Antone’s, May 3/Austin Music Hall, May 4/Antone’s, May 9/Austin
City Limits, May 11/Austin Music Hall, May 12
When you tap a vein, the warm blood instantly gushes into the hollow
of the needle like floodwaters during a heavy rain. Guitarists look for that
vein every night they’re on stage. They look to tap into a free-flowing pulse,
and channel it through their instrument. At the opening of the Brothers Vaughan
Family Style album, I believe it’s Jimmie who says “just roll it, and
I’ll feel it.” Watching Vaughan – five nights in 10 days – it was striking how
one could see him searching for a good vein. He’d close his eyes, scrunch his
face, and leave his fingers limp on the fretboard until that pulse hit his
fingertips. And many was the time when nothing came. The first night of his
stand, a Wednesday night at Antone’s, he didn’t even bother looking very hard.
He was in entertainer mode, and for someone who spent about 15 years behind
performer extraordinaire Kim Wilson, Vaughan’s emergence as a frontman has been
surprisingly natural. Leading the enthusiastic three-quarters full house
through crowd-pleasing sing-a-longs like “Don’t Cha Know,” “Boom Bapa Boom,”
and “I Like it Like That,” Vaughan was as smooth as Frank, Johnny, or Mel, and
the crowd ate it up. But there was no sting to his playing. Same with his
Austin Music Hall show the following night. Lots of “oohs” and “ahhs,” and
hi-stepping from his backing trio of singers, some flameout guitar from Denny
Freeman, heady B-3 swells from the wonderful Bill Willis, but Vaughan relegated
himself mostly to rhythm. Time after time, he’d search for a gusher, but all
that sputtered out was choppy spurts of Strat. The audience didn’t seem to
mind.
Perhaps it was the fact that Eric Clapton, Buddy Guy, Robert Cray, and others
had arrived in town, and rehearsals for the Stevie Ray Vaughan tribute had
already begun by the time the second Antone’s show rolled, because Vaughan was
definitely “on.” Every lick, every solo, every run between choruses, flowed
like electric current through water. The sprinkling of blues covers throughout
his 90-minute set harkened back to a time when Vaughan and the Thunderbirds
played Antone’s on a regular basis. This night, he was still the frontman, but
not to the exclusion of also being the lead guitarist. This carried over
somewhat to the SRV tribute on the Austin City Limits soundstage two
nights later; yet, for the most part, Vaughan let the big names play, limiting
himself to a couple of Strange Pleasure numbers at the outset,
introductions of each guest, and two evening-ending, all-star jams. High-lights
of the taping included Dr. John’s funky take on “Cold Shot,” B.B. King’s
R&B rendition of “Telephone Song,” and both Eric Clapton numbers, “Empty
Arms” and “Ain’t Gonna Give Up on Love.” The jams, “Six Strings Down,” “Tick
Tock,” an instrumental shuffle, and the unscheduled, B.B. King-led improv of
“When the Saints Go Marching In” – with King, Clapton, Robert Cray, Bonnie
Raitt, and Art Neville – were fun and somewhat raucous, but unspectacular, and
they set the stage for the much-anticipated grand finale show the next night at
the Austin Music Hall.
Vaughan took the stage a little after 9pm, and played his now-familiar set
for
the first hour, while a restless crowd of 2,800 tried to stay enthusiastic in
the stifling heat of the acoustically sound hall. When Robert Cray came on just
after 10pm with a simmering version of Freddie King’s “Welfare,” the
temperature and energy level shot up immediately. Next was Clapton doing Lowell
Fulson’s “Reconsider Baby” and his own “Bad Love,” and for the next hour or so,
ol’ slowhand dominated the stage giving everyone a lesson in the blues. He
yielded the spotlight for Austin favorite Buddy Guy, who actually showed up to
play (his last five or so Austin appearances have been all showboating, no
playing), though his tone was jarringly jagged, and, at first, all flash and
fury. Still, his rendition of “Sweet Home Chicago” and “I Can’t Quit You” sent
the crowd into a frenzy. Locals go ga-ga over Guy, and the heart of the
three-hour show had to be the 45 or so minutes during which all four guitarists
shared the stage. Again, Clapton dominated the proceedings, though he
continually pushed Guy and Vaughan to play harder, more furious. And it paid
off in spades in the last 35 minutes of the show. After Guy suddenly departed,
to the surprise of the other three guitarists, Cray launched into a version of
“Love Struck Baby,” which put the previous evening’s SRV proceeding to shame.
From that song on, Vaughan was one fire. Turns out, he’d only been warming up
for 21/2 hours, and when one thinks back to those long nights at
Antone’s, when the Thunderbirds played back-up band all evening, it made
perfect sense. Let Vaughan play all night, and at a certain point the blues
gush from him like a severed artery. You could see Clapton standing back,
smiling in wonder at the fury with which Vaughan played. Unfortunately, only
the encore was left by this hour, and while “Six Strings Down” and another
nameless shuffle were six-alarm blazes, you couldn’t help feeling that the
night had just begun when it was ending. This is what Austin needs a fix of:
the two-hour and 30 minutes later Vaughan. That’s when you get the real Texas
Flood.
– Raoul Hernandez
MEDESKI, MARTIN & WOOD
Emo’s, May 4/White Rabbit, May 5
The lounge movement? Give me a fucking break. From
Combustible Edison to Euripides Pants, the “lounge” movement is grooving so
that beat wannabes and beer drinkers can groove, Daddy-o, while doing
everything but paying actual attention to the music. Go to an Ugly Americans,
Soulhat, or Little Sister show, and you see the same thing: people too busy
drinking to give a rat’s ass about the music. So you go to the coffee
cafeterias. They’re packed. And all you need is a buck for the jukebox. What
does that jukebox have? Always some Coltrane, always Miles. Music people want
to fade into the background, but doesn’t. Case in point, Medeski, Martin &
Wood – ‘Trane’s and Miles’ descendents. Descendents not in a musical sense, but
in the sense of jazz, where blind impov leads down a path to the unknown. And
the wonderful thing is, it doesn’t feel like jazz, not with all that rock,
funk, and soul – but wait, that is jazz. Or is it? Listen to the New
York-based trio bleeding Thelonious Monk’s “Bemsha Swing ” into Bob Marley’s
“Lively up Yourself” (a live highlight), and decide for yourself. I assume
that’s what the several hundred people that crowded around Emo’s indoor stage
Thursday night – who stayed the entire 2 1/2 hour set – and the
thick crowd at the White Rabbit the the following night did. Perhaps they
discovered that jazz bypasses the lounge movement, but not those clubs where it
resides.
– Raoul Hernandez
FESTIVAL INTERNATIONAL DE LOUISIANE
Lafayette, Louisiana, April 28-30
The first question everyone asks when you say you’ve just returned
from
Louisiana is, “Did you go to Jazz Fest?” “No,” for the umpteenth time, “we went
to International Fest,” which in turn elicits a blank stare. And that’s
precisely why this wonderful, annual, free festival, which celebrates French
culture from around the world, has remained a local/regional event. This year’s
theme, “Revelations of Diaspora: The African Journey,” was realized through a
broad spectrum of international sounds and styles: Kanda Bongo Man from Zaire,
Mario Canonge and Ralph Thamar from Martinique, Vodou-Le from Haiti, Djolem
from Ivory Coast, Conjunto Cespedes from Cuba by way of the Bay Area, Sax
Avenue from France, Tuyo from Canada, trumpeter Kermit Ruffins & the
Barbeque Swingers from New Orleans, and Afro-Pop superstar and festival
headliner Ismael Lo from Senegal. Louisiana Cajun and zydeco bands were
ubiquitous – Fernest Arceneaux & the Thunders, Nathan & the Zydeco
Cha-Chas, Keith Frank & the Soileau Zydeco Band, Walter Mouton & the
Scott Playboys, and the current “Sweetheart of Zydeco,” the soulful Rosie
Ledet. Lafayette guitar-slinger C.C. Adcock hauled Excello stalwarts Guitar
Gable, King Karl, and crooner Rod Bernard out of retirement for a swamp pop
extravaganza. But unquestionably, the highlight for my family was dancing the
night away to the almighty Skatalites from Jamaica. Boasting a four-horn front
line that included original members Roland Alphonso and Lester Sterling, these
originators of ska traversed the entire history of Jamaican popular music with
an unparalleled sense of style and authenticity. And whenever they locked into
that murderous groove and started to swing, it was like heaven on earth.
– Jay Trachtenberg
This article appears in May 19 • 1995 and May 19 • 1995 (Cover).