2004 Austin City Limits Music Festival

Day 3 Reviews — Sunday, Sept. 19

Ben Harper

(Sunday 8:30 p.m. SBC Stage)

Ben Harper's musical versatility has never been in question, but for the finale of the ACL Fest, he knocked it out of the park — and we're not talking volume-wise.

Guiding what has to be one of the hottest, funkiest rhythm sections in the business, Harper and the Innocent Criminals lived up to Lance Armstrong's introduction promise. Armstrong, who's introduced each ACL fest's major headliner, said, "This is one hell of a rock show."

It was that — and gospel, blues, reggae and some hard rock and soul and jazz. What it wasn't was an exercise in jam-band excursions. These guys never meandered anywhere; each note had its exact place, used right where it was needed, even on the extended showstopper "With My Own Two Hands."

Also present was something just as essential… as any true musician will say, it's all in the spaces between the notes. Especially for a band that relies as much on syncopation as this one does.

When Harper and his players went a cappella, as they did on "Steal my Kisses," and the gospel call and response of "Take My Hand" (from his about-to-be-released album with the Blind Boys of Alabama, "There Will Be a Light"), they sounded just as fine as the Blind Boys would have if they'd been onstage.

Noting he's a "God-loving atheist," Harper nonetheless infused another song from the Blind Boys album, "Where Could I Go," with all the drama and soul of a true believer. "Homeless Child," for which he pulled out his hollow-necked Weissenborn lap steel, was equally moving.

Before his second encore, Harper exhorted his fans to vote, telling them, "You know who you've got to vote for. You all know right from wrong. And wrong has never been able to fool right."

Then he sang an early composition, "How Many Miles Must We March," which owes its lineage directly to the civil rights movement. Which brings up another point that needs to be made about Harper: He never compromises on his music, his ethics or his integrity. Which makes his work seem even more remarkable.

— Lynne Margolis

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Wilco

(Sunday, 6:30 p.m., SBC Stage)

With a brilliantly noisy, magic-hour set on Sunday, Wilco re-proved themselves one of America's greatest rock bands. Not one of the greatest alt-country bands.

Not pop bands. Not post-9/11, fuzzy, obtuse, art-balladeering bands. One of the greatest rock bands, with all of complexity, volume and nerves the title demands.

The biggest shot in the arm, as one of their songs goes, has been the addition of veteran avant-garde guitarist Nels Cline. Their most recent album, "A Ghost is Born," doesn't feature Cline, and this is a shame. Based on his often manic, feedback-soaked performance, he added wail and spine to singer/songwriter Jeff Tweedy's occasionally amorphous melodies. The piano pounds that sounded weak and flailing on the album version of "At Least That's What You Said" turned into car crashes when Cline slammed into them. Cline's slide guitar added texture and verve to the moving "Jesus Etc." while the Calexico horn section did the same to "I'm The Man Who Loves You."

But the news was the noise. Again and again, tunes devolved into a glorious roar. "Poor Places" crashed into a symphony of feedback before charging to "Spiders," the chugging motorik monster from "A Ghost…" The normally unflappable Glenn Kotche couldn't quite decide how fast "Spiders" was supposed to be, but nobody cared. It was a triumphant set from a band that many had thought were incapable of reinventing themselves. As they head toward middle age, Wilco dreams of noise. Who knew?

— Joe Gross

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Spoon

(Sunday, 5:30 p.m., Bank of America Stage)

Amid all the big-name national acts, local indie heroes Spoon might have been forgotten. But by 5:30 p.m., as the sun made its way toward the horizon, loyal fans bid for position around the Bank of America stage.

Leadman Britt Daniel wasted no time diving into a set dominated by tracks off the band's last release, "Kill the Moonlight." And even though Spooners have undoubtedly replayed the much-acclaimed album repeatedly in anticipation for the band's upcoming fall release, everybody seemed overjoyed to hear the familiar tunes.

Song such as "Small Stakes," "Paper Tiger" and "The Way We Get By" sounded remarkably similar to their recorded versions, in large part due to reliance on keys and synthesizer effects to round out the otherwise basic rock instrumentation.

Daniel's vocals were on point all the way through, as he abruptly shifted gears midsong and floored his vocal range from zero to falsetto in what seemed like a blink of an eye.

The quartet also played a few songs off "Girls Can Tell" and gave fans a bit of nostalgia to chase down steady "Moonlight" servings. Bassist Joshua Zarbo's prominent, booming lines stood out above all else on "Everything Hits at Once," as the keyboardist doodled away at a midnight creep of a melody and Daniel moonwalked with his jangly guitar notes. And once again, Spoon stood out as one of the most intriguing and accomplished local bands "getting by" in town.

— Adam Longley

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Ollabelle

(Sunday, 5:30 p.m., Cap Metro Stage)

The ACL festival's only roofed-in, chairs-provided stage area is where most of the festival's gospel-oriented acts perform, and it has the feel of a gospel tent. So it made perfect sense that a bunch of white New Yorkers who sound like they grew up in New Orleans Baptist churches would be singing their hearts out and playing killer solos on a bunch of updated country/blues/gospel standards.

Ollabelle might have been one of the sleeper-hit bands of the festival; as its sound carried through the surrounding area, it lured at least a few thousand people who had probably never heard of this relatively new band.

Ollabelle, named after mountain country folk singer/banjo picker Ola Belle Reed, has impeccable roots/Americana credentials, starting with singer Amy Helm's genes; she's the daughter of the Band's Levon Helm. They were snapped up by producer T-Bone Burnett, the man responsible for creating the "Down From the Mountain" soundtrack, for his boutique DMZ label even before he saw them.

It's no wonder; this sextet can take traditionals such as Blind Willie Johnson's "John the Revelator" or "Soul of a Man" and turn them into down-low, soul-drenched, sexy numbers that sound like they crawled out of the bayou, got raised on voodoo and inhabited each Ollabelle member's soul.

Their own compositions, such as vocalist/keyboardist Glenn Patscha's "Get Back Temptation," match that vibe and sensibility note for note. But they also take something like the Jagger/Richards tune "I am Waiting" and turn it into something not even the Stones would immediately recognize. When they want to raise the roof in a glorious gospel cheer, they do it with so much funk that listeners can't help leaping out of their chairs to dance.

Their five-part harmonies seem effortless; singers Helm and Fiona McBain's voices sound like they were gestated in the same womb. Even stand-in guitarist David Hamburger, an Austinite, contributed some serious applause-inducing solos, and when he and Byron Isaacs played a slide duet — the latter playing his bass with a dobro slide — the effect was… well, something you just don't see or hear every day.

The same could be said about Ollabelle, which is destined to gather a lot more listeners before long.

— Lynne Margolis

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Elvis Costello & the Imposters

(Sunday 4:30 p.m. Cingular Stage)

Most disappointing ACL set? That would be Elvis Costello and the Imposters, who rushed about 30 years of material through a sound system that sounded like it had been drenched in the rain, then left out in the sun too long to dry. Or maybe drummer Pete Thomas forgot to pack his snare. At any rate, there was no snap.

Costello treated his old songs, such as "Accidents Will Happen," which opened the set, and "Angels Want To Wear My Red Shoes," "Radio Radio" and "Blame It On Cain" as if they were necessary evils, while giving focus to new duds like "Monkey To Man" and "Country Darkness." Steve Nieve's calliope keyboards, meanwhile, sounded like someone had driven an ice cream truck onstage. There was no heat onstage, no punch, plus the new thudding arrangements of "Mystery Dance" and "I Can't Stand Up For Falling Down" seemed to hose down any snarl that remained from the originals.

Even though the sound system never quite packed the necessary power, Costello and company did manage to light it up at the end, with rousing renditions of "What's So Funny ('Bout Peace, Love and Understanding)" and "Pump It Up," but it was too little, too late.

Some acts just don't play well in a big, outdoor music festival. Elvis Costello, it turns out, is one of them.

— Michael Corcoran

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North Mississippi Allstars

(Sunday, 3:30 p.m., Heineken Stage)

It's been a joy to see the North Mississippi Allstars find their level and become the band that their genes demanded. Drummer Cody and guitarist Luther Dickinson are the sons of legendary Memphis producer Jim Dickinson (bass duties are held down by Chris Chew). "Polaris," the band's last studio album, was beset by jam-band clutches and boogie melodies that went nowhere. It was the sound of a band torn between pop rock punch and extended structures.

But at their Sunday afternoon set on the Heineken stage, where they played a much less compelling set last year, the band was on fire. And like so many things in life, it's all thanks to rhythm and blues.

Finger-picking his Les Paul, Luther Dickinson has become a wonderful player, as versed in explosive leads as chunky, bluesy rhythms. Brother Cody rocked the double-kick drum and followed the tunes' changes with skill and verve.

The band has finally fully embraced the Mississippi Hill Country blues it grew up on, and it's added some much needed grit and noise to its sound. The set started out with punchy boogie blues, with a little more muscle and punch than many had come to expect from the band.

It was a fine start, but everyone exploded to life — band and crowd — when the All-Stars brought out the Rising Star Fife and Drum band, which added two snares and a bass drum to the jam, generating tough, polyrhythms to blues jams such as "Shake 'Em On Down" and the 20-minute epic "Coal Black Maddie." Cody grabbed a washboard and made the most horrific noise for a few minutes before everyone split. A perfect capper to a band that's just finding itself, knee-deep in blues and determined to make it dance.

— Joe Gross

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Patrice Pike

(Sunday, 2:50 p.m., Austin Ventures Stage)

The majority of the weary crowd sat down for the set from Patrice Pike (formerly of Sister Seven). Pike and her band broke slowly from the gates with a couple of leisurely paced Americana-style tunes that seemed appropriate enough for the relaxed fans.

The plot thickened, though, when Brett Hauser picked up a stand-up bass for "Pressure and Heat," which pushed the performance out of the Americana pigeonhole, and offered a healthy sampling of Pike's melodic growl. The band rambled further down the road less traveled by incorporating the sax on the following song, which swung into full-blown funk and soul — due in large part to Pike's "bee-bop" vocal digressions.

Pike then changed direction with "Unraveling," drawn out over a Drifters-sounding oldie chord progression. And, right on cue, freaky music aficionado Beatle Bob appeared on the side of the stage, turning out his usual prancing, arm-flailing jig. (Oh, Bob, is this really a life?)

Despite the lack of an oversized crowd, Pike and company smiled through a respectable set that constantly centered on Patrice's neatly structured songwriting and natural delivery.

— Adam Longley

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The Roots

(Sunday, 2:30 p.m., SBC Stage)

So why aren't there more hiphop bands at ACL? Because there aren't many more hiphop bands, period.

In a genre filled with DJs and software manipulators, Philadelphia's The Roots are the rare hiphop act with as much instrumental virtuosity as anyone else at this no-DJ, no-drum machine, no-samples festival. Ahmir "?uestlove" Thompson is the greatest jazz drummer in the history of hiphop, and guitarist Kirk Douglas gave old Funkadelic fans a sturdy dose of Eddie Hazel guitar rave-up that all but asked the musical question, "Who says a rap band can't play rock?"

Moving a sweaty crowd of young'uns who had their hand fans working overtime, The Roots offered an hour of music with almost no breaks between songs. There were plenty of Roots tunes, but also snippets of Santana's "Black Magic Woman," Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five's "White Lines" and the Incredible Bongo Band's canonic "Apache" breakbeat.

The groove got a bit cluttered at times, and Black Thought, though an energetic frontman with a gift for connecting with the audience, doesn't vary his flow enough to shoulder the burden of an entire set. And a live version of the band's radio-friendly 2002 collaboration with Cody Chesnutt, "The Seed (2.0)," was, minus Chesnutt, somewhat dutiful — the melody was deemphasized, the 4/4 beat pushed way up in the mix, and Douglas's vocals almost desperate.

Still, this was as fun a party as ACL had on offer; what other hiphop act — heck, who else, period — would build an all-out guitar-jam on top of the chord progression of Chicago's "25 or 6 to 4"?

— Jeff Salamon

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Mindy Smith

(Sunday, 1:45 p.m., Heineken Stage)

For a precious few moments, all the craziness stopped cold. The sexy and vulnerable Mindy Smith, who's kinda like Patty Griffin with a beer for breakfast, looked in the faces of a crowd ready to rock and gave them mood pieces such as "Raggedy Ann," a tale of childhood lost, "Hurricane," perhaps the loveliest piece of music heard all weekend, and "One Moment More," inspired by her mother's battle with cancer. She could've pulled out "Jolene," her great Dolly Parton cover, but, aside from the opening rocker "Little Devil," Smith did not have crowd-pleasing in mind. Talk about musical bravery, but Smith has the gorgeous voice to make her decidedly unfestive music work.

As a performer, Smith has a lot to learn. Overlong tuning excursions and mumbled intros didn't further her connection to the audience. But as a songwriter and especially as a singer, the Long Island native is an incredible talent, as evidenced by should-be-hit "Fighting For It All." The crowd came to life when she closed with her radio hit, "Come To Jesus," but there was so much more to a set that was as lovely and refreshing as the attendant heat wasn't.

— Michael Corcoran

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Calexico

(Sunday, 1:45 p.m., Bank of America Stage)

Unlike most bands, Calexico sounds just as good when you're standing in 140-degree heat, where some sadistic lunatic thought it'd be really great to have a music festival. They might sound even better this way — the band's epic Spaghetti Western sound has always conjured the image of shimmering desert heat; this was just a way of making that imagery literal.

The group's sound demands cinematic comparisons, and their opening song boasted a movie's worth of moods: dueling trumpets, reverberating vibes, pedal steel and even a drum solo competed for attention with singer Joey Burns' storytelling. The desperate Western vibe continued through "Quattro" and "Across the Wire," then gave way to a heavy, almost jazzy groove that built to a short but exciting burst of pure noise.

Waltzing accordion and barrio-flavored guitar lines followed, along with a thrilling version of "Not Even Stevie Nicks." Burns eventually brought out a mariachi bandleader to share vocals, and during the last tune, an uninvited guest arrived: Beatle Bob, who was able to produce a smile from Burns even amid his songs of danger and despair.

— John DeFore

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American Analog Set

(Sunday noon, Heineken Stage)

The last blistering day of ACL eased into gear with the sleepwalking sounds of Austin's American Analog Set. The droning, half-tempo tune they opened with may have had some in the crowd worried, but things picked up with the sweetly sad but quicker "Come Home Baby Julie, Come Home."

Singer Andrew Kenny maintained the bittersweet tone through the clever "Postman," for which he received some unexpected cheers. "Thank you for yelling," he said, acknowledging his televised image at the side of the stage. "You really make me feel like I've earned my Jumbotron time."

The show peaked with "Kindness of Strangers," where Kenny's shy voice was balanced by a shimmering vibraphone line, and tapered off to a long organ drone. The performance didn't exactly jump-start this long, hot day, but at least AmAnSet knew better than to try overpowering the sun.

— John DeFore

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