Weekend Reviews
Elvis himself would smile on Roddy's tribute show
By Joe GrossJanuary 15, 2004
Much as early Christians divined redemption from Jesus' darkest moments and serious Woody Allen fans find merit in "Another Woman," Ted Roddy seeks, year after year, to celebrate Elvis Presley's oft-denigrated Vegas period. At a packed Continental Club Friday night -- the first of four shows over two days --Roddy's King Conjure Orchestra insisted on treating this music not as rhinestone-laden kitsch for the large-hair set, but as music.
Roddy avoids any trappings of fat-Elvis mockery: no comic-book jumpsuit, no fake mutton chops, no accent when he's not singing. It's like watching Chevy Chase imitate Gerald Ford; it doesn't matter that the artist doesn't look like the character, so long as he nails his persona -- or, in Roddy's case, The Voice.
Roddy has Elvis's singing style down cold, and his 10-piece band moves fluidly and energetically from rockabilly ("Return to Sender," "Don't Be Cruel") to the near-showtunes ("My Way," "Bridge Over Troubled Water") that sullied Presley's later work. And yes, they opened the 100-minute set by segueing "Thus Spake Zarathustra" into "See See Rider," just as Elvis did back in the '70s. But the set is not costumed tribute or a mockery. Roddy is in love with Presley's work from the late '60s, when the singer, then in his 30s, cut the Memphis-driven R&B he should have making all along.
It took a few songs for Roddy (and the audience) to warm up; "Burnin' Love" and "Walk a Mile in My Shoes" were fine, but the band lit up when it hit the good stuff. Roddy is a fan of Mac Davis' work for Elvis, giving the sappy "Don't Cry Daddy" and "In the Ghetto" power and dignity. Later in the evening, a blistering, funky run at Davis' "A Little Less Conversation," got two waitresses to dance on the bar -- one had already turned the crowd on, Ann-Margret style, during "Viva Las Vegas" -- which in turn got the crowd moving. By the time Roddy closed with the one-two punch of "Suspicious Minds" and "Can't Help Falling in Love," the historical record had been fully revised. Happy birthday, E.
Theater
'UNDERDOG' IS HIGH POINT FOR PROARTS
Big brother/little brother. Worker/hustler. Lincoln/Booth.
Hierarchical status -- especially the masculine kind -- rules "Top Dog/Underdog," Suzan-Lori Parks' Pulitzer Prize-winning drama, given a discerning Austin premiere by the community arts group ProArts Collective.
Two damaged brothers are confined to a bleak residential room. The elder, Lincoln, spends his days at an arcade playing the president whose name he bears. (Customers shoot him in the manner of Lincoln's assassin, actor John Wilkes Booth, but with blanks.) The younger brother, Booth, shoplifts, plans a doomed date with a former girlfriend and practices three-card monte, the street scam that Lincoln abandoned several years previous.
Parks revisits themes -- ruminations on race, gender, power and American history -- familiar from her "The America Play" and "Venus," previously seen in Austin. This time, she distills these motifs into an extremely compact, at times uncanny family drama that recalls the work of Edward Albee, Jean-Paul Sartre, Sam Shepard and, to some extent, August Wilson.
Director Boyd Vance doesn't miss a beat coaching Maurice Moore and Mark Banks as the rival brothers. Pacing a stage the size of a modern bathroom, the actors credibly synthesize not only streetwise mannerisms and rhythms, but also the subtle interplay of domination and submission.
Blame it on the script or on the production, but the final, admittedly predictable action of the play did not seem sufficiently motivated on Saturday. Otherwise, ProArts has forged "Top Dog" into the company's most cogent production to date.
-- Michael Barnes
'Top Dog/Underdog' continues 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays through Jan. 25, The Hideout Theatre, 617 Congress Ave., 474-TIXS.
Music
DE LA SOUL'S DJ KEEPS PARISH MOVING
Thursday night the Parish hosted a reasonable facsimile of a New York hip-hop loft party -- and the packed house did a pretty convincing job of getting up offa that thang.
Brownout!, a Grupo Fantasma offshoot that bills itself as a "live breaks and beats project," kicked off the night, its two guitars, bass, drums, bongos and brass winding up a tightly rolled set of 13 tunes that sounded familiar to anyone who has studied the "Ultimate Breaks and Beats" LP series that has inspired countless hiphoppers for nearly a quarter of a century. Particularly hot: the trombone work of Mark Gonzales and the sax of Gengee Centerio, who nails Maceo Parker's JB's charts and blows hot solos using bent blue-note cadenzas while hinting at bop flavors.
The headlining DJ, though, was the real draw of the night: Maseo, one third of the great hip-hop trio De La Soul. Maseo declared that the evening would be a "celebration of hip-hop culture," and he meant all of hip-hop culture: He cut quickly between records, usually a just a couple of verses and choruses so that no tune wore out its welcome. He has the fan's desire to play as many of his favorites as possible, and when he reached into his crate for an extensive, nonironic Michael Jackson set, the crowd went wild. The rest of the night was just as unpredictable, roaming through Jay-Z, A Tribe Called Quest, Pete Rock and that great MC, uh, Lionel Richie.
It was a party, and it went all night long.
-- David Williams
Art
FRESH UP HAS CHALLENGING TRIO
It might take a moment to realize the subtle connection between Shaune Kolber's photographs, Emily Smith's painting and Jack Shelton's wood and wire sculpture, now sharing space as "Group Show" at the Fresh Up Club. The link is more obvious with Kolber and Smith: Both undermine sentimentality. All challenge expected perceptions.
In "Always," Smith shows us a close-up view at a weird angle of a romantic pop-up card, all florid stylings and curlicue lettering. The catch: From such a surreal viewpoint, it's hard to tell if the couple is in a loving or violent embrace. Or maybe it's both.
Shelton's untitled sculpture -- gracefully suspended from the ceiling, casting intriguing shadows and moving slightly as viewers brush around it -- looks like many things: a ship, a Rube Goldberg contraption or some otherworldly stringed instrument. Like Kolber and Smith, Shelton's work asks us to look -- and then look again.
-- Jeanne Claire van Ryzin
'Group Show' continues through Jan. 28 at Fresh Up Club, 916 Springdale Road (inside the Blue Theatre complex). Hours; 6 to 8 p.m. Wednesdays and by appointment. Free, 740-4367.
Music
A WEAK CROWD FOR SONS OF HERCULES
Frank Pugliese is a freak of nature. The 6-foot-7-inch Sons Of Hercules singer is in his late 50s (he opened for the Sex Pistols in 1978), but he buries any of the younger crop of Dolls/Stooges-influenced singers. And his facial contortions continue to elevate such child-simple songs as "Don't Make Me," "I Wanna Know" and "Nowhere To Go" into high drama. Even if the backing band is having an off night, it's be worth coming out just to marvel at the Herman Munster-esque front man.
Friday night at Emo's was an off night, not because of the band but because of a lackadaisical crowd. A great Sons show is all about flailing bodies in a riot of release, yet aside from scenester Wendy WWAD and her frantic devil horns salute up front, the audience was unreasonably tame. Featuring opening sets from the Stepbrothers and Sunday Drunks from Dallas, the show was an official event of the Tattoo Revival Convention in town. Maybe these people came to talk tats.
The rhythm section of drummer Kory Cook and bassist Casino locked in harder than ever, and occasionally veered away from the standard garage rock sound for a funkier groove. Meanwhile, the audience appeared to be looking ahead to Abra Moore's show at the Parish the next night.
-- Michael Corcoran
