Flamingo Cantina, February 3
Time to empty the buzz bin again? In dumping said receptacle, one would surely come across the sugar-encrusted, punk-pop hooks and harmonies of Weezer. These were the sickly lads who introduced terms like “nerd-core” into prevalence with the aid of MTV in 1994, and like any good pop band, Weezer’s mission was simple: create melodies that bore into the brain and anchor themselves there. Such was the fodder for this hoot night featuring local talent. The crowd was a mixture of the clean-cut, punks, and indie darlings, and none were too far from the stage in the cozy confines of Sixth Street’s Flamingo Cantina. Dynamite Hack began the evening by tearing through a lukewarm, though audience-appreciated set, of Weezer’s girl problem tunes (including “Why Bother?” and “Only in Dreams”) that stuck close to the Weezer formula of loud, three-chord pop with attempted harmony, though not the catchy falsetto harmonies for which the band is known. Money Shot brought to the stage a different slant on the Weezer ethic: few harmonies, more punk fracas, obscure B-sides, and a Rentals song, “Friends of P.” The crowd may have wanted the favorites, but this set rocked, and included a cool bass fuzz effect that left a dent in every patron’s chest. The hits were delivered by the next act, Schatzi, as was the most appropriate, irony-filled line of the evening, “We are the preachers, and Weezer is the message.” They played both “Buddy Holly” and “Undone — the Sweater Song” with a healthy dose of rhythm, organ to lighten things up, and Weezer-true, cheesy guitar solos. Unfortunately, Weezer purists were disappointed by thoroughly loaded headliners Bo Bud Greene. They performed only a few Weezer songs in an impromptu, circus format with lyric sheets ignored by mid-song, beer-swilling theatrics, and the ever-popular “Is it a penis or a microphone?” posturing. After BBG’s announcement that originals would be played, one faithful looked crestfallen, as if a bully had cracked his only Weezer CD over his knee. The size of the crowd was summed up during a visit with the astonished bar staff: “We weren’t expecting this crowd. We almost ran out of beer!” Thank god they didn’t. The beer fueled a loose, amusing night, and you don’t want to see the nerd-chic angry — a catastrophe narrowly averted. — Mitch Zimmerman
SQUEEZE
La Zona Rosa, February 4
Okay, I can handle seeing Squeeze without Paul Carrack. “Tempted” is only one song, after all, and Carrack was never anything more than hired help in the big picture of this group’s two decade-plus career. It is, however, a little more difficult looking forward to a show by the group when alternate key man Jools Holland isn’t along either; after all, what little stage presence the band has developed over the years seems to have been at the command of “ringmaster” Jools, and having another keyboardist named Holland (his brother Chris) sans Jools’ pizzazz was not an acceptable substitute. Oh, and seeing as I can’t even remember the names of the rhythm section at this point, it’s really six of one, half a dozen of the other whether the original members were onstage in that capacity. Nevertheless, Squeeze was built around a songwriting team, Difford and Tilbrook — “new Lennon and McCartney” — and their songs have been tailored to spotlight the latter’s lilt as well as the former’s tracheotomy growl, so you’d think that at the very least both of them would have showed up! Wrong. Difford, too, was missing. Amazingly, then, what should have for truth in advertising purposes been called “The Tilbrook Show” was perfectly entertaining from start to finish. Glenn T. , who seems to have finally learned how to exhibit some degree of charisma of his own in Jools H.’s absence, simply sang right past where the ill Difford’s short guttural punctuations would’ve been, and quite frankly, the band has amassed enough minor hits and favorites over the years that they’re not even tempted to play the Carrack-sung ditty at every single show. Plenty of old favorites here, along with equally catchy songs I had either forgotten or was never familiar with, though who would have thought that the show-stopper would be the lukewarm, mid-period single “Hourglass”? The 30-40 people Tilbrook invited onstage during that uptempo number certainly thought so, though the more I think about it, the less clear I am over whether he had intended to bring them up just to dance — or to audition. — Ken Lieck
KODO
Bass Concert Hall, Feb 5
Pre-Industrial European and American city limits weren’t demarcated by map lines, but by church and civic bells which sprang up across the landscape. In Japan, this role was realized by the colossal o-daiko drum, the most palpable instrument in Kodo’s cast. With a jaw-dropping display of primeval energy and delicate splendor, Kodo, which means both “heartbeat” and “children of the drum,” stunned and satisfied the sold-out UT Bass Concert Hall concourse. Like the tea ceremony’s stately harmony, in Kodo, the Japanese have raised drumming to art. Word spread since the drum troupe were in town a few years ago; merely displaying tickets beforehand prompted pleas like, “are those extras?” Too bad, then, that the ratio of Nippon-o-philes and drum devotees to short-attention-span cell phone snoozers wasn’t higher. No problem, though. After the bombastic 10-minute opener “Zoku,” there were two choices: leave or fasten your seatbelts, because once the thundering began, one could actually see the dust falling loose as the whole building reverberated. All without one watt of electricity — all-acoustic timbres to shake the glasses off your face. And what perfection! Drums, crotales, bamboo flutes, and hand cymbals played with Zen elegance, as in the rarefied flute and drum duo piece, “Fu-Rai-Do,” or the call and response of “Miyake,” played by three duos with amazing sideways Tai Chi punch. “Chonlima,” an adroitly choreographed work, featured four drummers trading taut rhythms, backed by the kiddie pool-sized miya-daiko drum. Performed by a gong and seven seated drummers, the 15-minute impressionistic “Monochrome” actualized tsunami waves and dripping water in caves. Toward the end of the well-timed, two-hour set, the mothership landed. As a flutist played amongst the audience, two others wheeled out a wagon that groaned and creaked under the weight of the nearly half-ton o-daiko drum. Played with Louisville Slugger-sized wood sticks and carved from a mammoth tree trunk, the grand drum’s sound — felt as much as heard — was massive enough to drive a sumo wrestler bus through. After the intricate closer “Yatai-Bayashi,” two entire group encores, and three standing ovations, it ended. Not that anyone could have been disappointed. The 15-member mixed gender company did everything but play from inside a drum. How do they do it? Perhaps communally living on the idyllic Sado Island helps. Or maybe it’s Kodo’s endless One World Tour, with 2,000 performances in 37 countries since 1981. The drums of Kodo, which prove that Africa no longer has a rhythm monopoly, now envelop the world. —David Lynch
PRETENDERS HOOT NIGHT
Electric Lounge, February 6
Before sauntering into the Electric Lounge last Saturday night, I’d never thought of the Pretenders as a Hoot-Nightable band. The first album may be an unmitigated classic, but Chrissie Hynde and company’s output always seemed too distinctive and unmalleable to warrant down-and-dirty cover versions. What can any band, local or otherwise, really add to Hynde’s soulful vocal sneering or the late James Honeyman-Scott’s roughshod guitar mastery? The answer, surprisingly, was more than enough to keep the moderate crowd on hand happily engaged throughout the show. Early in the evening, the twin saxes of Deep Sombreros delivered a reading of “Back on the Chain Gang” that fused Tejano and klezmer to great effect. The music owed a slight debt to Selena’s interpolation of the hook, but changing the lyrics to “Back on the Crack Pipe” quickly negated that tangent. School Trauma Flashback appeared next with guest vocalist Kerri Atwood from the Sexy Finger Champs. Their strutting, pouting version of “Brass in Pocket” nailed Hynde’s mask of false bravado and subsequent rejection in fine sing-along fashion. Then Lauren Lipkin (sister of Deep Sombrero Allyson Lipkin) took the stage with Graham Reynolds from the Golden Arm Trio to perform “My City Was Gone” and “2,000 Miles” with dueling acoustic guitars. Lipkin’s rich, emotive voice was particularly well-suited to the latter song’s Yuletide longing. Former Morningwood guitarist Kathy Ziegler and her three-piece band stayed truest to the Pretenders’ original intent with scorching stabs at “Precious,” “The Wait” and “Private Life.” Pop trio Foot scored with a faithfully charming “Show Me” before backing former Sincola/Scarlitt vocalist (and hoot night organizer) Rebecca Cannon for her set. Cannon opened with “I Go to Sleep,” which was the least obvious song of the evening. Nevertheless, she flung herself into this relative obscurity like it was her own. The night ended with Cannon and Foot’s one-two punch of “Stop Your Sobbing” (a cover of the Pretenders’ cover of the Kinks’ song!) segued into “Kid.” Though I left the Lounge still pining for earth-shaking versions of “Tattooed Love Boys” and “Up the Neck,” this motley collection of varied performances was a convincing argument that the Pretenders’ catalog is a booty ripe for plunder. Hopefully, this won’t contribute to the epidemic of annoying ska covers currently ravaging modern rock radio. —Greg Beets
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Miss Lavelle White at Top of the Marc, February 2 All Photos by John Carrico |  |
This article appears in February 12 • 1999 and February 12 • 1999 (Cover).