UT Performing Arts Center, April 30
The King’s Singers are the six Englishmen who perform a
startling a
capella arrangement of Billy Joel’s And So It Goes that
KUT’s John
Aielli occasionally plays on “Eklektikos.” Even though I’d heard them
live for
the first time over 15 years ago, I was still shocked to discover that
1995
marks their 27th professional season. But, in spite of the years, and a
complete turnover of personnel (baritone Simon Carrington, the last of
the
original six, retired last year), their musicianship and enthusiasm
were as
fresh Sunday night as they were that first night in college so many
years ago.
What truly amazes me about these men is the effortlessness of their
performance. It makes no difference if the music is a Renaissance
madrigal or a
transcription of an orchestral classic (they ended their last formal
set with
Mozart’s Figaro overture!). Their rendition of the Beatles’
“Help!” was
rhythmically tighter than some local acts I’ve heard, and provided a
marked
contrast to Gyorgy Ligeti’s “Nonsense Madrigals,” which were performed
earlier
in the evening (Ligeti’s “Lux Aeternam” accompanies the first obelisk
scene in
Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey). Now that the original
boys from
Cambridge have retired, The King’s Singers have become a British
institution
right up there (for my money) with the London Symphony Orchestra, the
Rolling
Stones, and Masterpiece Theatre. Long live the King’s!.
–Don Palmer
RHYTHM CHILD
Black Cat, April 7
It’s no mystery why they call themselves Rhythm Child. They
cleverly
combine refined musicianship with youthful vigor, for an Ugly
Americans-meets-Black Crowes groove that packs the Cat every Tuesday
and Friday
night. Rhythm frontman Paul Renna is a pseudo-Chris Robinson indeed –
same
stage presence and dynamism, but with a little more meat on his bones.
When
he’s not singing (which is often – lyrics here are kept to a minimum),
he’s
pounding on a set of bongos or charming the crowd with his goofy grin
and
antics. Jonas Saks, seasoned by stints with Guy Forsyth and Mike
Kindred, can
take his bass line from a pelting throb to a mellow funk in a drunken
heartbeat. Drummer boy Brandon Elizondo grips the tempo with
energy-intense
fervor, and guitarists Jay Sheppard and Chris Rice keep the tunes
grooving.
Rice also doubles as the perfect complement on vocals: Renna’s got the
grit;
Rice has the soul. But tonight, the essence of this band oozed and
blared out
of Chris Womack’s sweet saxophone. His Coltrane-esque sheets of sound
started
pouring early in the set, and by the time “Thinking About It” rolled
around,
Renna had to tell the crowd to “Give us some room!” Womack nearly set
the damn
thing ablaze. Catch this band while you can: Come June 20, they’re off
to
Chilkoot Charlie’s in Alaska to teach the Northerners a thing or two
about
Austin funk. After that, there’s no telling. – Stephanie
Griest
GOO GOO DOLLS
Liberty Lunch, April 25
Must the scolding finger be wagged again? Bad, Austin,
naughty,
naughty, naughty. You’ve gone and made a perfectly dazzling band
play to a
practically empty hall. Again. Sure, you’ll pour into Liberty Lunch for
the Goo
Goo Dolls milquetoast cousins Weezer (who share the same management),
but then
that’s understandable: Those cuddly Weezer boys are considerate enough
to only
have one or two good songs to break up your titter and twitter time.
You’d
think that at least some of those old school indie geeks would still
pull for
the Goos – they performed with that rapid and revered 2/4 aggression,
plus the
sound really sucked. Then again, the highlights of the show were from
the new
album A Boy Named Goo, and we wouldn’t want to be caught with
any of
those bandwagon fans would we? Then, there were the two encore covers,
“Jenny
(867-5309)” and “Don’t Change.” I mean, please, we were over that new
wave
cover thing months ago, right? Even without the deserters and
the
buzz-clip junkies, the Goo Goo Dolls played valiantly, road colds and
all.
After a couple of rock blocks of three-minute mania, they started
warming up to
the enthused pack of fans with the bassist’s introduction: “Hi, I’m
Robbie, and
I’m a Libra.” That his vocals were clear when he was telling Grateful
Dead
jokes, but buried when he sang, may have been some sort of divine
intervention.
The less cheerful guitar player’s (Johnny, a Sagittarius) vocals were
dead on,
nailing the high “Don’t Cha-aaa-nge” at night’s end. Finally, Austin
expatriate
Mark Soloman (ex of the Clowns and currently working with the Tommy
Stinson) joined the boys (did I mention the trio’s new drummer is from
Denton
and used to play with Last Rites?) for a slapdash version of “Up
Yours.” And
his point would be… – Mindy LaBernz
HAMILTON POOL
Cactus Cafe, April 27
Graham Parker wrote “passion is no ordinary word” because not
everyone
has passion. Hamilton Pool have no passion. First things first:
Hamilton Pool
(Iain Matthews, Michael Fracasso, Mark Hallman) consists of three great
singer/songwriter guitarists, who harmonize beautifully together. The
problem
is, they’re all SNAGs: sensitive New Age guys. The Indigo Girls sound
as gritty
as Henry Rollins compared to these guys. The intimate crowd of under 50
politely applauded after each bland song, and waited patiently while
the boys
retuned after each number. Matthews tried valiantly to keep the
gathering
entertained with his witty repartee between numbers, but, while he was
mildly
amusing, he’s no Richard Thompson (they were in Fairport Convention
together).
In Matthews’ defense, he got little help from Hallman, who just spoke
the
occasional word, and the usually mesmerizing Fracasso, who only smiled
shyly.
Plus, all their songs just lay there. Fracasso actually slowed down
“One That
Got Away,” draining it of any energy it once had, and there should be a
law
that you at least have to know the definition of “soul” before you
attempt to
cover Van Morrison, especially “And It Stoned Me,” which closed the
first set.
It’s probably the major reason why one-third of the crowd didn’t return
for the
lackluster second half. These guys were about as exciting as
milquetoast
without the milk. – Al Kaufman
PAM PELTZ
Ruta Maya, April 28
This was not the easy stroll down memory lane I was expecting.
It was
more a mad dash through a dark alley abutted by crackhouses and
sanitaria. A
mere 16 people showed up for this gig, but what Peltz delivered was far
more
and far better than any of the gaggle could have expected. Back in the
mid-Eighties, Peltz fronted a locally venerated group of ethereal
folkies known
as Minus Grace. But rather than bank on this known quantity, Peltz is
now on a
path more akin to quirkmeisters Vic Chesnutt and Victoria Williams than
Peter,
Paul, and Mary bred with the Cocteau Twins. In content, she is a first
cousin
of Daniel Johnston, ranting about satanists, millionaires, and messiahs
among
other things. But ranting and meditations on the weird have never been
so
appealing. Peltz’s voice is stronger and more haunting than memory
serves, and
her guitar riffs are impeccable. A song about religious conversion was
still
bouncing about my head three days post-gig. It’s obvious that this
Austinite
hasn’t missed a stride over the last 10 years despite not getting the
notoriety
her talent warrants. I guess real artists just don’t care about such
trifles.
– Joe Mitchell
FULL CIRCLE
Back Room, April 30
Yes, even headbangers need a night to chill – give the old
neck muscles
a chance to heal, and that boiling metal blood pressure an opportunity
to
simmer – so on the Seventh Day, I caught Austin’s Full Circle at the
Back Room
for a little hard-rock levity. Their laid-back loungecore rides the
same
mellow-then-heavy power chords that alterna-metal slackers Collective
Soul and
Sponge are taking to the bank, which soundwise is convenient at least
for now.
But it was not until lead singer Brad Austin fought through his raspy
Vedderish
tendencies on songs “Rescue Me” and “Fly,” and guitarist Brandon Ross
let loose
some severe solo showers on “Comin’ Down” and the Hendrix cover “Little
Wing”
that this talented four-piece finally expelled bits of the loose
elements of
originality I knew they had in them. – Chris
Marsh
TOM PETTY AND THE HEARTBREAKERS
Bass Concert Hall, April 21
One day you wake up and people like Tom Petty have suddenly
been around
20 years. Sure, he hasn’t exactly been a closet critic’s darlin’ since
“American Girl” broke off of album number one, but then he never became
a pop
messiah a la Bruce Springsteen or Michael Jackson, either.
Still, his
career has been paved with one gold and platinum album after another on
a
middle road littered with AOR radio staples. So it’s that much more
surprising
that Petty’s greatest success has come with his last two solo albums,
which
have exposed him to an audience largely unfamiliar past glories like
Hard
Promises and Southern Accents, or singles like “Change of
Heart” and
“Jammin’ Me.” Not surprisingly, it was from his two wildly popular solo
albums,
and the Heartbreakers’ Full Moon Fever hangover, Into the
Great Wide
Open, from which nearly all of Petty’s 20-plus song set was culled.
And
although only “American Girl,” “Listen to Her Heart,” and “Refugee”
broke that
three-album set stranglehold, Petty and crew have never been better.
Especially
impressive was the a largely acoustic mid-set break, with new gems like
“Time
to Get Going,” “Wildflowers” and “Girl on LSD,” that confirmed a
consistent
pop-writing prowess rare in any up-and-down musical career. Guitarist
Mike
Campbell proved once again he’s the best sideman since Keith Richards,
with
exactly the right touch on everything – from flowery to fiery, with his
instrumental surf break “Diamond Head” being a standout. The raucous,
capacity
crowd shook the acoustically perfect Bass Concert Hall after every
number,
giving the show a stadium feel despite the intimate stage setting,
which
included Persian rugs, candelabras, and a lava lamp. Petty soaked it
all in,
roaming the stage with his sardonic smile plastered on his face,
banging on his
Fender when needed, and generally being the legend he’s quickly
becoming. It’s
good to be king. – Raoul Hernandez
RED DIRT RANGERS
Waterloo Ice House (38th St.), April 23
One little girl was running around with an untied shoe,
clinging to a
Snow White doll. A young mother was dancing with a baby in one arm and
a
squirming toddler in the other, and children ranging from infants to
preteens
sipped lemonade through straws while their dads drank cold beer, and
ate all
the fries off the kids’ plates. It was a terrific scene as the Red Dirt
Rangers
twanged their way through a set of folky kids’ tunes about tumbleweeds,
lost
shoes, bullfrogs, and treehouses at the latest installment in the
Waterloo Ice
House series of Sunday concerts for children. The Rangers (who play for
grown
people, too) put on a great show. Ben Hahn’s lead guitar swapped solos
with
Benny Craig’s steel, fiddle, and blues harp, and between song chit-chat
included such gems as: “Kids, this here’s a mandolin. That’s Italian
for `out
of tune.'” A spirited version of “Old Dan Tucker” was the highlight, as
one tot
climbed up on a chair to dance with her folks, and most toes couldn’t
quit
tapping. This series has included Bill Oliver as well as Aunt Beanie’s
1st
Prize Beets, and it’s well worth checking out. Head on down, pull up a
chair,
give the little sprouts a quarter for the gumball machine, and take a
look
around. You won’t be able to stop smiling.
This article appears in May 5 • 1995 and May 5 • 1995 (Cover).