Violent Femmes
Austin Music Hall, June 10
My date was dead-on in summing up Saturday’s Violent Femmes show as “totally junior high,” but Gordon Gano’s mullet may have been taking things a tad too far. Short on top, long in back, the lead Femmes’ hair was a little like his band’s set, actually. With inclement weather forcing a last-minute relocation from Stubb’s, a printer glitch holding up the will-call line for at least two hours, scheduled openers the Damnations not playing due to “not enough channels in the P.A.,” and fill-in Jimmy Smith trying valiantly — with a Vic Chesnutt song, no less — to stem the cafeterian tide of conversation, it’s no wonder the Femmes emerged more flummoxed than the new kid in class. Their early set was a hodgepodge of “na-na-na” choruses, flute solos, bassist Brian Ritchie making like Henry Rollins on “Don’t Talk About My Music,” and a whole lot of country twang. Maybe they wanted to make sure they were in Texas, though it didn’t matter where they were the instant a Pink Panther-like motif became “Waiting for the Bus” and the real show started. “Blister in the Sun” was dispatched soon after with a minimum of milking (that came later), and with a jubilant “Out the Window” and holy-rolling “Jesus Walking on the Water,” the Femmes were off like a prom dress. You could almost picture balloons dropping from the ceiling when they trotted out slow-dancer “Good Feeling,” and if they had, the crowd might have paid more heed to ensuing selections from the Femmes’ new Freak Magnet CD. But everybody likes “American Music,” even if it is a slowed-down remake of Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” and the Springsteen-like earnestness of “I Held Her in My Arms” was pure poetry. Well into the home stretch, the Femmes expanded their number to seven for a lengthy “Black Girls” (what was that about not enough P.A. channels?) as Gano introduced the band while drummers Guy Hawkman and Austin’s Rafael Gayol did a mean Harlem shuffle. “Gone Daddy Gone” provided a xylophone lick straight outta the band hall, and then it was time for a little arithmetic — “Day … after day … .” The crowd went positively pep rally as Gano’s hip-hoppy rants about kissing, screwing, and the f-word became bluesy instrumental breaks longer than the will-call line. It was worth every second for the larynx-straining payoff of “Add it up! Add it up! Add it up!” and when the totals were in, Gano bid the crowd a sincere and well-earned adios. But he still deserves detention for that hair.This article appears in June 23 • 2000.