Cripsy Duck - 10.10.00 - Make it funky

I got to thinking the other day (always a bad sign) about how desparately poor I am. My accountant (sure, I've got an accountant) informed me that, if everything goes as projected, I should easily clear about 1/3 of the government standard poverty level. At least this way I won't have to pay taxes. (My gratitude to you taxpayers for all the roads and cops and schools and political conventions (vote Nader) and stuff.)

Suddenly, a generic lightbulb went on over my head: if everyone reading this column just sent me a quarter for each read, I'd be set. Say that 500 of you (out of the 20,000 issues of C-Ville circulated each week) sent a quarter, that's $125.00 a week. I am fully cognizant of how pathetic this plea is, but wouldn't you agree that a little overly generous patronage would look pretty damn good on you right about now? Just bring your coinage by the C-Ville offices, but be really nice, they're gonna get sick of this bit really fast.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

10/2/00 Jazz Poet Society at Michael's Bistro & Taphouse

Every time I lay ears on these guys, I come away with a huge grin and a resolution to prostelitize for the Jazz Poets ministry. This is, of course, not a healthy professional stance for a "rock critic," so I try to keep it at bay, but... but... the Poets rock.

Poetic Masters
J.P.S. possess something relatively few bands do: huge talent on the front end. Alot of musicians can funk well, and the Jazz Poets' band is thoroughly capable of big funky jams, but the overall emphasis with these boys is on the powerful vocals of their tag-team frontmen, Mamou and Nyaze, who carry on like theirs is the last and only righteous party on earth. Around here at least, they may well be right.

They are topical, spiritual, political and-- unlike so many wordy but unwise rap crews-- they've got the brains to back up their B.S. Between tunes like "What If Rosa Parks Had a Car" and "Omar Was Just a Black Boy," the audience is encouraged to go home and get a "black beating," like their parents used to give them as kids. The predominantly white Bistro set chuckled-- hesitantly at first and then whole-heartedly as the crew described in hilarious cartoon detail the stern discipline they recieved as kids. This kind of racial daring and barrier defining/breaking is just a sliver of the pie that the Jazz Poets serve up every time I catch them. An occasional indulgent cover of "Rapper's Delight" doesn't hurt either. Definitely one of Virginia's very finest.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

10/5/00 Karl Denson's Tiny Universe at Trax

Karl Denson may best be remembered in the popular consciousness for his wicked horn breaks on Lenny Kravitz' classic "Let Love Rule," but his top-shelf musical credibility derives more from record projects with J.B.'s hornman Fred Wesley and the freeform intensity of his dancebeat jazz breakdown band, the Greyboy Allstars. Now, with a mighty crew of jazz-informed funksters at his back, Karl Denson's Tiny Universe is stirring grooves across the U.S. with the humble grace and dexterity of a seasoned dance machine.

Denson's Huge Tinyness
His Trax show hauled in a few hundred people-- scensters in "the know," jam band fans and followers of acid jazz-- but this would have been an ideal destination for anyone who likes to get freaky to old-school funk. Backed by a spit-polished cast of funky devotees-- not the least of which was high flying jazz guitarist Brian Jordan-- Karl "Diesel" Denson laid out a full, refined spread of home-cooked soul, R&B and funk, blowing, dancing and singing like the day the preacher got drunk at the church revival picnic. The echelons of soul have rarely known a fairer diplomat.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

10/6/00 Average White Band at the Outback Lodge

There is something sublime about standing in an overstuffed room jamming down to the world's greatest all-white funk band amidst a sea of middle-aged African-American music lovers. There is also something bizarre about it, so I only lasted about a half hour.

During that half hour, the Scotland spawned '70's soul superband laid out record-quality radio funk laden with pristeen horns and vocal harmonies. Still classic after a million spins on R&B radio.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

10/7/00 Eek-a-mouse at the Outback Lodge

EEK!

San Diego's Eek-A-Mouse had a packed house stretching the floor joists upstairs at Starr Hill. Literally. The room bobbed in the middle like a funhouse. And a fun house it was. (Saw that coming, didn't you?)

Apparently Mouse was in a good mood and played almost twice as long as his normal show, but being slack, silly and late as hell as usual, I only caught the last half hour. Starr Hill's 9pm showtimes are gonna be a bitch for perennial crawlers like myself and others who'd like to think of a half hour of music as the ultimate last call. Isn't it bad enough that bars close at 2:00, without these guys trying to cut out early?

--Cripsy Duck

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*