+front+ +bands+ +the crawl+ +c.d.'s+ +b.s.+ +dissent+ +venues+ +info+
Puppets, Projects, and The Art of Being Ignored
by Cripsy Duck 2-6-01
(printed in C-VILLE Vol.13, No. 7)
THE MEAT PUPPETS
SOULIVE - PROJECT LOGIC
B.C.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
|
2/2/01
Only a third intact but still plenty powerful, desert legends the Meat Puppets shredded up Starr Hill for a night of merriment and mayhem. Taking the stage in strange animal masks, the (now) four piece band proceeded to rock out their post-punk psycho-drunk-edelic smorgasborg-- the same noise that so heavily influenced Nirvana's now self-martyred Kurt Cobain. (As you will recall, Cobain even invited the Puppets to join him in covering a few of their tunes during Nirvana's now famous Unplugged in New York session.) Now down to only one original member, nickel-wielding guitarist Curt Kirkwood, the band fronted by his signature electric wash still betrays the tones and inflections, and perhaps most significantly the heroin-focused hippy-punk intentfulness that Cobain would later syphon for his own epic project. Having never actually witnessed the Meat Puppets' years of power trio glory, I had no benchmark for comparison, but found myself feeling pretty pumped by their modern incarnation, though one friend pointed out that it "wasn't like the old days" and another suggested that Starr Hill was "no place for a freakout." Still, pretty freaky.
2/3/01 The following night Starr Hill was converted into hipster jazz heaven as two powerhouses, Soulive and Project Logic, kept the floor bobbing all night. Both had been through town in the recent past (Project Logic actually played one of Starr Hill's first "real" shows last September) and both had delivered blistering sets, so I knew their combined effect would be a ballbuster.
Soulive is just plain old unstoppable. I could not nor would I have wanted to contain my James Brown-ian yelps during their set, and many walking around afterwards insisted that, once again, Soulive had played the wrong slot-- opening the show instead of closing with their two fists of gospel soul/jazz guitar and organ fury. While I had no reservations about Project Logic's ability to end this night on a high note, I had to agree with the general assessment of Soulive. They intensely redefine the "power" in power-trio, and it's not just because they all wear suits (like "real" jazz guys-- which they are), nor because organist Neal Evans' organ-ic volcano is psychically fused to his brother Alan's monster pocket drum-work, nor because Eric Krasno's jazz-fury guitar flights so perfectly tie the two together into a spicy dish fit to make Jimmy Smith's eyes water. It's because they f#%*in' rock out! I swear. All that and a bucket of chicken.
D.J. Logic, of course, has no problem holding his own, touring as he does with a full four-piece ensemble geared up to pluck and funk his turntables' every whim. Logic's live urban jazz/funk rocks a fair bit harder than the stuff I've heard him record with Medeski, Martin and Wood, where he adds textures and effects but will generally take a backseat to the jazz trio's motion. In the Project, he's free to explore more rootsy dimensions of funk and groove, and the band's raison d'etre quickly becomes apparent: shake the collective party butt all the way up with a high-caliber dose of freaky dance music. Spock would be proud.
The following revue of B.C., a band that I rarely cover due to unusual scheduling/interest conflicts (-- not to be confused with B.C. Powder, a recent transplant to the region sharing its name with the famous workingman's headache remedy-- cool) showed up in my e-mail, so I include it here for your perusal.
2/4/01 For years, musicians on the Corner have suffered the ignominies brought on by drunken children who could care less about the music being played near them. Granted, the vast majority of these musicians were doing their interpretation of some Jimmy Buffet or James Taylor song, so it was no great loss. B.C. brings being ignored to an art form. For four years, they've been honing their original songs and their barbs on unsuspecting audiences on the Corner, most recently at Michael's Bistro on Sunday nights. B.C. is Stephen Barling and Brandon Collins, guitar-vocals, cello-vocals respectively. The music is generally strong, and very moving at times. Brandon's cello is that usual C-ville mix of everything he ever heard plus that indefinable thing that great C-ville musicians seem to have. Barling's songwriting is sharp poor-boy-philosophy emphasised by a hodge-podge of American guitar styles, the end result being engaging, original music that makes you bop in place AND want to sing along. Then, they start talking. Brandon will castigate some poor girl from Northern Virginia for not being attentive enough. Stephen eggs him on, and then absolves himself by acknowledging the fact that yes, Brandon is an asshole. This is no act. You cannot fake two or three near brilliant tunes followed by three minutes of moronic patter. They have a different name every Sunday-- the old Jethro Tull trick. The names this writer is familiar with are Dumpster Kitty, Fistful of Bliss and Vowel Movement, the moniker they took for 02/04. There was a brief display by the duo of what a vowel movement might be, a display I could've done without. But then they launched into another tune, so they were forgiven.
Going to hear these guys on a Sunday serves two purposes. It shows how two musicians can play good, lasting music in sympatico, and what active ignorance of the social graces can do to two young men. They are, at once, a shining example and a horrible warning.
|
