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Posting Board West Regional Report
Edited by Sarah Bruner - sarah@jambands.comIn This Issue
Donna The Buffalo Phish at the Coors Amphitheater Heavy Things - Celebrating the Month of my Birth Disco Biscuits Review Robert Cray Band The Big Wu Celebrating The Tropicana
Donna The Buffalo
Santa Monica, CAI was recently asked to check out a band that was playing at 14 Below in Santa Monica. It was their first trip to the left coast and would I care to say a few words about their performance. Well, the result of this venture is I have a new favorite band (at least until the next P&F line up) with the odd name of Donna the Buffalo.
First let me preface this review with a little background. I am a dinosaur, being an old school jamband alumnus. I am excited about the resurgence of the form by such bands as Moe or Widespread Panic but a little less enthusiastic about the more modern, jazzy and eclectic interpretations by such bands as Phish or String Cheese. Don't get me wrong, these bands can leave me breathless at times but the style leaves me less than fulfilled. But I digress. The point is that when I looked into DTB and found them described as a Zydeco, folk, rock, Cajun, raggae, dance band; you know – eclectic, I began to regret my agreeing to review the band. My musical taste might interfere with a fair assessment and I was probably the wrong guy for the job. Hell, I just bought Black Sabbath's "Sabbath Bloody Sabbath" last month.
Throwing caution to the wind, I took the short trip up to Santa Monica. 14 Below is a small neighborhood bar/club that features original bands nightly. DTB was headlining a four band evening that meant an 11:30 start time. This being a school night and all, I was really beginning to wonder what I was doing there. It didn't take long to convince me I was onto something. After a wry comment about how, "bigger the city, the smaller the hall", DTB started immediately with an up-tempo beguiling mix of...of whatever you want to call it. Zydeco, Cajun, raggae, I don't know, but it was infectious. I think I'll call it New North American Tribal. The two guitars, keyboards, bass, drums and whatever instrument (accordion/electric violin/washboard/acoustic guitar) that female member Tara Nevins chose to play created a rich tapestry of rhythmical, hypnotizing sound that soon had the small crowd nodding and swaying. Hey this wasn't so bad!
As the band continued their set, I found myself, as well as the rest of the crowd, totally enamoured by their sound. Every song had a great vibe and rhythmical intensity highlighted by 3 different vocalists giving each song a stamp of uniqueness. At first, I thought Jeb Puryear's lead vocals were a little flat but as the show continued, I changed my vote. In contrast to Nevin's wonderful lead vocals that gave the band a more pop/country flavor, Puryear's voice really complimented the more rock-orientated songs such as "Conscious Evolution" and "Mr. King." My appreciation for this band went up another notch when a third vocalist, Joe Thrift, sang a killer cover of John Anderson's "Seminole Wind". This band had everything except…except for a jamming lead guitarist. During a particularly jamming rhythm, I mentioned to the guy next to me that it would be so sweet if the guitarist went off on some Jerry-esque exploration. He replied back, "yeah, its like they have two rhythm guitarists." Well, Puryear proved me wrong again. He could play as well as sing. I don't know what he was waiting for; maybe he feared alienating the LA club crowd with "hippie" music or he just wasn't in the mood, but he finally started to compliment those before mentioned rich rhythms with some extended solos. It was weird, whereas for the first half of the show he chose to remain anonymous as a soloist. Now here he is, stage center, eyes closed, head tilted up, playing his heart out and it sounded great! Maybe not Jerry, but more than adequate to put you in the "zone" we all know and love. The show ended with a "real" encore that the small crowd demanded at 1:30 in the morning. The band happily obliged - not with some quick throwaway song but with another unique barrage of textures and rhythms punctuated by Puryear's solid guitar playing. A perfect nightcap to an enlightening and unexpected evening. Believe me, the last thing I was thinking when I awoke that Wednesday morning was waking up Thursday morning a huge Donna the Buffalo fan. Go figure.
Phish at the Coors Amphitheater
September 18, 1999 - Chula Vista, CAby Eric Burns
Set I: Tweezer, Roses, Wilson > Maze, Brian and Robert, Tube>jam>Tube, Rocky Top
Set II: Boogie On Reggae Woman, Meatstick, Free, Bouncin', Harry Hood, Frankenstein, Cavern
Encore: Contact > Tweeprise
What a great, great venue in every single regard except for beer (Coors is piss, and Killians isn't much better). The staff here was phenomenal and friendly, the environs were gorgeous, and the sound was killer. I will not miss a Phish show here -- it's the kind of place you could take a kid and feel fine about it. Taboot, this was the best show of the four I saw, Purely In Terms of Musical Quality. Yes, 7th row center seats helped a bit, but Phish was energized for this one and on from the first note.
I'd never heard a Tweezer opener. YUM! This was a typically terrific 1998-1999 Tweezer, which is to say that it spent some time in Funkaloopia before reaching for a noisier, Trey-driven groove. Reminded me a lot of the 10/31/98 version. I thought they were moving toward Cities, but crafted a graceful ending instead and deliberated a few seconds before settling on Roses. A bunch of my Ween fan friends were hearing Phish's version for the first time, and were very favorably impressed. It didn't jam per se, but it was a blast as it always is. The Wilson > Maze combo was blistering, old school Phish, and Page's organ solo in Maze just fucking destroyed as Trey looked on in awe (Page was ON tonight, I tell you). Best Maze I've heard since 12/11/97. Brian and Robert...what can you say besides the fact that it's like 6 seconds long so how can you mind. I don't know what it has to do with Eno and Fripp, though, either lyrically or musically. Who knows. But Tube was delicious -- I spent most of the time watching the fans behind us dance like crazy people. Easily bested the 12/7 and 12/29/97 versions, imho, with Trey and Page laying down some incredible solo work over the top of Mike and Fish's relentless beats. Hot as shit. Rocky Top ended the short set, but it was so strong that no one really seemed to mind. Way more surgical a strike than either of the spotty first sets at Shoreline, and way fun.
The second set was about two things: Boogie On and Harry Hood. This Boogie On was *one of the most incredible things I've ever seen or heard Phish perform.* It was truly an incorporation of every single weapon the band has in its mighty arsenal, from funk to gawd rawk to type-II corner-turning jams. This was an absolute tour de force, one of those jams that felt like an epic journey and made you forget which tune you were listening to. I can't wait for these tapes to make the rounds... this jam is easily worth the price of a tape, and was easily worth the price of admission. You may soil yourself. I am not kidding. Meatstick was hysterically funny, with Trey explaining to the crowd that "this is the next dance craze to sweep the nation." He took a bunch of volunteers, and the last girl to climb onto the stage was this ratty, filthy blonde who was either piss drunk or rolled out of her mind who'd been flashing her tits to Trey all night (this from my friend in the front row). She had absolutely no idea how to do the dance, but she must have thought she could fake it. She couldn't. She was all over Trey, making an unfathomable fool of herself (I alternated between looking away in embarrassment and roaring in laughter). Aside from the comedy, this tune was a total waste of time. I will cross my fingers for the day when Phish decides to jam the poo out of it; otherwise, give me a Fuckerpants.
Harry Hood... wow. I've been critical of Hoods of late; in fact, I think they peaked in about July of 1994. I've never liked the textural Hoods -- the ones where Trey sort of arpeggiates over the crescendoing chord progression -- even though I respect his democratic intent. I think the best Hoods are the ones where Trey takes the reins and goes apeshit, and this version was exactly that -- a flashback to 1994. The entire band ripped shit to shreds for the last three minutes of this jam, going higher than I thought possible and then higher still. I've heard the 12/31/98 version on tape, and I honestly don't think it compares to this (with the exception of the long opening section). Hood partisans should hear the Chula version at all costs.
Frankenstein was bigger than usual, with a nice little extended loop jam in the middle, and Trey took a nutty little rock star feedback jam at the end of Cavern, waving his strings over the mic in every direction. Contact was great to hear (my first!), and the Tweezer Reprise was a perfect bookend to an efficient, creative, high-energy Phish show. The band seemed to really get off on the crowd and the venue all night long, and vice versa. Terrific show.
Heavy Things - Celebrating the Month of my Birth
At some point in my future I will look back upon those crucial moments when things changed (for better or worse is of no real consequence)in my life. When I conduct this review of significant crossroads, September, 1999 will likely stick out like a sore thumb. The celebration surrounding the thirty-second anniversary of my arrival on planet earth, rather than being restricted to a day or two of revelry, has been a month long cataclysm of death, conflagration, disgust, joy, despair, wonder, shock, elation, self-pity, and finally rebirth. The road ahead may be uphill, but the view from the top (when I reach it) will certainly be spectacular. Through it all, incredible music has carried my heavy heart where I could not have gone alone. For this I am eternally greatful.
Labor day weekend found me heading south and east toward Black Rock City, Nevada. An outpost of the bizarre in the midst of the basin and range of northwest Nevada. Black Rock City, for those who don't know, is a temporary (perhaps temporal, certainly bordering on contemptible) community which bursts forth from the floor of a dessicated lake bed each year under the guise of an art festival known as Burning Man.
The festival is based upon a utopian set of ideals which unfortunately are impossible to achieve. Intended as a "cashless" society of artistic expression where items change hands through a simple barter system, the cost of attending the festival ($90 to $130 CASH depending on when you purchase a ticket) borders on being unreasonable. Somebody is obviously making money from hosting this "cashless" event or it wouldn't be happening. This is an idea which I find to be loaded with hypocrisy considering the undeniable (yet unmentioned) environmental impact Burning Man has upon the Playa.
"Leave no trace" is the motto of the event. Carry in, carry out. Leave the playa better than how we found it. Unfortunately, these ideas apply only to the refuse that leaves behind visible evidence. Volunteers (unpaid?) remain weeks after the event is over picking up the trash, ash, and debris left behind by careless participants. Certainly they are to be commended for their efforts to put a pretty face back on the fire-scarred playa, but this act merely glosses over the much more disturbing truth. Burning Man is an environmental catastrophe of epic proportions. The problem is not so much in what is burned (though the burning of couches borders on frat-boy stupidity), but instead in what is used to start many of the fires. Gasoline, kerosene and mineral spirits by the hundreds of gallons are used to douse piles of combustibles to ensure the conflagration is complete. What goes completely unnoticed is the fact that significant volumes of these petroleum hydrocarbons typically do not soak into the piles of lumber that pass as art. Instead these hazardous chemicals seep into the parched floor of a dry lake bed, irrevocably contaminating the thirsty soil and any groundwater which may lie beneath it. This is atrocious behavior and should be halted at all costs.
Environmental disasters aside, do I feel the event holds any merit? I guess it depends what you are looking for in an art festival. There is plenty of nudity, an ample supply of mind altering substances, the occasional live sex act (the only one I witnessed was man on man), dozens of crappy bands, a few decent ones (I'm sorry I couldn't find 11:11), many VERY talented DJ's spinning everything from jungle beats to KVHW, some unique and inventive artworks, some tasteless yet amusing artworks, an ample supply of mind altering substances, too much cooler than thou artiste attitude, plenty of freaks, and some pretty cool lasers. Oh yeah, and fire, fire, lots of fire. Imagine if Hunter Thompson, Mad Max, and Salvador Dali got together and opened up a summer camp in hell. The burning of the man itself was pretty intense, something like standing next to a Kuwaiti oil refinery that was being obliterated by SCUD missiles. The musical performance of the weekend was unquestionably the Man on the roof of his RV playing the worlds longest guitar solo right before the man burned. I clocked it at somewhere around two hours and it included a stirring rendition of Jimi Hendrix' version of the Star Spangled Banner from Woodstock. Truly impressive.
One word of caution if you do intend to go to Burning Man next year. The dozens of yellow road signs emblazoned with the profile of a queen-sized heifer along the side of those narrow desert highways are NOT a joke. Open range means just that. There WILL be cows in the road. If it is dark and you drive faster than you ought to, you will wreck your vehicle, kill a cow, and quite possibly yourself. I had never seen a cow fly before, I don't ever want to see one do so again. The lesson I learned in all of this is to trust my intuition. I knew we were going to hit the cow an hour before the tragic event occurred, yet I made no mention of it to Master Motorhome. I trusted his judgement and held my tongue. This will not happen again.
The death of the cow provided graphic symbolism for the rest of the weekend, the ensuing month that has followed, and the spirit path I have chosen to follow for the immediate (if not distant) future. As the hours passed in the starlit Nevada desert (it took four hours fo a tow truck to arrive), I attempted to collect both rocks and my thoughts. Thoughts which were burdened with the knowledge that the unique relationship I have enjoyed for the last two years with my best friend was undergoing drastic changes. Changes that had begun back about the time the Godfather made his funky way through on the back of a Chinook Wind. Changes which were now threatening to unravel the very core of my existence.
My once extraordinarily passionate affair had sadly become (much like the cow) complacent and unmoving. Like the now deceased side of beef which lay before me in a ditch, I was painfully unaware that my death (as lover) was speeding towards me until the moment of impact. The fact that he who was the bringer of my heart's doom was also a participant in the burning man festival created an intense personal conflict. On one side of the teetering balance that was my damaged psyche was the happiness I felt that my best friend had met someone new and exciting. In stark counterbalance to that magnanimous feeling, was my completely selfish and jealousy ridden desire to push the bastard into a fire if I happened to find him standing next to one. Thankfully (for all three of us I guess), my path never crossed his. Alone with my thoughts for most of the weekend, I pondered the message delivered to me by the chosen totem of the animal kingdom. I must abandon my complacency, regain my passion, and at all costs get my hooves moving again to avoid the inevitable destruction that stalks the stagnant.
The universal scale of the message I received obviously applied to the environmental calamities I passively observed yet could have changed with action... any action. The personal message I found at Burning Man, while overwhelmingly unsettling if taken at face value, could just as easily be applied to another love relationship I have. The one I share with music in general and Phish specifically. Here again upon self reflection, I found I had become complacent. I was satisfied with what I had, the yearning for more was gone. Seemingly no longer willing to put any effort into improving my relationship with music, I was allowing my love to stagnate and rapidly approach the point where it too may wither and die. Fortunately for me, Phish has opted to undergo another musical metamorphism. In reinventing themselves they have reinjected me with a fire I had lost. I give the "new and improved" Phish 1999 sound a TEN. The music has a groovy beat....and I can dance to it!
The bulk of the month which followed the far too revelatory Burning Man experience was devoted to the good live music that the festival had been for the most part lacking. Over the course of a JAM packed three weeks, I was fortunate enough to attend five devastatingly unique Phish shows, and extremely intimate Ashbury Park acoustic experience, and two Disco Biscuits rave-ups which bordered on complete musical annihilation of my brain stem. The roller coaster of emotions these performances evoked was exceedingly inspirational and served to return me from the land of the lost.
I had not seen (or really heard) Phish since New Year's Eve at Madison Square Garden. I had not heard any of the Trey shows on tape nor anything from the summer tour before my trip up to Vancouver. On the way to Vancouver I listened to one set from one of the summer shows at the Tweeter Center. From this brief exposure I got a small hint of what was to come, but I was still unprepared for the level of intensity that would stream from the stage at the fall shows I was blessed to attend. Most of the new Trey songs have a distinct Latin groove which borders on neolithic trance. Driving, repetitive beats that served to reduce me to the primal elements of my being (much like that incredible invention fire had done to so many participants of Burning Man). MMMMMM... beat is good... MMMMM... must dance now!
The five Phishtravaganzas I saw (Vancouver, both Gorges, Portland, and Houston) have become a multihued tapestry of sight, sound, and emotion in my memory. High points and standout occurrences were: any performance of any new song (Damn the new stuff is so good!); the entire second set of Vancouver; Carini, I Saw it Again, Piper>Fee, Wolfman's Brother>Sand, and Limb by Limb from the Gorge; the entire Portland show (excluding the aftershow pass!); and the crazy raved out version of Also Sprach Zarathustra from Houston (not to mention I caught this show with mom and dad!). I cannot say enough times how much I love the song Sand. Lyrically it carries such a cool message for the Phish scene ("if you can't heal them symptoms, you cannot affect the cause!), while musically the driving beat of the song is huuuuge and just so damn danceable. The swaggering bottom end gives so much room for Trey to poke and prod the hypothalmus with lustful, fiery, transcendant licks that he had me on my knees begging for more at the Gorge. The killer run of shows was a wonderful way to spend my birth month. Good times with good friends (both old and new), allowing me the space I needed to sort through the emotional wreckage that cluttered my brain. Time for the Meatstick, Bury the Meatstick, Take out the Meatstick, Time... whoa shocks my brain.
The one disappointment with my whole Phish adventure (besides the obvious fact that I only caught five shows) was finally getting to the aftershow party (thanks nonetheless Farmer!). Finally, the backstage mystique was to be uncovered. Stepping behind the curtain, hoping to find the band and crew partying like the rock stars they are, I was instead greeted by an aftershow scene consisting of a halfhearted elbowing match between thirty or so people jostling for the six pack of crappy beer that was remaining in the fridge. Obviously (despite Mike's brief appearance) the real deal goes down someplace else. However, I heard that at the Gorge aftershow party there was a keg or two of phatty microbrews. I was once again blessed with the opportunity to meet the vibecrusher (I had met Brad previously at the Northeast Taproom in Reading, PA....Hi Uncle Pete!), like as not he won't remember who the hell I am the next time I run into him either.
Injected into the midst of my fall Phish adventures was a surprising acoustic (guitars anyway) performance from my favorite local act Ashbury Park. The surprise was not so much in the performance, but insteda the fact that they are presently searching for a new bass player. Keyboardist Billy Burdett filled in on the four string admirably as Ashbury Park rocked the two dozen or so faithful (all of whom it seemed managed to cram into the band's van for a between set puff down) that made the trip out to the Rock Creek Tavern in Hillsburrito. I talked with Big E about the new direction the band wants to pursue. From what I heard they will only improve on an already great thing. They are planning to add a clavinet and a hammond organ to Billy's arsenal of boards and are hoping to find a bass player that can lay down the funky beats thick and heavy. I can't wait to hear them again!
Closing out the month long celebration of me was a pair of Disco Biscuits shows that firmly cemented the dancing shoes to my feet, while serving as the rocket assisted boost I needed to leap across the gaping maw of self pity that I found staring up at me from below my precarious perch on the edge of my emotional rift. The first show was an opening slot for Portland's Five Fingers of Funk at the Crystal Ballroom. Though I did not stay for the Five Fingers set (Roy Lee and I finally had THAT talk after bisco), I am CERTAIN the biscuits blew them off the stage. They have cool new rave lights, they have a new lighting tech, their constantly developing sound is now enormous and unrelenting. I found myself pogoing around the floor of the Crystal for over fifty minutes before the band (or the crowd) stopped to take a breath. It was an interstellar orgy of sight, sound, and INSANE body moving grooves. The next day Camp Bisco moved on to Eugene and Woodsmen of the World Hall for a two set headlining gig. Twice as much music and ten times the fun!!! Finally I got to hear the elusive (for me) Bisco cover of Run Like Hell and was justifiably impressed, especially when it was reprised in the midst of the second set.
This past month of incredible music had the power to soothe the savage beasts of jealousy and despair that swirled within my skull for far too long. I now look forward to the trip to Big Cypress with Roy Lee, Master and Mistress Motorhome, and all the rest of you with an open mind an open heart, and a SERIOUS need to get DOWN!!! Please check out Phish, Ashbury Park, and the Disco Biscuits if they come near you, and above all watch out for the cows.
Disco Biscuits Review
Northwest TourLove 'em or hate 'em, one thing is hard to dispute about the Disco Biscuits: the foursome from Philadelphia is constantly pushing the musical envelope. This fall's Northwest tour, which ran from Vancouver, BC on Sept. 28 to Arcata, CA on Oct. 2, proved no exception.
From the dub-style jamming in the Vancouver opener, "Down to the Bottom," to the rarely-played "Rainbow Song" encore at Arcata, the Biscuits delivered five nights of wow-'em, get-'em-down and knock-'em-dead music that liberated many spirits. One of which was this writer, who was on his first prolonged tour with the band, but has been collecting and listening to their shows since the beginning of 1999.
What follows is an attempt to encapsulate an experience that defies words. In other words, see them yourselves, I cannot begin to do justice to just how much fun a DB show is.
Vancouver: The city that never sleeps. Wait, that's New York. How about the city where everything is just slightly off-kilter, eh? Before the encore, the Biscuits did their best to explain how strange Canada is to us Americans, but it was their music, not their words, that best showed how strangely this place affects us Yanks.
The first set highlighted a strong, extremely techno-based show, with solid showings from the whole band, especially guitarist Jon "Barber" Gutwillig. "Vasillios>Pygmy Twylight>Hot Air Baloon" was one of the highlights of the whole tour, as the band lifted the energy of the Canucks somewhere close to the Arctic Circle.
And of all the Northwest show, this was the one where Gutwillig best got his swerve on. His lightning-quick fanning on "Aceetobee" to open set two showed that this is a guitarist who can stir souls with the best of them. While the second set seemed to drag on a bit, they closed it with an uproarious "House Dawg Party Favor" that had those who'd sat for a breather back on the dance floor.
Seattle: One look around this crowd and venue and I am struck by this realization: this is a very strange city! Fairy wings fluttered on the backs of many, an oldster known to friends as "The Commander" showed us youngun's how to get down, a man dressed in a lizard suit turned several heads and the décor of the venue, the Tractor Tavern, was, well, all about hangin' leather boots, corn stalks and of course, a tractor tire. Add to an extremely dark and foggy interior the band's spookiest show of the tour and you've got one hell of an odd show.
First set focused more on lighter, bouncy jams and included a monster "Bernstein and Chasnoff" and a song that got even the most cynical and grounded of crowd members hopping a bit, "Little Lai."
The second set, however, skewered into the stratosphere with the break-beat heavy "Splattums" opener, which highlights drummer Sam Altman's unique sense of rhythmic timing. After Gutwillig rode his guitar to musical nirvana with "Once the Fiddler Paid," the band delved right back into the magical weirdness with a very, very long "Mindless Dribble>I-Man." How long was it? Long enough that they didn't play an encore. And from the looks of the sweaty crowd after the "I-Man," not many were needing more.
While Vancouver and Seattle offered many treats, it was Portland and points further south that made this tour a special one. The Portland show stands out because of the extremely bouncy venue: the Crystal Ballroom. The Ballroom has a suspended dance floor which bounces the more the dancers boogie on it.
The Biscuits co-billed the evening and opened, giving many Portlanders their first taste of Bisco. And from the get-go, the crowd bounced and boogied like it was full of Tiggers and Snoopies. "Voices Insane>Above the Waves>Little Betty Boop" was the show highlight, and the beautiful ballad "News From Nowhere" cooled the crowd off before the Biscuits left them hopping with the anthem "Pilin' it High." Up until the Eugene show, the Biscuits hadn't really teased too many songs. What better place than the W.O.W. Hall, which looked an elementary school gymnasium, to explore new territory and settle the age-old question, "Is Little Shimmy in a Conga Line a better song than 'The Thieving Magpies?'" For the record, Brownstein, who began this conversation during the "Shimmy" jam, favored "Magpies" because it's been around for hundreds of years, while Gutwillig, who wrote "Shimmy," chose "Shimmy," claiming it was a case of beginner's luck. The band teased "Magpies" all night before finally playing the whole song to end set two.
While Eugene is a head-friendly town, it has nothing on Arcata, where this traveler didn't run into one non-head! From the serene overcast day to the crowded town square, which was full of amazing chalk drawings advertising local businesses, the pre-show vibe welcomed tourheads with open arms. The band played at the Café Tomo, a sushi bar that looked pretty darn small compared to the previous two nights, but turned out to be just the right size for the get-down Saturday night crowd. While set one featured such winners as "The Overture," "Hot Air Baloon," "Plan B" and "Spaga," it was set two that had the crowd beaming from ear-to-ear once out in the misty night air.
The opener, "House Dawg Party Favor" proved the perfect song to throw down on, as it stretched to a mind-boggling 29 minutes. The beautiful and complex "The Very Moon" followed and just as the band was about to go into one of their show stoppers, "Basis for a Day," they broke into another, "Above the Waves." What a perfect song for this town near the mighty Pacific! After going into the ending of "Spaga" from "Waves", the Biscuits left the stage momentarily, before melting what was left of the crowd's minds with an insane "Mindless Dribble>Morph Dusseldorf ending."
Overall, the Biscuits proved on this tour that they are continuing to improve their musical focus and mastery, without losing sight of what made them what they are: pioneering spirits.
Robert Cray Band
September 25, 1999 - Warfield Theater, San Francisco, CAAs I joined the exiting masses from the Warfield on September 25th(in a mesmerized daze of complete happiness), I overheard a middle-aged woman offer her own review of the evening's featured attraction: "that may have been the best show I've ever seen". While I can't be sure if that woman is a frequent concert goer, whose shoe box full of ticket stubs lend credibility to her statement, I must agree that any person who claims the Robert Cray Band's performance to be the greatest of their witnessing, should not feel cheated.
With Robert Cray leading the way, the band filled the venue with a potent dosage of soulfully passionate blues. Frontman Robert Cray, a personable virtuoso with a laid back approach, is pure blues. His presence on stage conveyed a riveting emotion manifested in the wailing of his guitar and the exhilarating zeal of his vocals. A striking image on stage, Cray stood amid a haze of red and blue lighting holding onto his various guitars as they shook the room with this artist's superhuman licks. At times, it seemed as if Cray's instruments were playing themselves; and that his fingers were the gateway to an unseen inferno that only blues guitarists might bridge.
Add to the mix, a wildly talented cast, and a night of epic results became inevitable. On organ and piano, Jim Pugh provided rollicking solos of his own in addition to some very smooth melodies which more than once hinted at gospel. The two man Memphis horn section, consisting of trumpet and saxophone, brought to the stage elements of jazz. Two very talented musicians in their own right, the Memphis Horns contributed a subtle yet significant ingredient to the amazing collection of musicians and their influences. Combine these talents with Kevin Hayes drumming and Karl Severeid's thumping basslines, and an astonishing result was enjoyed by a fortunate audience.
Clearly, one of Cray's greatest strengths clearly is his stage presence. A very engaging personality, Cray seemed at ease on stage as he hummed, chatted, and continually smiled between songs (even just moments after intense expression). All the while, Cray somehow managed the illusion that the Warfield was a cozy bar rather than a medium sized theater. Watching this master blues man clutch his guitar, with body taught and passion written across his brow, incarnated on stage the image of rare breed of musicians who cannot be forgotten. At the same time, Cray's striking poses, and the sounds of his playing inspired in me a hunger to seize all future opportunities to see this legend.
In short, Robert Cray is a triple threat performer. He combines mastery of his instrument and inspired vocals with a true professional stage presence. For any person curious to feel the empowering energy aroused by great blues playing, The Robert Cray Band is the show that should not be missed.
The Big Wu
October 8, 1999 - The Highliner, Seattle, WAFor the first time in quite a while, I went and saw live music two days in a row. I started out Friday night by attending my first Big Wu show in Seattle. This Minneapolis-based band is one that I had heard of, but never actually heard. One of the members writes a column at jambands.com, called The Tao of Wu. In it he discusses his philosophy on music, the scene, touring and being in a band. He writes so joyously about what he is doing and what he believes in, that you can help thinking he must be a really cool guy. So I thought I should support him and his band as they came through Seattle. Besides, I was curious, what would they sound like? I knew they were part of the burgeoning jam band scene, but that is a rather elastic genre covering everything from psychedelic bluegrass to acid jazz. I wanted to find out for myself where The Big Wu stood in this spectrum.
So when I discovered they were Seattle bound, I talk a several friends into going down to The Highliner for the show. This was a rare outing for the four of us, in that we are all married with children. Thus, our time together is rarely at a tavern listening to live music, a far cry from the riotous days of yore. So, no matter what, night laid out interestingly before us.
The Highliner is a tavern, which, until Friday night, I knew only by reputation. In my mind, it was a sorta hippie hangout down by the fishing fleet with pretty much a local clientele. Given these facts and that The Big Wu, at least as far as I knew, was completely unknown in Seattle, I expected that we would be the only ones there. And if not the only ones, at least the only ones there who were there for the band. An excellent opportunity to check out and support a band on the road.
Naïve me. We arrived shortly before the advertised start time to find the place packed to the gills with people and even several tapers. At its peak, there had to be at least 300 people there. And, strangely enough, the band no where in sight. Since inquiring minds want to know these kinds of things, I went to the bar, bought a pitcher and inquired as to the whereabouts of the band. "Running late" was his reply. Good enough for me. I took the pitcher back to my friends and proceeded to chat away.
About a half hour later, I noticed people coming in with sound equipment and musical instruments. A short time later, the band got up on stage and, without a sound check, started playing. Nice move. I think it sort of took people a bit by surprise. None of that namby-pamby, we'resorrywe'relateourvanbrokedown,wegotlostetc.wegottagetreadytoplay hokum. They just got up there and started playing. Cool! And the sound was very good. Somebody clearly on their side that night (though where they were when they were trying to get to the Highliner is subject to debate).
Since I know nothing about their songs, I have no idea what was played other than the obvious covers. The band started out with a couple of those swingy Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks sorta numbers that seem so popular these days, while nice, I suppose, did nothing to spin my ticker, though others in the audience seemed to enjoy them immensely. But long about song number three or so, the music got much more interesting. Overall, their sound was a musical stew touching on a variety of sounds, a little Phish here, a lot of Dead, there. A little bit of this and a touch of that. You get the idea. Yeah, there was a lot of noodle rock going on, and they seemed damn proud of it.
Never having seen The Big Wu before, I really don't know how representative that show was, but it seemed like the band never really jelled into a sound all their own. But I often got flashes of something their worth waiting for. Occasionally, the groove was there and given the right opportunity, I think the potential is there for something special. And, they were entertaining, enough so that I went and bought the CD, Tracking Buffalo Through the Bathtub. Which, after several listens, seems fairly representative of the sounds I heard Friday night.
My only real complaint was all the Garcia/Dead tunes the band covered. At least six as I recall. What's up with that? Yeah, they are great songs, and they actually did some interesting thing with a few of them, but the world is full of great music, why limit your choices that way? Spread your covers around I say!
Bottom line? Did I enjoy myself? You betcha! Would I see them again? Yes! Would I recommend them to a friend? In a second!
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