Thursday, June 24, 2010

Sister Sparrow & the Dirty Birds with Pickup at Sullivan Hall 6-23-10

After beginning the evening by listening to fantastic performances from jazz titans McCoy Tyner, Ravi Coltrane, Esperanza Spalding, Francisco Mela, Stanley Clarke, and Hiromi from the perch of a large rock outside of Central Park's Summerstage, I made my way down to the Village to grab a refreshing Great Divide Belgian IPA and a bowl of 7 Pepper Chili at Blind Tiger Ale House. Then I ventured on to the evening's main event at Sullivan Hall.



Toy Soldiers were the listed openers on this bill, but they did not show. They had some sort of van breakdown in Philly. It was their loss, not ours. Way to blow your New York venue debut, guys.



Pickup with Trevor Exeter and John Kimock was a little heady but not too esoteric. It didn’t seem to grab most of my fellow Freaks (and I’d say there were around 15-20 in attendance), who were hanging outside during most of the set. Trevor was singing while playing some weird arpeggios that were run through a series of pedals to create a sort of electronica sound. It was unique, and I enjoyed it. They closed with a very short cover of a well-known Bill Withers tune, which I don't quite recall but believe was "Use Me."



As for Sister Sparrow & The Dirty Birds, I will forever label this show as “The Awakening” because while I’ve had a great time at their shows in the past, this was the one where I really got it. In talking to some of their longtime fans, I learned that last night’s set wasn’t particularly “better” than others, but the environment was certainly one of the best the band’s had at any of their shows. The room was far from full, but everyone pressed up to the front and most of us danced our asses off. It was a bigger than usual stage for them, and they filled it out well with lead singer Arleigh Kincheloe taking charge and commanding attention.



I really love how this band is an incredibly tight nine-piece ensemble that works so well together, yet all of its members are polished enough that they can really seize the moment when given the spotlight for solos. For whatever reason, that seems to be an anomaly among most bands-- either they’re an all-star lineup of people needing room to shine or they’re the kind of ensemble where the whole is far greater than the individual parts. I get the sense that while the Dirty Birds are particularly skilled at playing together, you could cherrypick a couple of them and start a great trio or quartet with little effort.



And Arleigh’s performance had me simply transfixed. There was one moment when I was thinking, “You know, this young lady could really…wait a sec…oh….wow…did she just…uh-huh…yes…wow….just…wow…I hope no one saw me drool all over myself…Hell, I don’t care, I can’t look away….wait…oh, man….damn….can’t she just stand still and act a little less sultry for just one second? I was about to think of something brilliant, but I’ve completely lost my train of thought. Thanks a lot!...oh, yes…thank you very, very much….”



To be perfectly honest, I had to stay off to the side because I was afraid of how much power she could potentially wield over me by making eye contact. From my vantage point, her performance was nothing short of spellbinding, and without thinking, I would have cut out someone’s vital organs with a butter knife if she’d asked me to do so. I’ve seen Arleigh on stage before, and I’ve hung out with her a few times at Jazz Fest, but I’ve never seen her demonstrate such a heightened level of raw sexuality.



The only knock I’d put on her is for less-than stellar diction, as I often had a hard time deciphering lyrics. Part of that seems to be a vocal choice that she’s made (because she certainly speaks normally), but I would throttle that back just a tad for clarity’s sake. Otherwise, she shouldn’t change a damn thing.



If you want a funky, reggae/ska-infused evening steaming with the scent of late night seduction, Sister Sparrow & the Dirty Birds are the band for you.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Going Furthur 2-23-10 Radio City Music Hall - New York, NY

I was rather happy with last night’s Furthur. If this is how the music of the Grateful Dead is going to live for the foreseeable future, it’s in very protective hands.


This band feels somewhat like the merging of Ratdog and Phil & Friends with the least desirable parts of each (and the truly experimental elements) all falling by the wayside. Weir isn’t choking the jams like he does in Ratdog and Phil isn’t trying to orchestrate everything like he does in Phil & Friends. Of course, the difference maker here is John Kadlecik, who is playing the lead guitar lines we all know and love. He’s really the one who’s making this music accessible to the masses, whereas Phil & Friends were always trying to take it into some fusion-inspired direction, while Ratdog was going for a more sparse sound. Kadlecik is putting the rounded edges on this beast, ensuring that nothing pointy sticks out and pokes you in the eye. Whether or not you want your beast with rounded edges is a different story.


The opening “Other One Jam” was solid, and it was unexpectedly great when they suddenly shifted into “Playin’ In the Band.” However, the buttery smooth transition into an Eric Clapton-style “After Midnight” was the moment when the band truly shifted gears. Thanks to Sir Joe Russo laying in the pocket, everything became tre funky. Kadlecik took the charge and started dishing out his first major statements of the evening, throwing us back to 1970 with intensity. However, disappointment was afoot as soon as backup singers Zoe Ellis and Sunshine Garcia Becker had their chance to sing one of the greatest lines ever written for backup singer: “What it is all about, What it is all about!” Unfortunately, in a moment that begs for the backup singers to cut loose and wail, they delivered the straightest, most soulless rendition of these lyrics I’ve ever heard. They were perfectly on pitch, but everything out of their mouths sounded incredibly square, almost as if they were singing chamber music. This would become a running theme throughout the night, but these two also had their virtues because every time they sang the lyrics in unison with the big three, the vocals were mixed perfectly and sounded excellent. It seems as though the rigid styling that makes them ideal backup singers also makes their sound less than ideal when singing their own lines. By the way, Sunshine Garcia Becker is apparently no relation to Jerry, but her fate to sing this music was obviously predetermined by her parents on her birth certificate.


“They Love Each Other” relished in the mid-‘70s Jerry Garcia Band groove, and “When I Paint My Masterpiece” was a rousing crowd pleaser. On the whole, Weir’s vocals over the course of the night were surprisingly good (for Bob Weir circa 2010), and when he couldn’t sustain the notes, the entire audience was more than willing to fill in the gaps. I honestly can’t recall a live version of “Masterpiece” that I’ve enjoyed more than this one with it’s full-throated sing-a-long and happy vibe. “The Race Is On” was a nice, rare boogie, perfect for a little swing dancing in the aisle with Ms. The, although that was the first time that I’ve ever attempted swing dancing on a 35 degree incline, and thankfully, no ankles were broken. The “Dear Mr. Fantasy” that followed was dripping in psychedelia, despite failing to take advantage of the backup singers. Kadlecik led a little jamlet out of this one, heavily teasing “Hey Jude” before the band dissolved into a Jeff Chimenti solo that seemed to be prompted by Phil. I hadn’t really noticed Chimenti up until this point, but if this was his time to shine, he sure as Hell took advantage of it. Simply put, the man cut loose on the baby grand like a dosed version of Professor Longhair. He was dropping into this wild, barrelhouse piano groove that kept revolving around a captivatingly odd riff. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that this moment featured some of the finest keyboard work to be heard on a stage with Lesh and Weir since 1992, if not 1974. It was *that* good.


The solo wove its way into Ratdog’s “Two Djinn,” a number I haven’t heard in at least 10 years. This one was lengthy, and every time I kept thinking, “Okay, Bob, you’re boring me,” they went right into this very catchy hook that sucked everyone back in. The “Samson and Delilah” set closer was thunderous, wailing, and right on point. No complaints there.


I went to visit friends during setbreak and found myself in a great seat all the way down on house left with plenty of room to move during a “Viola Lee Blues” opener that was more funky than psychedelic. Keeping with the funkdafied theme, they leapt right into a fantastic “Shakedown Street” that had everyone up and grooving. Shortly after the start, people returned to the seats I was occupied. The very nice young woman kindly offered to share her space, but I needed room to dance, so I gratefully declined. Apparently, that was not okay with her because she said, “No, really you can stay.”


“Thank you, that’s very generous, but I’m going to go,” I replied.


“I’m serious. It’s okay. We can share the space,” she said.


“I appreciate that, but I’m going to find some more room.”


“Really, I don’t mind!”


“Ummm…I’m going now.”


Having escaped the clutches of her generosity, I found myself moving back a bit in the center left aisle, getting a perfect view with excellent sound. The security was also super chill, and they never hassled me at all. The fairly relaxed vibe of the staff really added to the excellent ambiance and sound in Radio City.


I need to add that the band did some cool things to the arrangement of “Shakedown,” adding in a few stops and turns and a great “Shake it down, shake it down, shake it down, shake it down now” vocal section that seemed to be ripped right out of the Commodores’ “Brick House.” And with the aid of Russo, Kadlecik was really working the tension-and-release solos to thrilling effect.


The resulting “Hard to Handle” had a very odd feel to it. The 8-6-71 version with Pigpen is one of the high watermarks for the Grateful Dead, and if that dog-in-heat version was NC-17, last night’s rendition was rated G and appropriate for preschoolers. Somehow they’d stripped the song of its raw sexuality and left a cute, purple Teletubby in its place. That being said, I kind of enjoyed it, which probably makes me gay in the eyes of the late Jerry Falwell.


“Deal” continued the hot streak with some of the most searing leads of the night from Kadlecik. Chimenti also took advantage of another all-too-rare opportunity to bust out some rollicking piano chops, often getting the best of Kadlecik in their back-and-forth sections. The whole band was really locked in here, and the much of the house was rockin’ with “Mason’s Children”…but then they deep-sixed all the energy in the room by moving into “Days Between.” Truthfully, Weir delivered a fine version of this song, but it really took the wind out of a lot of sails. Down front, the vast majority of the aging audience took sat down in those cushy seats to wait out this one. For me, the momentum of the set was lost, and while the resulting “Let It Grow” had plenty of excellent moments, I now felt like I was in a different show. As a result, the closing “Franklin’s Tower” never truly soared as it normally does when coming out of the buildup from “Help On the Way->Slipknot!” It should be noted that people cheered for the rare Phil-led vocal, which wasn’t much to write home about but was still a welcome change of pace from Weir’s horrendous Shatner-ized versions from 2009. The “Johnny B. Goode” encore was little more than standard.


As far as a light show goes, I personally find this setup to be rather weak. They have very few lights and seem to have invested most of their money in a gigantic LED screen that naturally looks rather pixelated up close and appears to be a lot clearer from a distance. The images they showed were often very incongruous with the music, and I’d imagine the shots of barbed wire flying in your face during “Let It Grow” must have been mildly horrifying for anyone who’d paid a visit to Dr. Hoffman. It’s no secret that these tours are now thinly-veiled money-grabs for Lesh and Weir, but if you’re going to charge people an arm-and-a-leg for tickets, you need to deliver more than just excellent music. People are paying for a performance, and if we’re shelling out at a significantly higher price than we did in the past, it’s time to shoot off some lasers, inflate a pig, or at least light someone on fire. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.


Was anything last night ground-breaking, Earth-shaking, or even “the shit”? No way, Jose. But were there any trainwrecks? No, not at all. I hesitate to call the show “safe,” but the element of risk was certainly missing. That may be part and parcel of this relatively new band’s philosophy, but it’s probably a little too early to tell. On the positive side, Russo adds plenty of vitality to the drumming, never settling for the kind of heavy-handed pedestrian beats which had previously plagued many of the ballads. In the realm of percussion, I’m not quite sure what Jay Lane adds to the mix, but nothing he did stuck out like a sore thumb, so I can’t complain. The new-found trust in Kadlecik is what seems to have really improved the sound of this group. They’re wisely letting him sing lead more often, and they’re giving him space to shine. Unfortunately, he’s not always taking advantage of these opportunities and doesn’t quite consistently sound like a guitarist leading a band, which is probably because he’s not one of the two leaders. Of course, his playing is as Garcia-esque as we’re ever going to hear, although he is wrapping each and every one of Garcia’s lines in bubbles, removing any daring edges from the work. Again, it’s all very protected and enjoyable, and hopefully, this is the foundation for a musical experience that will eventually embrace the unexpected and take some risks. Until that time, these shows will remain nothing more than pleasantly fun. No harm, no foul.

Friday, February 19, 2010

A Subway Collaboration

12:13 AM 2-17-10
42nd St Port Authority Subway Station Uptown & Queens Platform

The coolest thing just happened.

I descended the stairs to the platform for the E-train and I saw a subway bard with an acoustic guitar sitting on the bench near the map.

Now for years I've been wanting to relive a magical late night moment that occurred in this exact spot. On that particular evening, a very different middle aged subway bard led an entire platform in a 3AM soul sing-along, including "My Girl," "Bring It on Home to Me," and other '60s classics. He was amazingly charismatic, and I wouldn't hesitate to call him the greatest solo subway performer I've ever seen. I would often try to find him in order to recapture that moment of spontaneous simultaneous vocal jubilation, but it was never meant to be.

Subsequent performances on this very "stage" would include the fragile old lady with the huge sunglasses who would play mind-numbingly simple but poorly executed "melodies" on her synthesizer and never receive more than occasional pity pocket change for her efforts, as well as some oddball trios featuring djembe, trumpet, and pan flute.

In other words, the stage had seen better days.

That held true until this evening when I saw a white-haired woman whisper something to tonight's troubadour. I figured I'd at least give him eight bars to prove himself before donning my headphones and walking away, so he began by playing some classically influenced arpeggios. (I DID say he was a bard.) This quickly became the intro to Stevie Nicks' "Landslide." He was thankfully not playing the Taylor Swift arrangement, so he was singing on key. To be perfectly honest, his was a fine version of the song, filled with pathos and emotion.

But then came the unexpected.

At the other end of the bench, a young guy started freestyling on top of the bard's playing. His rapping took everyone by surprise, and the platform was suddenly...well...rapt with attention toward the bizarre duet. The bard, presumably not a hip hop fan, seemed quite annoyed and tried to play louder. The white-haired woman shook her head in disappointment because this rapping was not what she had requested. Everyone else just stood there staring, waiting to see what would happen. The bard looked like the pacifist type, but he was clearly irritated and reaching his breaking point. Would he just stop playing, yell, or smash his guitar into the rapper's cranium? It was hard to get much of a read on the rapper, so I had no idea if his goals were collaborative or antagonistic, and what would he do if someone tried to stop him?

It was a tense situation, but in the midst of all this tension, some oddly beautiful music was being made. Never in a million years would I pick "Landslide" as the perfect background for hip hop, but this guy was making it work. Now I wasn't able to understand much of his lyrics, but they did seem to be positive. (Had he taken this opportunity to rap about violence, misogyny, or the size of his genitalia, it would have been rather tacky but fantastically incongruous when juxtaposed with Fleetwood Mac.) Somehow he appeared to be perfectly in sync with the song, deftly matching the bard's dynamic and tempo changes with impressive style.

The longer this went on, the less resistant everyone became. While the bard never fully embraced his rapping collaborator, by the end of the song, both the bard and the white-haired woman cracked the faintest of smiles. The beauty of collaborative music had triumphed over pessimism! The rapper calmly got up and walked away, disappearing into the shadows without acknowledgement. I dropped a buck in the bard's guitar case, the E-train arrived, and another great musical moment in subway history was in the books.