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If It's Broun...
by Cripsy Duck 2-14-01
(printed in C-VILLE Vol.13, No. 8)
WILLIAM WALTER - BROUN FELLINIS
THE ROYAL ME - ALL OF FIFTEEN
SLAID CLEAVES - DOUG BETHEL QUARTET
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(2-7-01) A beer. A plate of chow. A "fellow journalist." A small island of solace in a strangely gray late winter wet blanket wonderblah. Despite the mostly cosy surroundings, I am acutely and uncomfortablly aware that my life is going nowhere fast and am suddenly struck by the poignance of my own acrimonious eddy.
We are huddled in the back corner of the Blue Moon Diner, an innocently bysitting local newsman and myself, conspiring to thwart the evil, society-mangling clutches of the War on Drugs. Our radical discourse pauses momentarily and a few bars of William Walter's solo acoustic rock waft into our collective perception. It's nice stuff, just alternative enough to spare it from the "classic rock blands," but Willie doesn't seem too proud. He's having a case of Blue Moon dejection-- a syndrome sometimes experienced when playing to a mellow scene at the Blue Moon-- an awkward place to perform without a room full of raging buddies. I scoot to Michael's Bistro to check out San Francisco's visiting acid jazz renegades, the Broun Fellinis. A heavy psychedelic fusion power trio (tenor/soprano sax, bass and drums), they're filling a spot left vacant by the Wonderband while drummer Johnny Gilmore tours with Corey Harris. (No bad joke here.) Accustomed as I am to having my butt regularly trounced by the Wonderband, the Fellinis seemed at first almost too heady for the sloshy beer buzz I was slowly developing. As my judgement began to cloud over fully, news came that they would be returning the following week, so I made plans to reboot, retool and return to evaluate them properly. The following night I slithered to the Tokyo Rose for a triple-header, but found I could barely tear myself from the upstairs bar to go down into the crimson dungeon to check out the bands. Royal Me, the band formerly known as the Dumm Dumms (rights to that name have been purchased by an identically monikered British act), played first. I hobbled down and dug a few tunes. It's rock, tough and alternative, played by Richmond guys (and Charlottesville's own Stuart Gunter) who look like they might be getting a little old for greasy kid stuff. (This might explain why they perform so infrequently.) They do sound solid, and the guitar player is a ripper, but their compositions are terribly middle-American-rock predictable, with an abundance of stock changes and an alt/rock facade plastered on. I yawn and return upstairs to my perch and my beer to continue letching after the girlfriends of various band members and attendees. I totally miss the next band, Luck Be A Lady. Finally, I roll down for All Of Fifteen to soak up a few tunes in person. I like this band-- they've got a good screwy vibe and an honest alt/rock intensity that doesn't strike me as contrived. They seem like real goofballs playing serious power alt/pop with an almost (but not too) mainstream sensibility. A Midnight Oil cover was funny at first and then just kind of sad when it became clear they were actually attempting to do it justice rather than tongue-in-cheeking it. I went home.
The following night Slaid Cleaves visited the Prism Coffeehouse. Maine native and now Austin, Tx. transplant Cleaves carries on the troubadour tradition with a simple down-home grace that simply can't be contrived. A normal guy in an ugly flannel shirt, with a two-piece back-up "band," and a repretoire of interesting and engaging originals and covers, Cleaves has a beautifully sincere voice and presence that could easily make his alt/country/Americana/songwriter thing cross over into mainstream country with style. I can just imagine Nashville's record label execs fantasizing about fitting him for a big hat and cowboy boots. Fortunately, he seems a little too "for real" for that gaudy industry. He writes and sings like a bird, plays like a champ, and hauls a decidedly cool combo with him: the brilliant guitar and lapsteeler Charles Arthur and the deadpan cornball accordian/trumpet/harmonica blower Oliver Stett. Brilliant show. The Doug Bethel Quartet (all five of them) were at Miller's the following night, blowing sophisticated two-trombone jazz for a nice crowd. The "bone" is such cool instrument-- kind of the banjo of the brass section-- so a really well-played one is always a bonus. Bethel's band has two, both very well-played, and the trombone duet sequences were killer.
As promised, I returned to the Michael's Bistro the following Tuesday for the Broun Fellinis, and happy I was to have done so. This time, I kept my mind relatively clear and checked out the group in all their glory. Arriving late in the first set, I was just in time to dig an extended jam with a beautiful "head" that kept devolving into deep sonic recesses before resurfacing into choruses and then succombing to vacuums of echo-effect horn wails and other neat stuff. It's refreshing to hear a sax player make good use of guitar effects like digital delay pedals. But when I spoke with him between sets, he was adamant that "less is more," and then proceeded to demonstrate by playing straight ahead hard bop acid jazz super grooves for the rest of the night. The Broun Fellini's are definitely a treat to behold. Johnny Gilmore even showed up and stood in awe as the Fellini's out-jazzed his Wonderband. A very cool combo.
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