Weekend Reviews
Legend was late, but made up for it with charm
Soul: John Legend
Psychedelic rock: Rusted Shut/Rubble/Comets of Fire/the Arm/Tussle/Double
Art: "Object"
Roots rock: The Derailers
Pop: Voxtrot
Web posted: July 4, 2005
Admittedly, we were a little ticked at John Legend for taking his time showing up after opening act Lyfe (competent, double-A level R&B balladry) at Stubb's on a simmering Saturday night. But the rising neo-soul star has a way of making you forgive him.
After only a couple of songs, we were as thoroughly sweet-talked as the women Legend makes dubious promises to in sly songs like "I Can Change" and "Number One." Legend, a protιgι of Kanye West, alternated between the piano and working the crowd from the front of the stage. His talents are sure, his charisma effortless.
Opening with "Let's Get Lifted," Legend kept the crowd lifted for a 70-minute main set, highlighted by the sinuous "Used to Love U," the beautifully understated "Ordinary People" (as fine as songwriting gets) and the rapturous "So High." But the real proof of Legend's star power came in the encore, when he got away with singing "Refuge (When It's Cold Outside)" to an audience soaked in sweat.
"Relax," the singer seemed to say, "you're always in a cool place with me."
Sarah Lindner
Psychedelic rock
EXCELLENT MELDING OF HOT, COLD
With temps in the mid-80s at night, outdoor shows can be rough going. Fortunately, the air conditioning at Emo's was fixed a few weeks ago; now it's like a meat locker in the front room and a stale beer sauna out back.
All of which came into play Saturday night. Rusted Shut, Rubble and Comets of Fire played outside: three excellent bands loud, heavy, noisy psychedelic rock played with nerve, power and flailing drummers. Inside, the sounds proved more diverse, more esoteric, more catholic, but no less odd: locals the Arm, tri-drummered rockers Tussle and brilliant fractured pop band the Double. Fans ran back and forth between the hot and the cool, the raw getting cooked outside and the cooked kept cold indoors.
After a muscular (ha!) set by the Arm, Rusted Shut played the big stage. The one-time quartet played a third of the set as a duo of drummer Domokos and head cheese Don Walsh. Walsh still has the sickest guitar tone in Texas, and it was rendered even more bent when a second guitarist finally joined them, glass slide in hand. Perfect skree, but whither the bassist?
Tussle got rolling indoors while Rusted played: three drummers, one keyboard, no mercy. The band's polyrhythmic punk couldn't get more than a handful to dance, but maybe that was due to nausea-inducing bass tones. Fabulously percussive, but stomach-churning.
Rubble, an Austin psychedelic supergroup with bits of Iron Kite, Baby Robots and the Butthole Surfers, move ever close to actual songs, though words such as "close" and "song" are relative. They still make an unholy racket, King Coffey remains one of the most egregiously-slept-on drummers of the punk age, and the noise starts to swing awfully hard.
In a completely different way, the Double's tunes also double as litmus tests for the idea of song. There are riffs, melodies and beats; they're just put together sideways. Heavier and more up-front than on recordings, David Greenhill's plaintive vocals and Don Beaman's surrealist guitar could make these guys a Pavement for the 21st century.
Outside, Comets on Fire pounded and sweated in near exhaustion, a righteous set for the second to last night of a grueling summer tour (sayeth the drummer, stinking of, um, herbs : "I just want to go home"). Though the guy playing the Echoplex was sporting the sort of ironic moustache that should be made a felony unless you are a cop or a leather daddy, Comets were all heart, heat and hideous noise, psychedelia boiling over on a boiling summer night.
Joe Gross
Art
'OBJECT' OF THEIR OBSESSION PROVES INSPIRING
Thank goodness obsessive people such as Lance Letscher, Lauren Levy and Steve Wiman have directed their considerable energy to making art. The three Austinites all doyens of the art scene share a fixation with quotidian old things. And all show off terrific new work in "Object," now at D. Berman Gallery.
Letscher continues generating his beguiling collages of old paper and book parts. But he's gotten a little more whimsical and looser. Now frenzied groupings of vintage airplanes populate his compositions and he even covers a pair of deck shoes with paper scraps inside and out to a delightful effect.
After experimenting unsuccessfully with photography, Levy returns to making her rotund, creaturelike sculpture from dozens of old buttons strung on wire. But now she gives them a quirky twist with bundles of old pencils that protrude cartoonishly from the mass of buttons.
Would that we all had Wiman's eye for combining pieces of junk in delightful ways our closets and attics would look so much better. Whether he's stacking old books into an orderly tower or combining scarves and pottery shards, Wiman knows how to make the overlooked look beautiful.
But the real surprise in this exhibit is Gladys Poorte. Though she has chalked up just a few group shows, Poorte impresses with her imaginative paintings. Using armatures and fabric, she sets up miniature landscapes and populates them with toys, then renders the scenes on canvas using lush brushstrokes. Vaguely impressionistic, vaguely baroque, Poorte's paintings are potent. They tease with their obscure stories and demand that you look - and then look again.
"Object" continues noon to 5 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays through July 30 at D. Berman Gallery, 1701 Guadalupe St. Free. 477-8877. www.dbermangallery.com.
Jeanne Claire van Ryzin
Roots rock
DERAILERS HIT A BAD NOTE
Time travel was afoot Friday as dozens of revelers sashayed and shimmied their way across the dancefloor of the Continental Club at the Derailers show. Tunes reminiscent of a certain King - yet more countrified - washed over the band's twirling-in-action audience. The Austin band was composed of weathered veterans of rock 'n' roll; the frontman sported the trademark sunglasses and the big hair.
If a band's on-stage success is determined by the sway its music exerts over an audience, Friday's performance would've been judged triumphant. It wasn't.
Well into the 100-plus minute set, it became clear that the crowd wasn't there so much to listen and appreciate the music; they were there to dance. Any handy Elvis cover band or jukebox filled with '50s standards could've sufficed.
The Derailers' set itself was shamelessly derivative, with a lot of the same-old, same-old and very few singular songs.
"Play Me The Waltz of the Angels" faltered over a bland arrangement and insipid lyrics. "One More Time" was soporifically redundant, while "You're Looking At The Man" felt overdone and glitzed-up with overwrought vocals and striking keyboards.
The songs that moseyed along to a languid pace proved to be the night's winners. The serious cowboy ballad "I See My Baby," with its staccato drumbeat and haunting guitar strums, proved the band hides a heart beneath its polished veneer. Vocal soul even radiated fon "I'm Still Missing You" against the track's bare skeletal framework and delicate guitar.
These songs remained in the minority, however, as the band preferred the up-tempo kickers which got the crowd into a dancing frenzy but also destroyed whatever musical merit the night had.
Robert Winterode
Pop
EARLY SETBACKS COULDN'T STOP VOXTROT'S SHOW
It's hard being a beginner band.
After starting an hour late because of a broken vocal amp and dealing with a faulty drumstick during the performance, Austin's Voxtrot like any beginner band with little luck but lots of pluck managed to eke out a 35-minute set during its in-store concert at End of an Ear record store. The group did supply their patient audience with libations, however, including a much-appreciated keg.
Voxtrot definitely plays in the vein of post-punk neo-New Wave '80s revivalists (Interpol, Franz Ferdinand, and the Killers.) Unlike their contemporaries either because of chosen aesthetic or their music's limited production values they seem to be channeling a chill vibe, one less frantic and gimmicky than indie rock's current flavors-of-the-months. Voxtrot stays truer to the music of its forefathers, including the Smiths, Gang of Four and Joy Division, while, at the same time, sounding entirely distinct and new.
And with these influences, the group fashioned an enjoyable set of subtle, low-key pop gems. The songs contain stellar lyricisms ("I will never live like you but you will probably die like me") and a high hooks-per-song ratio.
The band already has unveiled its anthem: "The Start of Something." With a melody that seems stripped from the background music of the latest Volkswagen or iTunes commercial, the song stands alone as a beautifully written, doe-eyed ballad to a new love. While its lyrics were sung in lead singer Ramesh Srivastava's indecipherable warble, the song's meaning is clearly transparent just like the best pop music.
Other songs shone similarly. "Missing Pieces" could compete with any of the latest Brit pop, while "Raised By Wolves" is another awesomely infectious ditty (about love) that skitters artfully and boasts a sly ska riff.
In a lot of ways, the band sounded as if they've already arrived on the national scene. In fact, Voxtrot could be the next big thing; they just need to work some kinks out first.
Robert Winterode
