South by Southwest band reviews
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
- Elvis Costello (La Zona Rosa, 12 a.m.)
- Hella (Emo's Jr., 1 a.m.)
- Mono (Eternal, 1 a.m.)
- American Music Club (The Vibe, 1 a.m.)
- The Zom Zoms (Chuggin' Monkey, 1 a.m.)
- Billy Idol (Stubb's, 12 a.m.)
- The Donnas (Stubb's, 11 p.m.)
- Jennifer Gentle (Emo's Main, 9 p.m.)
- Sean Costello, Hubert Sumlin (Antone's, 8 p.m.)
- Dr. Dog (Soho Lounge, 10 p.m.)
- Robyn Hitchcock (Emo's, 8 p.m.)
- By Any Means Necessary (Redrum, 8 p.m.)
Meet Elvis Costello — guitarist?
Elvis Costello
La Zona Rosa, 12 a.m.
Marrying a jazz musician has turned
Elvis Costello into a new man. Back in the day, the guitarist-by-default considered his chops so lacking that he nicknamed himself L.H.C. — Little Hands of Concrete. But since hooking up with singer-pianist Diana Krall, he seems to have
ferociously applied himself to his instrument. During Costello's two-plus hour gig at La Zona Rosa, he played solo after solo — most of them brief, but all of them respectable. During a long version of 1981's "Clubland," he actually played two solos — which is two more than he used to play in an entire show. (And one of them quoted Leonard Bernstein's "I Feel Pretty"!) Actually, there was a lot of everything; Costello and The Imposters (longtime Attractions Steve Naive and Pete Thomas on keyboards and drums and Davey Faragher on bass) whipped through 29 songs by my count. Many of them were from the band's recent, pretty good album, "The Delivery Man," though Costello wisely warmed up the crowd with two vintage favorites, "King's Horse" and "Uncomplicated."
It was the old semi-hits — "Radio, Radio," "Blame It On Cain," "I Don't Want to Go to Chelsea," "Pump It Up," "Mystery Dance" and "High Fidelity" — that, predictably, got the most response from the audience. But when the show hit a lull at the mid-point, it was, unpredictably, the new "Monkey to Man," not the can't-miss "Watching the Detectives," that brought the show back to life. If the crowd occasionally seemed listless, though, the same couldn't be said for Costello and his stagemates. For a guy who's been doing this for three decades, he's admirably committed to his intention, declared earlier that day at the convention center, not to become an oldies act. His voice, which was a somewhat tentative instrument even when he was a young man, has taken
on a surprising strength. Having gotten a lot of ill-advised crooning out of his system in the '90s, he's turned bracingly aggressive with his phrasing, which can veer from behind the beat to a Dylan-esque rush of words to a hoarse shout that would hold its own in front of a metal
band.
The band was just as assertive, though less fluid — they hammered at almost every song as if it was "Pump It Up," as if they had decided to turn themselves into a Little Band of Concrete. This proved wearying after an hour or so, and you half suspected that they were trying so hard because the new songs, for the most part, aren't as good as the old ones. But give them credit — well after 1 a.m., when plenty of bands would be shutting down, Costello and the Imposters revved the
crowd back up with a breathless near-medley of covers, old faves and new songs. They probably didn't convince anyone that "The Delivery Man" is another "Get Happy!!," but they probably convinced everyone that they might have another "Get Happy!!" in them.
— Jeff Salamon
Hella is, well, awesome
Hella
Emo's Jr., 1 a.m.
Donald Rumsfeld - or whoever's in charge of deploying troops to that mess over there - should commission Hella to play atop tanks roaming hot spots. The poor Iraqis will hear the apocalyptic, maniacal, robotic drumming of bare-chested Zach Hill (he plays more furiously than any drummer currently in the game, as evidenced by the minute fractions of seconds between percussive hits over the course of Hella's Friday-night set at Emo's Jr.) and plead to the U.S. government that they really, truly are over the toppling of Saddam Hussein, and if left to their own accord, a new day will eventually dawn.
Hill's counterpart in the Sacramento-based metal band disguised as nomadic hippies impressionable to the teachings of a demigod like Charlie Manson, is guitarist Spencer Seim.
He carries an aquamarine axe to match his aquamarine ... bib? Mini-frock? In between tickling his fret like Steve Vai, and breaking his neck with head-bobs that leave his sweaty, stringy hair entwined in an overgrown beard, he sends telepathic shout-outs to the band’s recently added
guitarist/keyboardist/tape-loop operator/spot-singer - who’s name isn’t on the band’s Web site or press materials.
Meanwhile, an unidentified bassist with an orange t-shirt bearing a carved-pumpkin's face sits on the floor, out of the way, trying to establish a through-line for each person’s solo. Deep within the chaos is a mathematical pattern that attests to the virtuosity of Hella, a term used in California as an adjective to express awesomeness. Sort of, like, the way the Scandinavian dudes nearby me were hella blown away by Hella’s white-bread, American fury.
— Michael Hoinski
Mono could drive a person batty
Mono
Eternal, 1 a.m.
It's amazing that I didn't break down and have a seizure during
Mono's experimental rock set at Eternal. Judging from the way the four Tokyo head-bangers sustained their songs into epic expressions of emotional despair, that was probably their goal. True to the mainstream of experimental rock, their emotions were conveyed strictly instrumentally and without the use of lyrics. Each song began in the same way—the droning lull of a sodden note, which they nurtured with even more electric purring. But these slow drones weren’t enough to hold the audience's attention. By the end of the second song, I was drunk on reverb, which seemed to be what these recording studio lab rats feed on. It was the sharp percussion that carried each song, chiseling a trance-splintered mold into the otherwise spineless ensemble. Thankfully, the repertoire improved with the third song's psychedelic bending, which invoked a hopeful feeling, a nice change from the disturbing mood that had plagued the first 20 minutes.
— Jeff McCrary
A bad Vibe for the American Music Club
American Music Club
The Vibe, 1 a.m.
If The Vibe owns a clock, they were using it as a dartboard Wednesday night, when a series of lapses snowballed and the
American Music Club were still soundchecking at 10 minutes to closing time. It would be enough to annoy the calmest band leader, and Mark Eitzel is a notch or two below Zen Master; for him, it was a cue for collapse. Eitzel channeled some of the frustration into compellingly dramatic vocals on opener "Outside This Bar," but the angst wouldn't be contained. He found his guitar hard to control and threw it to the ground; he tried to do away with a mike stand and wound up stumbling across the stage; he tried to joke about the awkwardness and ended up volleying half-serious obscenities with the crowd. Eitzel could only endure it
for 30 minutes - he promised fans a better set at a Thursday day party - but left the stage with a keeper: An emotional rendition of "Patriot's Heart" in which he crawled a very fine line between self-mockery and anguish. It was worth the wait, even if it didn't seem to help the singer get any peace of mind.
— John DeFore
Monkey-goers end up in the Zoms' palms
The Zom Zoms
Chuggin' Monkey, 1 a.m.
"I can't hear a single thing, but let's do it," said one of the three Zom Zoms during the preliminary sound check. While the jackasses in "Jackass the Movie" were wrecking rented cars on the Chuggin' Monkey's TV screen,
the Zom Zoms' lead singer — who won't tell reporters his real name — sang along to the Darkness on the jukebox, then busted into the weirdest flashback to pre-sophisticated video games demonstrable by man. If Kenny Loggin's "Danger Zone" were slowed down, sped back up, then slowed down again over the span of an hour, and the screams of an
ant-covered 12 year-old playing video games were dubbed over it, that would sound kind of like the Zom Zoms. A dark and refreshing three-piece, all were dressed in rainbow polka dot shirts and red pants. Singer "Zom Philmapster" seemed electrocuted by "Hyper Lenny" when he played it, and the other two backed him in charming synth-punk fashion. Coincidentally, during one song the electricity went out for a while, but the crowd's dedication persisted, as they cheered for the
band to start the same song again. Lesson learned. Obnoxious, sputtering sound effects sound especially obnoxious at 1 in the morning. And this is a good thing, because the Monkey was half empty when the Zoms started, but full again by its keytar-studded finale.
— Margaret Myrick
For Billy Idol, a nice night to start again
Billy Idol
Stubb's, 12 a.m.
When I commented to a Halloween party host that we don’t see any "White Wedding" costumes anymore, and he didn't know what I meant, it was a sure sign that
Billy Idol had fallen into "Who?" land. The beleaguered bride in the video for one of his biggest hits was once an Oct. 31 staple. But Idol's Stubb's set Wednesday proved he's not ready for the '80s graveyard yet – or that he's back among the musically living, at least. Idol performed an energetic, nearly two-hour set filled with appealing new rockers and ballads, and new arrangements of his greatest hits, including "Flesh for Fantasy" and, yes, "White Wedding." It took him a couple of songs to get warmed up, but once he got rolling, Idol was every bit the sneering, air-punching guy we knew and loved. More mature, yes, but not more sedate. And if he’s been nipped or tucked, so what? He looked good. And he certainly did the body work himself – and showed it off. Introducing a new song, "Scream," he shouted, "I'll give you something to scream about!" and whipped off his shirt to cheers. Yep, he's still got it – and he’s got a hot band to pick up any slack. Guitarist Steve Stevens nearly owned the stage – including a lengthy, and well-deserved, solo. But it was Idol’s show, and way past the midnight hour, with a rebel yell, he proved he’s still got more, more, more.
— Lynne Margolis
The Donnas supply a taste of real girl power
The Donnas
Stubb's, 11 p.m.
We can't escape the fact that, because they're a group of girls,
the Donnas are still a novelty. That said, they're a great rock band – not just a great female band. And it's wonderful to see women who aren’t afraid to rock – hard – because it is still such a rarity. Yes, they learned most of what they know from male rock bands. But so did other male rock bands. In their severely abbreviated South By Southwest showcase set at Stubb's, the girls whipped through songs with the speed of their original inspirations, the Ramones, and the glee of AC/DC – which guitarist Allison Robertson clearly worships. She got most of her moves from AC/DC guitarist Angus Young, but her skill is all her own. She's one of the best guitarists on the rock scene today. Working through several cuts from their new CD, "Gold Medal," as well as older favorites including the teaser, "Take it Off," the Donnas showed their appreciation for good old, simple pop songs as well. They go for simplicity in their show and their lyrics – heck, they still plug in their mikes and guitars – but the musicianship comes through. And they don’t even break a sweat. Now that’s girl power.
— Lynne Margolis
Hearing the many faces of Jennifer Gentle
Jennifer Gentle
Emo's Main, 9 p.m.
Keep it like a secret:
Jennifer Gentle has a split personality. One song Italian frontman and guitarist Marco Fasolo is shredding all the muscle and cartilage in his throat with guttural invocations on par with fellow Sub Pop label mates Kurt Cobain and Mark Arm of Mudhoney. Another song he is pouty and brooding, somewhere between an adult forcing himself to talk (or sing) like a silly kid and that totally mellow-yellow British cat whom Dylan embarrassed in the song-off in D.A. Pennebaker's "Don't Look Back." (You know who you are, Donovan.) Yet another song the extravagantly mop-topped Fasolo, along with original band mate, drummer Alessio Gastaldello, and the second guitarist, bassist and keyboardist added for the show at Emo's, is on a vision quest to open the doors that Syd Barrett couldn't unlock in "Lucifer Sam," the song from which the lyric "Jennifer Gentle" is appropriated for the band's name. A floor-bound, blood-draining-to-ankles, foot-constantly-scratching-calf crowd had simply ridden the waves of drone and experimentation too long by the time "I Do Dream You" was delivered. Clocking in at under two minutes, 30 seconds (at least on their U.S. debut, "Valende"), it's a swirling, blistering marriage of fast-and-furious guitar flourishes from the '50s and keyboard-poking, tambourine-rattling, kazoo-blowing schtick from the '60s that, once it infects a CD player, is played over and over and over. Perhaps the players in Jennifer Gentle aren't the only ones in need of a shrink.
— Michael Hoinski
A bit of blues history at Antone's
Sean Costello, Hubert Sumlin
Antone's, 8 p.m.
When
Sean Costello took to the Antone's stage for his hour of gospel rock and Georgia blues, few had any idea what would follow — a potential milestone in blues history. Costello — no relation to Elvis ... yet — warmed the crowd with "I Get a Feeling" and "No Half Steppin' " — upbeat songs that basked in Ray Charles' Southern sunshine. Costello cringed with giddiness during his many flashy solos. Keyboardist Matt Wauchope's efforts while covering Bob Dylan's "A Simple Twist of Fate" suggested a candy-box treatment, especially considering Costello's fresh vocals, which sounded like they'd never had a bad day. Impressive new drummer Ray Hagen recently broke his right foot but didn't miss a beat with his left backup.
And then it was Hubert Sumlin's turn. Playing as if he stepped straight off a Mississippi backporch, Sumlin greased the stage smooth with the help of Costello's band. Together they revived Howlin' Wolf's "Little Red Rooster" and Muddy Waters' "I'm Ready" with a Delta-blues reverence that would make their next two guests proud. Ninety-one-year-old Grammy Hall of Famer Pinetop Perkins introduced himself to the crowd with the understatement: "I got some CDs for sale." Who can blame him? Perkins set fire to Sumlin's grease with his boogie-woogie piano (too bad Antone's sound system could not do it justice). With two guitarists, two keyboardists, one finely attuned harpist, an underestimated bassist and a drummer with a broken foot, it seemed as if the stage would be too cramped to accommodate someone as big as say, Elvis Costello. But it did. Dressed in black and sporting his signature shades, this Costello revved the energy so high that the crowd had to be scraped from the ceiling, blissful but satisfied with a bit of blues history.
— Jeff McCrary
High-energy Dr. Dog carrying on rock torch
Dr. Dog
Soho Lounge, 10 p.m.
Dr. Dog's hair and beards look the way their debut record, "Easy Beat," sounds: Unkempt and limp, but unkempt and limp
just so. On "Easy Beat," the very young band — already hyped by The New York Times — comes awfully close to making a fetish of its imperfections but earns its flack with some sharp songwriting. Live, the band has little use for any variety of shambling, other than the visual. Singer-guitarist Scott McMicken started off the set jumping up and down like he was fronting the world's last ever skiffle group, and the band took its cue from his energy level. Dr. Dog played six songs from "Easy Beat" and two that probably nobody but the die-hards in the audience recognized. From start to finish, they demonstrated a sure grasp of classic rock history from Merseybeat to Pavement. The band, which hails from Philadelphia, is lucky to have two excellent singers, who are easy to tell apart: McMicken has the appealingly wizened voice, while bassist Toby Leaman has the appealingly rough-hewn voice. Guitarist Andrew Jones, keyboardist Zach Miller and drummer Juston Stens largely kept their mouths shut but provided enough noise to quiet any doubts about the band's commitment to rocking. It was the kind of show that could persuade a rock critic verging on middle age that it's OK to walk away from the scene — the music's in good hands.
— Jeff Salamon
A low-key Robyn Hitchcock cools the weirdness
Robyn Hitchcock
Emo's, 8 p.m.
The fact that
Robyn Hitchcock is playing approximately 37 times at this year's festival was no deterrent to the room full of fans who made his Emo's show their first South by Southwest set of 2005. They were rewarded with a solo acoustic concert that, while surprisingly short, was a nice appetizer for Hitchcock's SXSW domination program. The singer kept his songs low-key and the weird banter to a minimum, pausing only for a teasing allusion to the effect of guitar-tuning on pet gerbils. He played only one song from his new album, "Spooked," but it was a highlight. On the set-ending "Full Moon in My Soul," his sometimes distracted mood became about as sweet as a surrealist can be. Elsewhere, there was talk of Cynthia masks, tarantulas and dissolving Romeos, all of which he'll have ample opportunity to explain as this weekend wears on.
— John DeFore
By Any Means Necessary still finding its way
By Any Means Necessary
Redrum, 8 p.m.
Playing their first South by Southwest showcase, the unripe Austinites in By Any Means Necessary double-kicked and screamed their way into a series of Cannibal Corpse rip-offs. If they looked a little young, it's because they are. Drummer Jake Jarmon isn't yet out of high school. The band has been playing together since January 2004. They released an EP, "Death to Peace," just a few months later, and their video, "Abysmal," has enjoyed generous airplay on the Austin Music Network. The band is popular wherever metal is played in Austin, but as musicians, they are still coming into their own. The singer, Adam Wright, sounds like a 20-year-old composite of Chris Barnes and Phil Anselmo. The bassist, Stephen Fernandez, is a smooth engine on the group's recordings but made the sound system buzz annoyingly at Redrum. Guitarist Bobby Schwaegel has the necessary liquid/fire metal solo skills, but it's nothing that hard-core metal fans haven't heard before. Maybe by next year they will have had time to digest their influences.
— Margaret Myrick
