concert review

A Minnesota Matinee In Manchester

Robert Cochrane — Tue, 20 May 2025 15:16:37 +0000

A Minnesota Matinee In Manchester Robert Cochrane May 20, 2025 - 11:16

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Gaelynn Lea and James Holt

The Band On The Wall, Manchester

17 May 2025

Manchester is the recipient of sunshine, not rain on a mid-May Saturday. The streets buzz with the clink and chatter of an almost European ambience, as people make the most of the driest stretch of days in many years. The Band On The Wall, however, maintains an inviting darkness despite the change in the weather.

Waiting to be served, I am approached by a small lady in a wheelchair as she glides past potential obstacles with an easy confidence. She smiles, "Are you the support act's father?" Just as I begin to explain that I'm not, the woman beside me announces that she's the mother of James Holt and introduces her husband, the true father sought in the question. Gaelynn Lea, in her motorised chair, immediately scoots across to them. This composer, violinist, and singer I've never seen live, but this almost introduction makes me relish the prospect of the afternoon's performance with an added frisson of anticipation.

The support act, the previously mentioned singer-songwriter James Holt, specialises in confessional, articulate pop maladies. An engagingly relaxed presence, his songcraft is immediately evident. There are shades of Dylan, Emitt Rhodes, and the cohesion of fellow Mancunian troubadour John Bramwell ( I Am Kloot). It's easy to discern why he's garnered admiring plaudits from many, including Brian Eno. The songs are reflective and complex, with sixties sway and swagger, and by his admission, they aren't always the happiest, but therein lies beauty. "The Wedding" fillets his sorrow over a failed love interest who marries another guy, a surprisingly up-tempo affair given the loss attendant in its subject matter. This elicits a playful heckle from Gaelynn, who is perched at the back of the venue, as she berates him for enjoying a good wallow in despair, which he manfully agrees is true. I would recommend his "Sanguine On The Rocks" release to those in search of new aural delights, a treat that will not disappoint, nor indeed will any of his work.

When Gaelynn takes the stage with her guitarist Richard Carter, there's a faint ripple of anticipation. Because of her small stature, she plays her violin like a cello. It is a perfect arrangement, an inspired compromise. Her sound builds via loops and pedals, and with a knowing nod to her accompanist, with whom she shares an eloquent rapport and fluency, the show begins. The songs are unique confections that enter the heart and haunt the soul. At times her voice fuses with the violin, as though it, the instrument, and she are as one. The sound has a gypsy baroque element, neither country or folk but a beguiling hybrid of both with a sense of refined classicism. An enchanting and mesmerising energy pervades. As she performs, an expressive reverie is present in her eyes. There's an element of Cyndi Lauper to her voice, along with the dedicated concentration of an artist in perfect fusion with her evocative creations.

Lea is promoting the music she wrote for Daniel Craig's Broadway portrayal of Macbeth, and introduces these pieces a little apprehensively on account of them being aired out of context, but she needn't have worried. They are beguiling and work above and beyond their initial purpose as incidental motifs to complement a revered drama. Their pathos and musicality become extraordinary. She expresses her disappointment that many of her favourite musical moments were cut from the play, but is grateful that she got to hear them, albeit once, from a Broadway stage, in an empty, darkened theatre.

Her haunting ballad "Some Day We'll Linger In The Sun," written about her husband, a beautiful gesture she only confessed to much later, is one of the afternoon's highlights. At times, I felt tears rise as the music soared and flowed. Later, she even whips the crowd into an audience participation sing-along. All too soon, the magical reverie is over, the moment flown. Her intrinsic artistry is slowly reaping the recognition her diligent efforts deserve. Collaborations with Low have raised the stakes in her favour, as did her Tiny Desk win (video at top) in 2016. Her first visit to the UK in several years, these shows are a timely reminder of her unique gifts. This Manchester gig is the Minnesota natives' first matinee performance, a uniqueness she is happy to experience and embrace.

Afterwards, Gaelynn mingles with her audience for a chat, a captivating soul with an infectious giggle. On the metro, I was deflated to realise her compact discs had slipped out of my not-quite-sealed rucksack. Beyond the initial sense of loss, a faint hope rose that they'd be found by someone who'd take them home and discover moments of grace from my lost tracts of musical delight. Perhaps matinees, though a thing of the past, might have a bright future. A new kind of afternoon delight in Manchester, Minnesota, and beyond.

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Gaelyn Lea revue

What a superb revue , totally captures what was a magical concert.

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Tom Petty for President

Lori Thom — Thu, 21 Sep 2017 02:53:09 +0000

Tom Petty for President Lori Thom September 20, 2017 - 22:53

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I became a fan of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers several years ago by a chance encounter with a friend's iPod. I became obsessed and ended up going through what I thought was his whole catalogue. I classified him as a classic rock artist who was underappreciated, no longer relevant, and patted myself on the back for "getting it." So when I heard that Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were coming to Seattle on August 19, I grabbed my credit card and headed to my laptop, ready to buy a general admission ticket to Neumos or the Showbox…maybe the Moore Theater. After all, if the bands that I listened to in high school were playing those venues when they came to town, that's where I'd find Tom Petty.

I could not have been more wrong. Tom Petty's catalogue spans 40 years, 13 albums, 68 singles, and his most recent record, The Hypnotic Eye, (which I had not heard) debuted at #1 on the Billboard 200 in 2014. Tom Petty is still very relevant, very appreciated, and he was not playing at a classic Seattle venue, he was playing at Safeco Stadium, home of the Seattle Mariners. I detest stadium shows. I detest paying $20 for parking, standing in a line a mile long to pay $10 for a crappy beer, driving at a snail's pace on the way home, all to see tiny figures far away that I am told is the band I’m here to see. But, a fan's gotta do what a fan's gotta do.

I went. I tried to make it as enjoyable as I could by getting dropped off at the corner of the stadium and accepting that I would not be enjoying any adult beverages for the evening. After waiting a half hour just to get into the stadium, I made my way to the floor (which took another 30 minutes), found my seat, and resolved not to move until the end of the show in order to minimize my interaction with the riffraff.

Soon, the band appeared on stage with little pomp and circumstance, showing none of the rock star ego I’ve come to expect from time-tested musicians of Tom Petty's ilk. He greeted us warmly, like the favorite uncle you only see during major holidays. They opened with the very first song from their very first album, a lesser-known ditty called "Rockin' Around With You". It was a treat for long-time die-hard fans, who relished hearing one of his less popular tunes live, and it was a reminder to newer fans that Tom Petty has more to offer than just the several dozen huge hits we were all familiar with.

Laid back and at-ease on stage (even when a technical glitch caused the sound to cut out for an entire song), Tom knows who he is as an artist. He doesn't strive for an image or persona, he's genuine. And he seems grateful -- almost surprised -- that so many people enjoy what he does as much as he enjoys what he does. He plays without pretense. The whole band’s musicianship is as good as it has ever been. However, his current backup singers, Charley and Hattie Webb, stole the show from the other band members in both stage presence and sheer talent. But rather than "put on a performance," they simply played their songs with the same attitude that fans have loved them for since 1976 -- easy going and unassuming. They must have tossed out the set list after the first several songs, because Tom kept playing "requests." He said, "We don't usually do requests, but we'll make an exception this time, because I requested it." In between songs he'd powwow with each of his band members to clue them in on what was next on the impromptu set list, and then thrill us with something unexpected.

While I did enjoy the show and relish the fact that I got to see Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers at all, it was a stadium show and it had all the trappings of any stadium show. I had a great seat, right on the floor, but the distance was palpable. Huge monitors broadcasted the performance, and since the band was so tiny and far away, I really had to focus on trying to watch the stage rather than the monitor to avoid the feeling of watching a concert DVD with thirty-thousand people.

Every stadium show stage has a gimmick. With Cher it's dozens of costume changes. With Kiss it's pyrotechnics. With Alice Cooper it's theatrics. Tom Petty is no exception to the stage gimmick rule, but his was unique. A ceiling of big white globes on mechanized retracting cables glowed different colors above the stage, undulating to differing heights with the tempo, creating a wavy rippling affect. It was a pretty original gimmick, but, as always, it felt like a sorry attempt to make us feel like we saw a show. Yeah, it was cool, and props to the guy who engineered it, but I can't help but feel like maybe it's the lighting guy we really paid to see (though I’ll say he deserved every penny).

Politicians could take a cue from Petty -- he knows how to unite an audience. He appeals to broad spectrum, from the stoner to the golfer. He's folksy enough to be disarming, but edgy enough to draw in fans of harder rock who, even if they find his music somewhat simple, respect his authenticity and enthusiasm. The honest, comforting songs that Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers have showered us with over the last 40 years transcend human division. Petty's lyrics all share the truly American notion about taking the road less travelled to find out who you are, and being true to that person. Even his breakup songs inspire hope. You may not ever be impressed by a Tom Petty guitar solo or wonder what time signature he’s playing in, but if you’re really listening, you might just learn something about yourself. Even the losers get lucky sometimes. You don’t have to live like a refugee. Take it easy baby, even walls fall down.

Tender & The Fury

Dusty Wright — Thu, 15 Jun 2017 22:46:52 +0000

Tender & The Fury Dusty Wright June 15, 2017 - 18:46

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Photo by Dusty Wright

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Beacon Theatre, NYC

June 15, 2017

Much is being written that Nick Cave's current tour of Skeleton Tree may be his best yet. Seeing Mr. Cave and The Bad Seeds' performance last night at the Beacon Theatre in New York City, I would agree. Playing every song from that album except "Rings of Saturn" plus another eleven classic songs (set list here) from his catalog, it was a show that will be difficult to rival by any touring act this year or quite possibly until Mr. Cave decides to tour again. Quite remarkable given that he's a few months shy of his 60th year on Earth.

Channeling both rage and ragged beauty, he is singer of staggering charisma. Plunging himself into the open arms of adoring fans almost from the start, his rich, booming baritone never missed a note in any of songs, even those that required his most dynamic singing. Starting with three of the piano- and synth-driven tone poem ballads from his latest -- "Anthrocene," "Jesus Alone" and "Magneto" -- they would set up two of my favorite compositions from his previous album Push The Sky Away -- "Higgs Boson Blues" and "Jubilee Street." Wedged between those majestic tunes were concert catalog staples "Tupelo" (The Firstborn Is Dead, 1985) and "From Here To Eternity" (From Here To Eternity, 1984). Those four songs alone could have been encores for mere mortal acts, but they were merely warm ups for what was to come.

Moreover, during his early goth-Americana-punk classics "From Here To Eternity" and "Tupelo," the crowd was near implosion as Nick lowered his lanky, dark suit-clad body into outstretched arms happy to touch the "robes" of their music messiah. This was communion for all in attendance. And resurrection was yet to come. Riveting versions of Cave classics, the percussive "Red Right Hand" (Let Love In, 1994) with his cool but menacing Bobby Darin swagger and the Bolero-like build of "The Mercy Seat" (Tender Prey, 1988) bled into the quiet elegance of new songs "Distant Sky" (featuring a projected vocal by Danish soprano Else Torp) and "Skeleton Tree" both from his latest album.

My last Bad Seeds show at the Beacon Theatre featured both Mick Harvey (1983–2009, guitarist/instrumentalist) and Blixa Bargeld (1983 to 2003, guitar/backing vocals). I was concerned that his new lineup sans their vital contributions could muster up the requisite punk-goth fury. But British guitarist George Vjestica was up to the task as well as longtime members Thomas Wyler (drums, percussion, vocals), Martyn P. Casey (bass, vocals), Jim Sclavunos (percussion, drums, organ, melodica, vibraphone, vocals), Conway Savage (piano, organ, vocals), and Larry Mullins aka Toby Dammit (multi-keyboardist), each adding the sonic nuances required for every song. With a more pronounced role, Warren Ellis (violin, guitar, piano, keyboards) along with Cave have refined their evocative soundtrack sound for film and theater work -- The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, The Road, Dias de Gracias, Lawless, et al. -- to inform Cave's later work, most notably on Push The Sky Away and Skeleton Tree. It's cinematic goth Americana, haunting and beautiful in simple yet nuanced arrangements that allow for a push and pull energy that washes over the listener like an acid bath leaving one stripped to the bone.

By the three-song encore that featured the cathartic sing-along "The Weeping Song" (The Good Son, 1990), his staggering slaughter-house blues-punk juggernaut "Stagger Lee" (Murder Ballads, 1996) with Cave pulling up 30 fans to the stage to the final crescendo of "Push The Sky Away" (Push The Sky Away, 2013), there was no tombs left unearthed. Cave had laid bare his soul.

I can not stress this enough: DO NOT MISS THIS TOUR or HIS NEXT!

On the Other Side of Trump's Wall

C. Jefferson Thom — Tue, 18 Oct 2016 17:06:28 +0000

On the Other Side of Trump's Wall C. Jefferson Thom October 18, 2016 - 13:06

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photo credit: C. Jefferson Thom

Playing the Traveling Groupie with Woodhead & Echo Moth

If I were a Christian, then I would say I was blessed, but I'm not, so I'm going to say I'm lucky instead. I'm lucky to have some amazing friends in my life who also happen to be phenomenal musicians, so when three of those friends flew out from NYC to play a short tour ranging from Tijuana to San Francisco, I was thrilled to fly down from Seattle for both the reunion and the music.

I have written about Woodhead for Culture Catch in the past, the alternative/art rock brainchild of composer Vern Woodhead. I have also had the pleasure of seeing all of Vern's musical manifestations since 1999, but this most recent one is the pinnacle of his accomplishments. Touring with Woodhead were regular band members Yana Davydova (guitar) and Dmitry Ishendko (bass) who were joined for this stretch by drummer Alvaro Nuñez, a Tecate native who has played with Vern in numerous previous projects. In addition to getting to hear songs live from the new album, El Inmortal, for the first time, Yana's own project Echo Moth also played an opening set for each show. Playing the traveling groupie for both acts over the next four days was my honor and privilege.

The first show was in Tijuana, Mexico (more commonly abbreviated simply as "TJ"). The band had assembled in Tecate (where the beer comes from) days prior to practice, so I was to meet up with them at the venue, a dive bar named Mods in a complex called Plaza Fiesta. As I crossed the U.S./Mexico border on foot at San Ysidro and began wandering down Avenida Revolución it occurred to me that I hadn't been back to TJ since early 2000… and things have changed. A friend and I were mugged at knife-point during my first adventure there, back in 1998, but that wasn't the TJ I found myself reuniting with in 2016. Perhaps it's because I've traveled considerably since and experienced a wider variety of dangers & shocks, but the term "third world" did not apply as much as it did in my memories of the raucous street, lined with strip clubs, bars, and vendors. The strip clubs, bars, and vendors were all still there, and I'm certain the streets would still be filled with drunk and vomiting San Diego college students hours later, but some of the menace had vanished. Stores were more orderly arranged, the sidewalks and street were clean and actually paved, the chaotic nature had diminished and it was clear some civic projects had afforded Revolución a more modern and trendy look. Again, I'm certain the character would have shifted somewhat if I had stuck around for "la hora de los borrachos" (roughly translated, "drunk ass white people"), but it was when I arrived at Plaza Fiesta that the truly pleasant surprise presented itself.

During my college years I had reveled in the areas TJ has designated for visiting U.S. citizens looking to behave badly, but waiting for my friends to arrive at Plaza Fiesta was my first time seeing where the locals of that often notorious city go out themselves for a good time. Meet the burgeoning Mexican middle class: young consumers happily patronizing some new offerings of microbrews, craft beers, wine tastings, and a variety of international foods. The atmosphere carried no air of menace or illegality, as had the TJ of my youth, but was instead completely casual, festive, and thoroughly safe. This is not your grandpa's TJ. It's not even your dad's TJ…

PHOTO CREDIT: C. JEFFERSON THOM

Eventually my friends arrived, sound checked ensued, the opening bands played (one of which was a Motörhead cover band… Mexicans do love their metal), and then the primary reason for my journey across the border began.

Woodhead is a force to be reckoned with and not something that you've heard before. Exploring more unique qualities of his sound as he probes ever deeper into the truth of his voice, Woodhead (the musician) refuses to release the same album twice and his live show has also continued in its evolution. Like a crazed prophet calling out to all who will listen, Vern's distinctive vibrato quivers intensely as his lyrics tell tale of the forbidding times that we live in. The band plays an incredibly tight set while managing to maintain the anarchy of spirit that we love in rock & roll, yet breaking with tradition enough to always keep it interesting. Elements of Prog Rock are infused with some more immediately accessible sounds that truly rock while holding their own cerebrally as well. Composition is key, as a catchy guitar riff is established and then built upon, brought to a climax (not always when or where you would expect it), deconstructed, brought to the brink of chaos, and then soberly re-introduced… or not. Wherever the song leads the listener it is always clear that the composer is in full control. Davydova's guitar work is impeccable, stamped with the proficiency of her classical training while not being emotionally stunted by too much devotion to structure. Ishenko also finds a happy roost in Woodhead, being an accomplished jazz musician not easily satisfied by some of the less musically challenging manifestations often offered by rock bands. His skills lend themselves nicely to the complexity of the pieces also allowing him to dispel any myths about the simplicity of playing bass. Though regular drummer, Rob Mitzner, beats the hell out of these tracks on the album, it was a pleasure to see Vern and Alvaro musically reunited for this tour, as Alvaro provided the energy and rhythmic backbone that the beast requires. One element enjoyed on the album missing from the live performance are some very well placed and adeptly written horn arrangements, which work well to add texture and dimension to the songs they grace (played by Alex Weiss on "El Inmortal"). Vern performs with an intensely fevered quality which is particularly catching in his live act, but no less electric on the album.

Now, it's always exciting when a friend who also happens to be an amazing musician has a new song to play for you, but when they have an entire album that is new to your ears… it can be a revelation and Yana Davydova's project, Echo Moth, was as such for me. Having left NYC in early 2014, the songs that comprise her first release, "Murmurs", had developed largely in my absence and the loss has been mine. Also backed by Ishenko and Nunez for this tour, my already fervent respect for Yana and her craft has increased exponentially with this igniting of her own voice through the creation of her smothering compositions.

Davydova's vocals are alluring and poetic and could be likened to a young Joni Mitchell, while her music is reminiscent of that beautiful darkness so popular in the 80s from melancholy masters like Depeche Mode and The Cure. Her sound is filled with that sadness which can make one oddly happy and her guitar work more than matches the delicate complexities of her lyrics and voice. Sometimes tantalizingly disjointed, often mysterious, and always engaging, Davydova's riffs are playful, unpredictable, and indisputably her own. You don't expect one of your most exciting musical discoveries of the year to come from someone you already know, but that was the case and the energy of both sets pushed us into the wee small hours of the morning. Leaving TJ close to 4am, we packed up the gear, split up into two cars, and made our way to Alvaro's place back in Tecate to crash and prepare for the gig in that city.

Growing up in Southern California I have often heard people lament the lack of credible Mexican food almost anywhere too far from the border and it was during this vacation that I had a personal epiphany. The defining difference between legit and impostor is often not the showcase meat as much as the supporting starch. Much like rice at a sushi joint, it is the tortillas of Mexican food that let you know how close you are to the source. When ordering a burrito made with a flour tortilla, you're hoping to see a semi-translucent wrap with an elastic quality, courtesy of the loving use of lard. My reunion with said burritos was a joyous one. I spent considerable time in Tecate in my twenties and have always loved this homey, no-frills border town, so I was very pleased to see that the unpretentious taco stands were still serving up those beloved comfort foods, and that the cartel violence of recent years had faded, but like TJ, there were some unexpected developments.

Waking at the crack of noon, the band members and I headed out for breakfast, but before gorging on fish tacos, Vern suggested we get coffee. This confused me at first until we walked into a trendy coffee shop called Cafe Corteza, with a style and quality of brew able to rival many of those I know back in Seattle. Upon doing a brief web search it became clear that they weren't the only up-scale coffee shop in town and while I was happy to see that the old Tecate dear to my memories was still there, it was also exciting to see this new, developing economy.

Revitalized by the restorative powers of good coffee and fish tacos, we headed over for sound check at the next venue: Centro Estatal de Las Artes, yet another sign of the new and growing Tecate. Equipped to handle anything from rock concerts, dance classes, or a professional-grade touring musical, this arts center was not something I was not expecting to see in the Tecate I had known. Woodhead and Echo Moth played two more killer sets, this time being joined by another friend and Tecate native, Henry Gonzalez, who played the opening act, blending a passion for rock with some more classical Latin troubadour accents.

After partying through the night with friends and the local fan base back at Alvaro's, we spent the next day enjoying our remaining time in Tecate and preparing for our crossing back into the U.S. for the show in San Diego that night (which required Alvaro getting up around 5am to drive our car across the border least it should have been trapped in Tecate due to the several-hour-long lines that can develop at the crossing. The TJ crossing can be even more daunting, being the busiest land border crossing in the world). While aimlessly gathering our gear to cross on foot, still somewhat drifting in the fog of the previous night, Vern and I discussed some of the changes that were evident. As we crossed the border, Vern remarked, "You could really see Tijuana and San Diego as the same metro area, and it is, but a lot of people who live in San Diego don't, or don't want to think of it that way. But people who live in TJ and work in San Diego certainly do and people in TJ root for San Diego teams. A significant portion of Padres fans are Mexican nationals…" Returning to San Diego it was difficult not to acknowledge the diffusion and blurred line existing between both sides of the border. Between the prevalent Hispanic influence on San Diego's character and the strong presence of American franchises in Tijuana alone, the two have their undeniable stamp on each other and citizens of San Diego have much more to gain by accepting this reality as resisting it only goes to showcase some of the city's more sterile qualities.

Living in the United States it is too often the case that we have strong opinions about what is "other" without much or any direct contact. Our thoughts about our southern neighbor are often out-dated or narrowly focused on specific examples which stain the truth of a more general reality. For example, since 2009 more Mexicans have been returning to Mexico than immigrating to the U.S., legally or otherwise (between 2009-2014 there was a net loss of 140,000 Mexicans from the U.S. as they returned home). After seeing the changes of the past decade, compounded with being reunited with family and fleeing some of the less inviting qualities of their northern neighbor, it isn't difficult to see the reason for this reversal. Much like the issue raised in South Park's pointed parody of the situation, "The Last of the Mecheecnns," the question is naturally raised: would Trump's wall work to keep illegal Mexicans out of the U.S., or in.

This Charming Man

Robert Cochrane — Sat, 12 Mar 2016 22:50:46 +0000

This Charming Man Robert Cochrane March 12, 2016 - 17:50

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An Evening With Arthur Brown

11th March 2016

The Ruby Lounge, Manchester, UK

To the uninitiated, the title on the flyer suggests an event of essential Britishness, a talk about allotments, a discourse on gardening, or maybe the latest findings of the local historical society. Such is the distinctive ordinariness of the name Arthur Brown, as English as roast beef, and harking back to a time of tweed, flat caps and whippets. This is indeed an aspect of the truth, for the Mr Brown in question has elements of all of the above, but he is much more besides, and is quite simply one of the unsung national treasures, a living legend, the godfather of heavy metal and shock rock, and influence on acts with distances in longevity as Alice Cooper, Marilyn Manson, and the Prodigy. With a four octave range that even now, at the tender age of seventy three puts most "knackers in a mouse trap screechers" to shame. He also possesses a wonderfully rich, almost fruity speaking voice that makes him sound like a prophet or a priest, or an actor about to wander along the finest aspects of Shakespeare.

When he steps on stage his eyes are shadowed dark with make-up, and he is resplendent in a red bowler hat. What follows is a trip down memory lane with a back drop of video montage and a few songs. It is at times delightfully batty, but is thoughtful and well constructed, and Brown as a narrator of his own eventful life, captivates the watcher. He is remarkably spry for a man of his years, given that he had to learn to walk from scratch after a brain haemorrage in the '90s. His story begins in Whitby in 1942, and very soon afterwards almost ended there. His grandmother ran a hotel in the seaside town where Bram Stoker created Dracula, and during an air-raid the infant Brown and his family took shelter in the cellar. It was the fashion of German bombers to drop their excess deadly cargo over the coast before returning home. The hotel took a direct hit and the loss of such a distinctive local focal point and the perishing of the family made the local press. When they finally surfaced from their cellar sanctum to a scene of immense chaos, they simply added to the shock of the proceedings, as everyone has presumed them dead. Even as a child Arthur was something of a comeback kid.

Brown was also hyperactive, and given bromide to calm him, and any other urges that might transpire. It didn't work. In 1959 he hitched to Germany to visit the girl he felt was the love of his seventeen brief years, only to find her shacked up with his best friend, the captain of the school rugby team, and instead of a night of amour, he spent it under the stars in a nearby park, and experienced what could only be described as an epiphany, the first of many insights and conclusions. After a stint in Paris in the mid 60's he returned to London, became regular feature at the UFO Club, the home of Pink Floyd, and where he originated the hugely successful The Crazy World of Arthur Brown and success of staggering immensity followed all over the world with the release of his trademark single "Fire." His visit to Bradford didn't fare so well, the band were almost lynched, such was the reaction of the local yobs to Brown running around with his head aflame. You forget how innovative and provocative a statement, both visually and verbally, that this action was in 1968.

It would be pointless to outline all of his tales for the sake of embellishing a review, and steal future viewers of this fascinating night the pleasure of a story in its first telling to them In over two hours he barely scratches the surface of fifty years. His experience of being arrested after appearing naked on stage in Italy, and being slung into prison with murderers and rapists, the involvement of the Mafia in his subsequent release is priceless in both it's content and it's unravelling. He really ought to write a book, for he has a wise insight into his at times chaotic sojourn, and an interestingly shocking take on the end result of all his spiritual quests.

Arthur Brown it would seem from the nights proceedings, is at one with himself, but is not at peace with the actions of many in the world he is forced to share it with. His song addressing a suicide bomber has immense pathos, as well as exasperation. He is a charming presence, a lovable English eccentric, who isn't half as crazy as the moniker he chose half a century ago might imply. He is both a showman and a shame, an almost Dickensian presence, and a treat to the senses, who sadly will probably only be properly assessed, revered and valued in the blueprint his inevitable, but hopefully distant absence will leave.

One evening from a lifetime of them, especially one as extraordinary as his, simply isn't enough.

Songs in the Key of Life Tour Kicks Off, Mostly Triumphantly

Steve Holtje — Fri, 07 Nov 2014 23:01:43 +0000

Songs in the Key of Life Tour Kicks Off, Mostly Triumphantly Steve Holtje November 7, 2014 - 18:01

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Stevie Wonder: Songs in the Key of Life

Madison Square Garden

November 6, 2014

I wasn't going to miss this one! Fortunately the cheap seats were "only" $49.50 (plus fees, of course), which for a big-ticket concert these days is actually reasonable.

Wonder's 1976 double-LP set is on one hand an oddball choice for such treatment, yet from another perspective is perfectly obvious. Oddball because although it does have hits, the hits/filler percentages are higher on the latter than on any of his classic '70s single LPs, and some of it is downright eccentric. Perfect and obvious because, among musicheads, this set has acquired mythic status and, given its length, handily fills an evening.

The thing is, who says what's definitely filler (undistinguished material that just takes up space) and what's a hidden gem? And there's so much variety, stylistically and in terms of arrangements, that some people think it doesn't flow, doesn't cohere, whatever you want to call it, whereas serious musos revel in some of those tangents, such as the wild jazz fusion track "Contusion."

Speaking of filler, early on, SITKOL also included a four-track bonus EP that my vinyl edition didn't have, so I never heard those songs until the CD edition, where they are stuck on at the end. This evening, however, those songs were inserted between sides, so to speak: the first two at the end of Side 2 (after which there was a half-hour intermission), the other two between Side 3 and Side 4. And no, these are not all unnecessary padding; "All Day Sucker" in particular is a much-loved funk nugget in certain circles.

Wonder started the evening by walking out on the arm of star R&B vocalist India Arie, whose mother, Joyce Simpson, was a Motown artist who opened for Stevie back in the day. Wonder brought out two musicians from the original SITKOL sessions playing with him this evening: Greg Phillinganes, keyboardist and the conductor of this tour band, and bassist Nathan Watts. Wonder also noted that one of his daughters, Aisha Morris, was among the backing vocalists.

Here's a brief rundown of the evening's setlist. By my count -- and I was sitting far, far away from the stage and my eyesight's not so good, so I could be off by a few people -- there were three drummers, four saxophonists, a trumpeter, a trombonist, three keyboardists, the aforementioned Watts, two guitarists, a minimum of six backing vocalists (five female) [plus India Arie popping in and out], and a six-person string section.

"Love's in Need of Love Today"

Wonder joked about the internet rumor that he isn't actually blind. Amusing, but that wasn't what I was wondering about. The main question, of course, was: Is he still great? Yes; that was immediately apparent. Still singing magnificently, still ripping off those wild melismas. Band? Tight but loose. Good mix. Off to a good start.

"Have a Talk with God"

India Arie returned, and Frédéric Yonnet took the harmonica solo; throughout the evening, his playing was distinguished from Wonder's by the fact that he played blues harps rather than the chromatic harmonicas that Wonder uses.

"Village Ghetto Land"

On SITKOL Wonder accompanied himself using a synthesizer's strings setting. Tonight, the lights came on stage left and suddenly a real string section was revealed. Much classier, and highlighted even more the ironic contrast between the music and the lyrics. Wonder flubbed the second verse, instead singing, "I forgot my own lyrics," then told us it was because he was so excited about playing New York City. Well played, Stevie. He also changed the last line to "Tell me would you be happy in 2014 still in Village Ghetto Land."

"Contusion"

This scorching jazz fusion thrown-down was introduced as having been inspired by Chick Corea. That the band negotiated its tricky meter changes and blazing tempo proved that these guys could play with anyone.

"Sir Duke"

The arrival of the first hit got the audience on its feet.

"I Wish"

Funky as hell!

"Knocks Me Off My Feet"

Stevie moved over to a Yamaha acoustic grand piano for this ballad. It got greatly expanded beyond the studio recording, with an interesting section of call-and-response vocals on the word "I" followed by a bunch of keyboard solos and "trading fours" by Wonder, Phillinganes, and Eddie Brown (and it's worth noting that this concert was a vintage keyboard collector's wet dream).

"Pastime Paradise"

The string section was back for a song best known from being sampled by Coolio, which in turn got parodied by Weird Al Yankovic. That added familiarity got the audience excited again for a song that, if you really listen to the lyrics, is pretty weird.

"Summer Soft"

So much more vivid "live" than on the album. Backing vocalist Keith John took the lead on one verse and sounded uncannily like Wonder himself. Unfortunately some sound problems cropped up near the end of this song as it sounded like whole banks of speakers were going in and out.

"Ordinary Pain"

The sound problems mutated; perhaps in an attempt to compensate somehow for the previously mentioned problem, getting the missing parts into what was working, the sound got very boomy. During the long and funky coda, the mixing problems became seriously annoying: during the section where some of the female backing vocalists got to step forward with a series of sassy lead vocals that make fun of the supposed pain, the leads were buried. For that matter, the horns were hardly audible.

"Saturn"

The first of the EP songs found India Arie back, wearing a very long yellow skirt that, once she took her place, was deployed around her as a sort of cone, one of the most visually striking effects of the evening in a concert mostly devoid of them. This on one of the most unusual and in some ways downright goofy songs on the album, which contrasts a fantasy paradise on Saturn ("where people live to be two hundred and five" and "don't need cars 'cause we learned to fly") with the gritty disappointments of life on earth -- war, poverty, etc. Somehow, hearing it in person, it seemed like it should be taken more seriously.

"Ebony Eyes"

Wonder moved to a tack piano at the front of the stage for this lightweight, old-timey throwback with a slight New Orleans lilt. More mixing trouble cropped up as a sax solo went unheard for about half its length.

Intermission was announced by someone saying, "Now we're going to turn over the record." Fortunately the most egregious sound problems were fixed during the break, although the warm clarity heard at the beginning of the show was mostly gone, replaced by a louder, harsher mix.

"Isn't She Lovely"

Before the start of this song, Wonder brought out his youngest daughter, Tamika, and refuted rumors that he'd had triplets. It featured Wonder on harmonica, and as cute as this song is, it had worn out its welcome by the time it finally wound down.

"Joy Inside My Tears"

This one dragged on as well, with another repetitive and ultimately redundant coda, though there are worse things

"Black Man"

Breaking down in tears at times, Wonder dedicated this song to a family in the audience who had lost a child in the Sandy Hook massacre. Afterward, he spoke of his desire to see stronger gun control laws, but more generally of wanting people to "let hatred go." Musically speaking, hearing this song in person made me realize that, with the didactic aspect played down in a live performance, it's actually a killer track.

"All Day Sucker"

The aforementioned highlight of the EP got a rousingly funky performance. The problem with the speakers going out reappeared, but for the last time this night, fortunately.

"Easy Goin' Evening (My Mama's Call)"

This harmonica-featuring EP instrumental -- Wonder and Yonnet both playing – is the fillerest of filler. I don't know if it lasted longer than the studio version (though I suspect so) or if it just always seems like an eternity before it squeals to a finish.

"I Am Singing"

India Arie reappeared, in a new outfit and equipped with a crib sheet for the lyrics of this song in Zulu, Spanish, and English. Competing for the previous instrumental for musical lowlight of the evening was an out-of-tune solo by the second guitarist, who seemed less comfortable on acoustic, as here, than on electric. It was not redeemed by the la-la/na-na-na-na sing-along at the end that was divided between the women and men of the audience.

"If It's Magic"

Wonder set this up by explaining that he was using the original backing track, instead of hiring a harpist, in tribute to the deceased harpist. A picture of her was shown on the big screens around the arena. But unless I somehow missed it, he neglected to actually say Dorothy Ashby's name. Nonetheless, it was another touching moment.

"As"

We were in the homestretch here, with another familiar favorite. Vocalist Keith John got to fill in for Wonder on another verse here and triumphed over its tongue-twister lyric. This is another killer coda, killer in the good sense this time, the vamp growing denser and denser but staying implacably funky. We also got a rarity, an in-concert fadeout.

"Another Star"

With India Arie joining the backing vocalists, we reached the climactic finish of SITKOL. Among its good features was a hot electric solo by the lead guitarist. The love emanating from Wonder was palpable; it was easy to hear this love song as directed at his fans this time.

"Superstition"

Whoopie Goldberg joined the backing vocalists for this encore. This song comes from Talking Book, of course, not SITKOL, but it made a great encore, perfectly in the character and style of the most iconic tracks on the night's featured album. It brought the cathartic night to a fitting close.

Remaining tour dates:

11/9 Verizon Center, Washington D.C.

11/11 TD Garden, Boston MA

11/14 United Center, Chicago IL

11/16 Wells Fargo Center, Philadelphia PA

11/20 The Palace, Auburn Hills MI

11/22 Philips Arena, Atlanta GA

11/29 MGM Grand Garden Area, Las Vegas NV

12/3 Key Arena, Seattle WA

12/5 Oracle Arena, Oakland CA

Refinement in Unlikely Places

Robert Cochrane — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 11:08:10 +0000

Refinement in Unlikely Places Robert Cochrane April 7, 2010 - 07:08

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Emanuel and the Fear 4th April 2010 Dulcimer, Manchester, England

Easter Sunday, the time of nails and wood, and the singular emptiness of a Sabbath Bank Holiday stretches ahead, a hollow prediction rung true. An email informs that a band, Emanuel and the Fear, will be playing Dulcimer, a minute's walk away. There's eleven of them, a mini orchestra, so things will be a little cramped on the venue's tiny stage. As they've come from New York, and the other alternatives are of the four walls at home variety, it really is the best offer of a quiet day.

The venue is busy, but they're not here for the music. They are merely living it up with a day off to recover. It seems to be a last-minute affair, penciled in before the band head off for a European tour, a single poster advertising what is happening upstairs. Emanuel Ayvas resembles a young Al Kooper beneath his dark mop of curls, and with his fellow cohorts creates an eclectic presence. Genial and engaging, he is a natural leader of his disparate crew. There are six of them tonight, an absence of five, but the economy of space cannot be ignored. They spark into action, and their noise is a proggy classicism, flute-led by Nic Cowles, suggesting Jethro Tull at their earliest and best. There are about forty in the crowd, and the poetic grandeur of the music makes a brave stance against the background chatter. The influences range from Rufus Wainwright to Phillip Glass, Beethoven to Antony. A moody eloquence pervades, and one is left wishing for a more appropriate setting, one uninterrupted by the endless traffic of bodies to the toilets upstairs. Their cello-driven songs echo another similar project now sadly, largely forgotten. Esperanto made three amazing albums on A&M in the early '70s; they dropped the Rock Orchestra tag after the first. Emanuel and the Fear plow the same meadow of pastoral progressiveness. Violin enhances the sense of classicism, and lends the proceedings an air of concert hall seriousness. All too soon they play themselves into silence.

They have an album, Listen, out in a few days. so the future is well aspected for Emanuel and the Fear. Their epic intentions were poorly served by tonight's compromised setting and the absence of grand piano. Arriving as a novice, I left a convert, and I wasn't the only one. Long may they continue to bestow their refinement in unlikely places.

An Inspired Evening of Beefheartiana

Steve Holtje — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 21:05:39 +0000

An Inspired Evening of Beefheartiana Steve Holtje April 18, 2008 - 17:05

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Gary Lucas' Tribute to Captain Beefheart

Knitting Factory, NYC

9 April 2008

It has been over twenty-five years since Captain Beefheart's last official studio album, Ice Cream for Crow, was released on Virgin in 1982. At the time it seemed like the musical career of Beefheart, the nom de plume of Don Van Vliet, was on the ascent, but he then abandoned music and built a second career as a painter. His musical hiatus has lasted much longer than his musical activities did. (It is rumored that health problems have been a factor.) This is a great loss to us music lovers, as he was one of the most original creators and performers of his time, unique in rock despite having influenced many (look for an overview from me in a day or two).

Among those keeping the Beefheartian flame burning since then has been guitarist Gary Lucas, who guested on Beefheart's penultimate studio album and became a Magic Band member for the final one (and was Beefheart's manager in 1980-84).

On a recent Wednesday night (4/9/08) at the Knitting Factory, Lucas pitched in again with an evening devoted to performances of Beefheart/Van Vliet's words, music, and paintings. As fans filtered into the venue, they were treated to projections of Van Vliet's paintings (bottom right) while Lucas spun an assortment of Beefheart rarities, closing with the instrumental track of "The Thousandth and Tenth Day of the Human Totem Pole" and the extemporaneous Beefheart poem "Pork Chop Blue Around the Rind," taped at Lucas's apartment. Then came the first of two sets by Fast 'n' Bulbous, a septet specializing in jazzy instrumental arrangements of Beefheart songs. Alto saxophonist Phillip Johnston (Microscopic Sextet) wrote the arrangements for four horns -- him, trumpeter Rob Henke, baritone saxophonist Dave Sewelson (always a pleasure to hear), and trombonist Joe Fiedler (who handled arrangements on three songs). Lucas rips it up on guitar in a variety of roles, and a solid rhythm section of Jesse Krakow (bass) and Richard Dworkin (drums) handles Beefheart's intricate, off-kilter rhythms with grace and power.

Their first tune was "Pachuco Cadaver," which starts with the Beefheartism that gave the band its name: "A squid eating dough in a polyethylene bag is fast 'n' bulbous, got me?" After this, most pieces were religiously announced, right down to, in some cases, track position on the original LP (which really is like citing chapter and verse before a church reading). "Abba Zabba" with its rolling rhythm on toms and the horn choir sounded like a crazed marching band. Fiedler, playing muted trombone, delivered the melody with vocalistic inflections on "When It Blows Its Stacks," which also sports a gargantuan bass riff. Sewelson, the most avant-garde of the horn players, went "out" in his solo; Johnston by contrast was cool over choked hi-hat, bass, and spacey guitar effects. The piece opened into a freer jam; Fielder (still muted) gave the closing solo.

We were given our first preview of a "new tune," "The Past Sure Is Tense," which will be on the album F'n'B is set to record this week. This arrangement of a favorite from Ice Cream for Crow had a monster groove. Fiedler added the melody of "Joy to the World" (the hymn, not the Three Dog Night hit). Sewelson, who isn't heard from enough in NY considering his elder statesman status, delighted us with a solo that flitted into his altissimo range, and Lucas unleashed one of his patented slide solos.

Then it was time for the readings. Film and music critic Glenn Kenny opened with a whimsical rendition of "Old Fart at Play," Peter Warner did "The Host the Ghost the Most Holy-O." Alan Vega (Suicide) said "Orange Claw Hammer" was about a man who "thinks he's a friggin' pirate" (it's not), then messed up in several spots, including the ending. Music critic Billy Altman read from a Creem article he wrote in 1979 entitled "Captain Beefheart Knows He's a Man," including a short list of things Beefheart used to write when signing autographs (the one Altman got was "love over gold"), then recited "Frownland."

The next guest was supposed to be Fred Perry, friend of Lucas and brother of Richard Perry, producer of Beefheart's first album, but illness kept him away; instead, Lucas reminisced about him and told us some of the details we would've heard from him about the Safe as Milk sessions.

Then Mike Edison (editor of High Times and Screw, author of the book I Have Fun Everywhere I Go) teamed with Michael Chapman (harmonica) for "The Buggy Boogie Woogie." Another pal of Lucas, ex-A&R guy Jamie Cohen, was introduced with an audio clip of him asking a question at a Frank Zappa/Beefheart press conference on the Bongo Fury tour (along with Beefheart's wittily non-committal reply). He then read a Beefheart poem, "Hollow Smoke," published in 1982, that used familiar characters (notably the Old Fart) to good effect. Another celebrity popped up, Lee Ranaldo (Sonic Youth), and also read Beefheart poems, "Infa-Grams" (which included the wonderful description of mice as "slippery gray clouds of speed") and 1987's "Three Months in the Mirror," based on the idea of a pet moth ("you can keep 'em in the closet and feed 'em socks").

Giorgio Gomelsky (left) rambled, but he rambled so charmingly that I'd like to see him given a whole evening to chat about whatever he feels like discussing. After all, the guy's resume is the equal of everyone else's in the room -- combined. Club owner, unofficial first manager of the Rolling Stones, manager and producer of the Yardbirds, founder of one of the greatest avant-garde jazz labels (BYG/Actuel), producer (Animals, Eric Clapton, Soft Machine, Gong, Magma, Material, Inner Circle, Blossom Toes, Brian Auger, Julie Driscoll, etc.), and all-around raconteur. Since the topic this night was Beefheart, he related the story of how he first heard Beefheart when shanghaied by Peter Meaden, who proclaimed Beefheart -- the biggest thing since the Who -- and played him Safe As Milk for six hours straight. Along the way, Gomelsky observed, "something that benefits our civilization has to come from the bottom," noted that Beefheart recommended that guitarists "listen to birds, because birds know everything about sound," and said one of the things that made him great was that "he was not afraid to be influenced."

English actor/poet/musician/"beat existentialist" Darryl Read, whose film Remember a Day includes two Beefheart songs on its soundtrack, read an evocative poem he wrote for Van Vliet, "Flash Paint Style."

An a cappella rendition of "Well" (Trout Mask Replica) by Felice Rosser, vocalist/leader of the band Faith, delivered in a style reminiscent of a work song, was a highlight of the evening.

Producer Hal Willner read a Christmas card from Van Vliet and recalled that when Beefheart opened for Jethro Tull, whose fans reacted negatively, Tull frontman Ian Anderson defended Beefheart. Willner then -- a la Ken Nordine, he said -- read "The Dust Blows Forward 'n the Dust Blows Back."

Culture Catch's own Dusty Wright had the unenviable task of reading "81 Poop Hatch," about the most deliberately obscurantist thing Beefheart ever wrote, but pulled it off with vim and vigor.

Danny Fields was introduced as "the coolest man in the room wherever he goes" (echoing a Legs McNeil encomium), but on this night that wasn't true. Another speaker defended him to me the following day by saying, "Danny's heart was pretty close to being in the right place," and having hung out with Andy Warhol and the rest of the Factory scene, gotten the MC5, Stooges, and Ramones signed, etc. certainly is an impressive track record. Nonetheless, what we had here was a guy, invited apparently because he happened to play a Trout Mask Replica song on WFMU in 1969 without having even listened to the album beforehand (which sort of detracts from the distinction of having been the first to play a TMR song on the radio) -- who is so out of touch that he just recently discovered Allmusicguide.com. He seemingly knew nothing about Beefheart, and seemed not to care either; the only point he had to make was that music in 1969 was better than it is now.

Oh well, there has to be something in the evening for me to criticize other than the Knit having the air conditioning on so high that I had to wear my jacket the whole night, or you'll all think I'm blindly praising everything about this event just because Culture Catch is going to have the honor of putting up a video podcast of the show. Fields revealed further ignorance, but it's time for me to stop beating this dead horse. Things immediately improved when Kurt Loder replaced Fields onstage. Loder is not only an MTV News icon and former editor of Rolling Stone, but he wrote a book entitled Bat Chain Puller, so his Beefheart bona fides are in order. He read accompanied by saxophonist Jason Candler of Lucas's band Gods and Monsters.

Next up was Some Yoyo Stuff, a short film from the early '90s by Anton Corbijn. Its subtitle is "An observation of the observations of Don Van Vliet by Anton Corbijn," and it consists of Van Vliet aphorisms read by their originator, accompanied by a few head shots of him and mixed with some topic prompts, questions posed by David Lynch, a brief appearance by his mother, and some surreal shots of a fish and a raven. As art and as an explication of Van Vliet's life philosophy, it's witty, even brilliant, but it paints a bleak picture of his health. His voice, over a decade into his retirement from music, is a shaky croak, and his visage is haggard. There have been rumors of illness, and certainly on the basis of this look at him, one would have to guess that he quit music because he can't sing anymore, a sad thought. More Van Vliet wit was displayed in his 1982 appearance on Late Night with David Letterman, a classic TV moment (perhaps a WTF? moment for most viewers at the time, though my friends and I at college took it in avidly) it's good to see again, complete with Van Vliet's expression of his ecological concerns.

The final contribution to this segment came long distance, with aforementioned filmmaker David Lynch having sent in a Beefheart-inspired self-portrait that was projected on screen with an audio file of himself reciting Trout Mask's "Pena." Then Fast 'n' Bulbous returned, this time with a full set.

"Mummy" found Lucas contributing a vocal near the end. Much of the remainder of the set was announced as coming form their upcoming recording, tentatively entitled Bad Vuggum. "Dropout Boogie," "Woe-is-uh-Me-Bop" (with great counterpoint and a Lucas solo evoking the spirit of Sonny Sharrock), "The Smithsonian Institute Blues" (Lucas on slide), "Kandy Korn" (the Strictly Personal version), and "The Blimp" (music by Frank Zappa, words by Beefheart) all sounded excellent as the group built momentum. Then the horns took a break for "Click Clack," again featuring Lucas on slide guitar. The horns returned for "Sugar 'n Spikes," but then there was a letdown: "A Carrot Is as Close as a Rabbit Gets to a Diamond" was played a bass solo by Krakow. While it was impressive that he could play this solo guitar composition, his instrument was a handicap, making a brilliantly shining piece sonically muddy. Things picked up again with three arrangements by Fiedler. "You Know You're a Man" not only featured Lucas soloing with his usual fire, but also playing a riff where he alternately detuned and retuned, a riveting effect. Henke presented the melody of "Blabber 'n Smoke" and Lucas contributed a nice echo-effect guitar solo with slide. "Ice Rose" at times had a klezmer flavor, and Henke stepped to the fore again, this time with an amazing deranged-sounding vocal break. Then it was time for another solo piece, "Evening Bell," one of two that Lucas recorded (which, hey, is twice as many as any other Beefheart guitarist, the other being "Flavor Bud Living"), complete with Lucas's story about how he learned it from Beefheart's piano cassette over the course of two months, three hours a day getting him five seconds further. The rest of the band returned for the "epic" (their apt word) "Trust Us"; the music sounded fine, but Johnston's vocal was feeble. No matter, as the piece built to a gloriously raucous din. Staying at that peak, "Suction Prints" was so loud and heavy it could be called metal, ending the set on a dramatic note. Then, well after midnight, it was finally time for the surprise guest whose appearance had been bruited off and on through the evening.

Lo and behold, it was Robyn Hitchcock, a great English visionary eccentric paying tribute to an American counterpart/inspiration. Acoustically accompanied by Lucas on his National Steel, Hitchcock proved Englishmen can sing the blues with an earthy, quirky rendition of Beefheart's most Delta blues song, "China Pig," Hitchcock deploying an impressive array of vocal tones. He proved equally suited for "Sure 'Nuff 'n Yes I Do," and then "Click Clack" reappeared, this time with its words. It was a thrilling conclusion to a largely successful program that showed not only how well Beefheart's creations have held up over the decades, but also the high level of devotion he continues to inspire and the exceptional creativity of those devotees.