling fell down around him in a heap, which didn’t interrupt the show. There were a couple new songs that sounded promising, an amusing cover of The In Out’s “Caravan” with the words changed to “Taliban” and a dead-on Todd Nudelman vocal impersonation by Mike C. In short, they blew the roof off the place. Kenne Highland summed up the experience with a succinct, “Holy Shit!”(Laura Markley)

LIFESTYLE
Curve Film Premiere and Post Screening Party, NYC
2/27/02

My friend invites me down to New York for a movie premiere. He doesn’t tell me what the movie is, or what even it will be about, just that there will be 100 models from Ford, Click and all the other major agencies and he’s getting me on the VIP guestlist. A few years ago, I was in New York, someone smashed a bottle over my head and I’ve avoided the place ever since. Anyhow, this seemed like a good enough reason to lift the boycott on the Big Apple. I’d climb through hell for a beautiful woman, and for a hundred, well, I’d even go to New York.

So I get there and as it turns out the movie is called Curve, it’s a documentary on the fashion world’s prejudice against larger women, and you guessed it, all the models there are plus-sized models. So I’m not only surrounded by beautiful women, I’m dwarfed by them as well. Directed and written by Bostonians Constantine and Christina Valhouli, Curve is quite good. The movie is made up of hundreds of clips of both famous and struggling plus-sized models candidly telling the story of the “not as glamorous as you’d think” life of a fashion model. The soundtrack is also very glam and features two bands, the Go-Gos and Boston’s own Lifestyle (who also happen to be performing at the post screening party).

After the movie wraps up, we split to the party. Lifestyle is already in full effect with lights a flashin’ and tunes blaring. They sound like they’re straight from the ’80s and the ladies are loving it. They have two keyboardists pumping out electronic synth beats and a dude who looks like he should have been in Flock of Seagulls. In this context, its all entertaining, in a Duran Duran sort of way. If you dug Freezepop, you’re sure to like this four-piece. I almost expect to hear a Pet Shop Boys song at any second. The party goes on until dawn “Bright Lights Big City” style. I wake up late the next morning with my head hurting so bad I might as well have had a bottle smashed over it. Cheers to the city that never sleeps. (Kier Byrnes)

CANCER CONSPIRACY, DAMN PERSONALS, PIEBALD
South by Southwest Music & Media Conference
Emo’s Jr., Austin TX
3/13/02

SXSW is the music industry’s largest and most well-attended yearly shmoozefest, drawing thousands of music writers, record label executives, radio people and pretty much anyone involved with the business of music. So when Big Wheel Recreation arranged a SXSW showcase on its late-winter package tour (Vermont’s Cancer Conspiracy, and Boston’s Damn Personals and Piebald) everyone involved figured the expense would be justified by the exposure that the bands would receive. It didn’t quite work out that way. The showcase wound up on the inside stage of Emo’s—arguably one of Austin’s coolest clubs, but also one of its very few all-ages venues. So instead of industry poobahs brandishing SXSW badges and waving major label mega-dollars at the bands, the bands wound up playing to an audience that consisted almost entirely of indigenous teens. All three bands also had to struggle through harrowing technical difficulties. Cancer Conspiracy faired all right, although their brand of instrumental prog-rock really doesn’t come anywhere close to the typical garage-punk sound of most Big Wheel bands. Ten minutes into their set—after three quick numbers and a blown bass amp that had to be replaced—the band announced it was playing its last song, and then launched into a 30-minute instrumental prog-rock odyssey that my companion sarcastically described as “Tales Of Topographic Puddles.” The Damn Personals seemed flat and uninspired during the first half of their set; in fact, between lackluster playing and technical distractions, it was pretty much a trainwreck. The band pulled itself together for the second half of its set, but they never won over the largely uninvolved crowd. Things went much better for the more punky Piebald; despite a power outage that lasted near 15 minutes, the band had heads bouncing and fists flying into the air from start to finish, with frontman Travis Shettel’s endearingly nerdish persona clearly capturing the imagination of the mostly adolescent crowd. If you look at Piebald’s silly song titles, you’d think all the songs would be jokey. But live, they delivered a convincingly chunky brand of emo-pop, somewhere between the geeky sincerity of D.C.’s Dismemberment Plan and the power-chord crunch of kiddie-core favorites like Midtown and New Found Glory. (Jim Testa)

REVERSE, THE BEATINGS, HELLO ATTACK!
T.T. The Bears
2/14/02

Scenesters from all aspects of the Boston rock scene gather the first Thursday of every month in Central Square to check out the Yoursound.com showcases. Heading up the parade of hipness is the very busy Mike Baldino. Mike helps the club put these bills together in addition to his multi-zine writing workload. As I mingle about the crowd, I’m running into a lot of folks whose names I recognize from The Noise’s web page message board. It’s nice to finally be exposed to the identities of some of these online characters and sit down and debate each other’s favorite bands face to face while running up an ungodly bar tab.

On stage is a completely instrumental act named Hello Attack! (sic). They stop only once to speak into the mic to pitch their band and sell t-shirts then dive right back in to testing the dynamics of their instruments, creating huge peaks and valleys of hysterical and schizophrenic melodies. There are also a lot of unusual tones and noises created by a dazzling array of effects. It reminded me a little of the soundtrack from “Fight Club.” I was blown away.

Afterwards were The Beatings. It’s their CD release party and I have heard a lot of hype about these guys so I have high hopes. Unfortunately, all I hear is the same old pop punk thing. Someone next to me was describing them as Blink 183/ Matchbox 21. I had to agree, after hearing something as sonically unique as Hello Attack!, this seemed a bit bland and was a bit of a let down despite the energetic stage performance. Hmmm, maybe I’ll have to catch another show later because this time it just didn’t register.

Dan Troxell from Yoursound goes running up on stage to raffle off some CDs as Reverse sets up their gear behind him. It’s no secret that Reverse is one of my favorite bands in town today. Heavy drum beats and loud guitars calling me to the front of the stage. Tempo changes, grilling riffs and carefully constructed melodies have my boots stompin’ in no time. Those who were fortunate enough to make it out all the way until last call, got to hear Reverse do an amazing version of “Ridiculous,” well worth the three hours sleep and Friday morning hangover. (Kier Byrnes)

THE HIGH CEILINGS, FLEXIE, THE BRIAN GOTTESMAN BAND
The Middle East
2/21/02

Okay, I admit it, the only reason I’m here is because the Piebald CD release party going on downstairs with Cracktorch and Kipper Tin was sold out. Grudgingly, I decide to see what’s going on upstairs. On stage is a band that’s rocking out pretty hard called the Brian Gottesman Band. There’s a keyboard center stage. I assume it’s Brian Gottesman, who is standing behind them, wailing away, switching back and forth between keys and guitar while crooning into the mic. It’s pretty good stuff; interesting songs with clever arrangements and enough hooks to keep my attention focused off the show I’m missing downstairs.

The keyboard stays center stage for the next band, Flexie, as well. This time, however, a cute blond hops up behind it. An equally striking female takes her place next to her, stage left. With two babes like that on stage, Flexie have my attention but I’m looking around and it seems that the whole place has cleared out. Rarely have I seen the Middle East so empty. The music is ok; indie pop rock that’s not really offensive but not really groundbreaking either I suppose. Luckily the set gets over kind of quickly and there is a trickle of people back inside.

Apparently, Flexie is in a rush as well to get it over with because they decide to bolt as The High Ceilings, the next band on the bill play their first song. Isn’t it one of those unwritten musician rules that when you’re on a bill with multiple acts, you have to stay and help support the other bands? And to load out your gear in front of the stage while the other guys are performing… that’s just bad. Maybe they have tickets to the Piebald show downstairs. To be honest, I feel like I’m not missing much, The High Ceilings are rocking out in their trademarked heavy metal/ Pink Floyd sound despite recently adding a new bass player to the mix. Their new song, “Mayfly,” is one of my favorite locally made pump up songs. (Kier Byrnes)

MICHAEL LEYDEN, BLUEGRAZER
Kendall Café
2/27/02

Wednesday at the Kendall I’m thinking who the hell is gonna be here on Wednesday? Well Michael Leyden is. And no matter what night or where he is playing, if you can, go! He has a few people with him but really I can’t remember a thing they may have done. Micheal’s hook is his voice. An unlikely pleasing combination of a young Neil Young and Gordon Gano (The Violent Femmes). I couldn’t stop listening. The songs are catchy and poppy. They go bouncing by making you smile while furrowing your brow with thought.

Bluegrazer can give every band in Boston a run for their money, and beat many! Apparently they have been on a bit of a hiatus and it’s high time they come back! Sounding, undeniably, like Three Day Threshold but a lot less theatrical and a bit more rock ‘n’ roll than country/ bluegrass. Joe Pleiman, on lead guitar and vocals, John Stump on bass, and Jesse Sexual Spence on drums. Each a strong player, standing out with their individual ability yet blending smoothly into a kick ass band. I think the best thing you can say about a band is that they rock. And I like it! (Bridget Unger)

THE IN OUT
The Upstairs Lounge
2/14/02

What better way to snuff out the Hallmark phoniness of Valentine’s Day than with the uneasy, post-punk garage throb of The In Out. The mood is set by a slow motion disco ball and smoky red bulb. They start off with some uncertainty, but after a pulsating “Camouflage” (with Nudel-code about a “sex garage” and a “sex mirage”) the band kicks it up a notch with a song about “… a blue chip stock/before the bottom fell out” (“this is more like it!” read my notes), a bent guitar note creating anticipation. Now Todd’s intoning something about a pissing dog while using distortion AND fuzz pedal! “The Turning” has too loud crashing drums, while an unwieldy country version of “X In Its Place” makes a mockery of the slow burning magnum opus Matt Hunter used to sing. But the newish “Trap Body” has a memorable guitar riff and it’s always a treat hearing the lean years oldies like “Barnyard” and “One In A Thousand Service Industry Job.” (Laura Markley)

MOMENT, JUST FOR TODAY, THE HATE HOLIDAY, THE AMES CURVE
The X-Haus
2/12/02

I’m in a basement, and I know it’s a basement because of the hot water heater and the washing machine, which I’m sitting on, watching over the shoulder of the drummer as the band pumps the air full of sound, sweat, and dust. I’m listening to the band, but watching the kids as they invent dances, brand new dances, each one a little more ridiculous than the last.

Connecticut’s Just For Today plays an excellent but sometimes shaky set, with the interlocking guitar arpeggios building an aural mosaic that never wavers. From my vantage point I can see the group dynamics at work, the subtle eye contact and body language of a group perfectly locked into one another’s back pockets, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that I can’t make out a word the singer’s moaning about. After they are done playing I talk with them for a bit, and they turn out to be super nice guys; they seem like they were hinting at being out of practice, but their energy is irrepressible, and what the hell it’s all punk rock fun—right?

For Moment, I move to the front of the performance area, and before they can even play, people are dancing, undulating really. We’ve all become muscle fiber in one giant limb. Moment opens with a brand new, if slightly overlong, instrumental before launching into the hot rock. After the second song the audience starts clapping and continues for a good four minutes, until the band plays on. Hysterical. The connection Moment makes with the crowd is positively for real: the giant limb becomes a multi-limbed monster, flailing about wildly in ecstasy.

My only complaint is that after the show, when I bought my Moment CD, it cost me $10, but maybe that’s just because I’m unemployed. I just feel, especially for basement shows, that if it’s $4 to get in, the CD shouldn’t be more than $5 or $6. Maybe I’m just showing my age. Keep punk rock cheap! (Jesse Thomas)

KATE WIREN
Curious Liquids
2/23/02

My third show in three nights, I’m starting to go deaf but the promise of being set up with a girl that’s “model-hot” enables my friend Kristi to talk me into going out. I look around and the place is packed with women and I’m one of the two men in the audience. Does this have anything to do with the place being a dry smoke-free venue or did I just step into the Twilight Zone? If so, instead of that creepy theme song, the soundtrack features girl power acousti-folk in the Merrisa Ferrick and Ani Di Franco vein sung by Kate Wiren. She sings with confidence; like she’s drunk more whiskey than Janis Joplin and broken more hearts than Pat Benatar. She continuously chirps in with witty crowd banter, making up song lyrics on the spot and keeping the crowd amused. She even plays a “Birthday Song” she wrote for my friend earlier that day. Impressive.

Unfortunately, despite the performance, my night’s going South fast. I wasn’t able to meet the hot girl who I came to see and to top it all off, every other girl in the room turns out to be a lesbian. Just my luck. Anyhow, the clock is ticking and I’m looking forward to getting me some alcohol in my blood. This was a definitely an interesting stop along the way though. (Kier Byrnes)

Two Reviewers at the Same Show

BRADSHAW, THE GOOD NORTH, THE SILENT GOODBYE
O’Briens
2/22/0

The Silent Goodbye takes the stage dressed entirely in black; their music is just as dark. At its best, it’s enchanting catharsis, at its worst, it’s music to open a vein to. Both excellent guitarists sing separately, emotionally and violently, but rarely melodically. This is what would take them to new heights: imparting a sense of song. They have all the other elements in place, so I suggest singing harmony, as two good singers can make one great one.

The Good North are the most promising band I’ve seen in years. The elements are all there; the music is equal parts The Sheila Divine and The Strokes. There’s passion to spare, delay-drenched guitar, and a swaggering singer with pipes. Onstage, everyone is committed to the moment; the music swirls upward in continual crescendo and emotion is everywhere. What’s missing (and it may just be the sound system) is breathing room. Space begets clarity; a moment to rest is a moment to think and connect. What they need is: “Just a little patience… yeah.”

Bradshaw is pure smart-punk-pop entertainment. Tyler sings like Rob Halford, and to paraphrase NWA, “it’s probably why he kicks so much butt, he kicks ass!” He is one of the best lead singers locally, and who would have thought it when he seemed a gentle foil for Andrew King in The Control Group. Of course, Bradshaw has an entirely different sound and approach; they are more punk buoyancy than epic sincerity. Their guitarist gives off the rock love; people crowd the stage, laughing, giving devil horns, spilling beer. Allston rock city, know your new master: Bradshaw! (Glenwood)

THE SILENT GOODBYE, THE GOOD NORTH
O’Briens
2/22/02

There’s so much smoke in O’Briens I can barely see the back wall. I thought that the band on stage had a smoke machine going but no, it’s their fan base of crazy nicotine addicts. There’s a crew in front of the stage, cigarettes in hand, nodding their heads in unison to the drumbeat. The Silent Goodbye’s shirtless drummer is rocking out, exposing his tatts while the band dishes up some heavy extended jams. This band’s pretty young, and you can tell by the amount of energy and excitement they put into their performance. The Strange Goodbyes are kind of like a jam band, in that no real melody stays in your head. Just the groove, which in this case was more like full assault. Think of Tool but without the quirks or catchy hooks.

The Good North has a ton of people there to see them tonight. Decked out in full indy/emo look with the right amount of vintage gear to make them cool in Boston, I feel like I know what I’m in for before it even starts. My friend nudges me and slurs that the singer, Luke O’Neil, looks a little like Elton John. As I think about that one, The Good North busts into their first tune and it completely catches me off guard. Its not the dime a dozen indy crap that’s oh so trendy today, it’s actually some pretty damn good music. They have a Sheila Divine sort of influence, a balance between soft and quiet, a whisper and a scream, but they also have a High Ceilings misty hard rocking vibe going. Gotta say, I’m impressed. (Kier Byrnes)

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