Nothing makes me want
to climb a tower with a rifle quicker than premature holiday music. The first
set of yuletide yahoos I plan on admiring through my crosshairs and blowing
apart like bowls full of jelly will most assuredly be the pagan programmers at WBBF. All Christmas, 24 hours a day?
Already? Are you kidding me?
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Two Saturdays ago it was John Mayer and Teitur at Blue Cross Arena. Teitur played folky with a hint o’
Gaelic and a shy, sincere demeanor. He won over countless new young female fans
who fall for that whole shy, sincere demeanor bit.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย In clothes that looked like he had
slept in them, Mayer took the stage next. He was barely audible above the
screams. He’s clearly not The Beatles, but he plays simply and convincingly,
especially when he leans into his electric guitar. I thought he would simply
hide behind his guitar and strum occasionally. But, man that kid can twang. His
stage set lacked the standard pomp and fluff, so the responsibility of a good
show fell on the band’s shoulders instead.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Later that night NYC jammers ULU warmed up the Water Street Music
Hall bandstand for tow-headed Allman newbie Derek Trucks. Centered on the honk of their mondo cool sax player,
the band grooved steady through a funky all-instrumental set. They didn’t set
the joint on fire but got it good and warm for Trucks, a man of staggering
talent who doesn’t move a muscle. I’ve seen cigar-store Indians with more
animation. However, Trucks’ pill-bottle slide guitar attack was incendiary. The
rest of his band kinda bored me and I could of tolerated a full dose of Trucks
ร la carte.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย As with most bands, The Sadies have to be seen live. This
Toronto outfit’s records are alt-country-garage gems and are an accurate
portrayal of their sound. But you’ve simply got to be a part of it for maximum
impact. However sweet each tune sounded at their Saturday night Bug Jar show,
the overall sound emanating from the stage was ominous. Every tune churned out
was epic and exquisitely placed in their set list. The band obliged with three
encores before begging to be “left alone.”
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Mohawk Place in Buffalo hosted The Supersuckers the following
Saturday. I rolled up with some friends to see a tight, tight rock ‘n’ roll
show. The band played favorites off of every album. Toward the end they paid
tribute to the big rock they come from by beautifully covering Thin Lizzy’s
“Cowboy Song.” Loud and rockin’, the band was incredibly down-to-earth despite
their collective over-the-top stage persona as the greatest rock ‘n’ roll band
on earth. Hey, it ain’t braggin’ if it’s true. The Mohawk seems to have new and
improved sound, but the lights still make it look like the set of All In The Family. C’mon, dim the
lights. I need some atmosphere.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย From Super to Supa at the Bug Jar. New
Orleans’ Supagroup rocked the modest
Tuesday night crowd so hard, you’d swear it was 100-times bigger. This Lee
brothers-fronted outfit rocked like all the quotable, imitable longhairs we all
long to be… or at least hear when we’re in need of a boost. Guitarist Benji Lee
stroked the snot out of his battered burgundy SG with just enough finesse. You
could still hear his fingerprints across the strings.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Chicago’s The Dishes opened the show with a loose and loud set with an
apparently accelerated, compensatory vigor. It seems they lost their bass
player along the way, but it/he/she wasn’t missed.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย San Francisco’s The Husbands, who never had a bass player to begin with, closed the
night with an urgent set of garage-tainted raunch. Endearing one moment,
intimidating the next, they reminded me of the mother I never had. Read into
that however you’d like.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย What really amazed me about this
particular, predominately rocked-out evening was the slight, smiling gentleman
from Alabama. Dan Sartain placed a
single mic stand in the middle of the dance floor, strapped on a beat-up Kay
archtop and began to croon. That’s right, croon — all warm and sweet and sexy. Folks almost immediately gathered around him
as if he were a prophet, showing us rock ‘n’ roll’s weakness. No histrionics.
No pyrotechnics. For roughly 20 minutes, I was blown away. The guy is on Swami
Records. I suggest you check him out.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Endless car commercials may have worn
out the band’s welcome, but The
Barenaked Ladies are a lot of fun live. The band rocked the sold-out
Auditorium audience last Wednesday with their borderline adult-contemporary
rock: very safe, but very funny. The band even poked fun at the fast ferry from
their decidedly Canadian point of view.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย The
Legendary Shack Shakers once again wowed the admirable Thursday Bug Jar
crowd with atomic wedgies, double-jointed num-chuck horseplay, snotty, raspy,
bloody, rusty harp blowin’, and the rhythm and speed of a rapidly derailing
locomotive. And the train kept a-rollin’… all night long.
This article appears in Nov 19-25, 2003.
