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Steev Ricardo has put together this strange and wonderful bill to benefit Kitty Angels, a no-kill cat shelter, for which he is to be commended. Delayed at work, I show up half-way through Brett Rosenberg's last song. I was psyched to see him, he sounds great, and I'm annoyed, but soon recover. I like Mercury Charm Offensive more tonight than I have previously. Jeremy seems a stronger, more confident, and showier singer, and Geoff's fiery guitar leads are better integrated into their overall sound. The backing vocals are mixed better, too, (except for Allison's, which are again inaudible) and together these changes not only make for a better performance, but also reveal the basic quality and catchiness of these rockin' pop songs. The only problem comes when Jeremy insists on starting a three minute song with one minute left in their allotted time--not really cool this early on a night with this many acts.
Rosie Huntress is up next. I've been meaning to check her out, since I loved her in Flexie, and I am not disappointed. "Rosie Huntress" is a four-piece, and I usually find this annoying; don't the other guys count? How does one refer to them in the aggregate? Here, though, it makes sense, because it's all about Rosie. It's not that the rest of the band are bad--they're quite good, actually, the rhythm section simple and perfectly tight, the lead guitar tame but tasty--it's just that she's got it going on. She's got the pipes and she knows how to use them, with good dynamics and great, slightly surprising melodies. I will definitely see them again.
KariNations are seriously not my thing, but are very good at what they do. They've got a Look goin', that's for damned sure. It's fast and punky, with lyrics mostly shouted in lieu of any sort of melody and the drums getting kind of annoyingly repetitive sometimes. I do like his kick cowbell, though, and the crunchy, textured guitar leads. Since everyone's on short sets tonight, I'm more amused than bored. And the room is starting to fill up.
I've seen three-quarters of Caged Heat before, but never together. Still, when I see Jill Kurtz, Bo Barringer, and Alan Devine on stage together I know I'm in for a treat. Jill sings lead, and I'm strongly reminded of The Breeders, but when Bo joins her my friend Sera thinks of X, and I can hear that, too. That's always good. The songs are rollicking, rootsy things that either spit out what they have to say and dash for the end, or else stretch out extravagantly to provide ample room for Alan's smart, rhythmic, creative guitar leads and Jill's astonishing, frankly demonic harmonica solos. She's a star.
The Hidden are also not my thing, but they're also good at what they do. Even if they weren't, I'd be afraid to say it, because they look like they might kick my ass, but they are. Their first song starts off with enough metal cliche that I expect to see Stonehenge lowered from the ceiling, but they execute the intricate instrumental lines and bombastic vocals skillfully. The lead singer, who seems never to have met a Big Rock Gesture he didn't like, throws himself entirely into the performance, prowling the audience as if the stage were too small to contain him.
The Kitty Kill really have to explain the name, under the circumstances. They claim that it refers to killing BY kitties, rather than OF them, and is therefore appropriate. A three-piece, they do rather straightforward songs with fairly simplistic guitar and interesting, engaging vocal melodies. (They kind of sound like solo acoustic songs arranged for a band in this way.) The drummer drifts a bit in tempo from time to time, but she has tremendous energy (two broken sticks early in the first song!) and plays some great, complicated parts. The singer has a low, warm, furry voice that I love.
Between the deep sax and the dominant bass, with the guitar mixed so low I sometimes lose it, Bourbon Princess sound an awful lot like Morphine. But Monique Ortiz sounds like nobody else. I'll admit, it takes me a while to get there with her. Her voice has a very strange quality, somehow thick and slow, and she swoops around from note to note almost without ever landing on one. (This in contrast to her virtuosa precision on the fretless bass.) But as she mixes in some spoken word and some R&B power-wailing, and I start to make out some of the dark, potent lyrics, and her mighty, transfixing stage presence works its magic, I am drawn in. Jerome Dupree is apparently the sideman of choice for jazzy-without-being-actual-jazz Boston musicians in need of complex, confident drumming.
TT's is running out of people by the time The Real Kids come on. They play a short set, and it's very simple stuff, for the most part. Straight up, melodic punk songs, and unfortunately their voices aren't really in any kind of shape to tackle the "melodic" part. However, they are transformed when John Felice solos. His solos are gorgeous things, sensible and wank-free, yet brilliant and surprising. I would wish they went on longer, but in fact they occupy just the right amount of each song.
