Index of Shows | Homepage | Upcoming Shows | Write to me
We start our evening at a delightfully air-conditioned Middle East, where a benefit is in progress for the residents of an Elm Street domicile destroyed by fire. It's an early show with short sets from a zillion bands, and a bake sale! More shows should have bake sales. Arriving at 7:30, we've already missed two bands, but we are in time for Big Bear. At least, they look like Big Bear, but there are some early signs that something is up. Why does Joel have an acoustic? Why does Jordyn have a guitar? Why is there no cardboard duct-taped to her leg? And what's with all the microphones? It turns out that Big Bear are playing an entire set of Weezer covers. If you're reading this and you don't know anything about Big Bear, that's a shame, because it's hard to convey my bemusement. Big Bear are brutal, and I was all set to be brutalized. They do a really good job with Weezer songs, as it turns out—they're phenomenal musicians, so it's not at all surprising—but it takes a certain amount of expectation-adjustment before I can really get into this experience.
Tiny Amps are next. I've never seen them, and I'm a little concerned that they might be covering obscure Weezer songs. I mean, how would I know? These are tuneful mid-tempo rockers; less twee than most of the Weezer I've heard, but it's not inconceivable. Turns out it's just well-written songs, kind of straightforward and delivered in a gravelly voice that complements the catchy melodies. If they all sounded like this, I might get bored with them—I call it the Mid-Tempo Rocker Problem—but it's a short set, so I can't really tell.
Tramps Like Us have a name which pretty explicitly references a Springsteen tune, which is not exactly auspicious for me. They're pretty simple garage punk screamers. I personally find the singer's voice kind of annoying, although I can imagine finding it "impassioned." Their two big features are the lead guitarist's somewhat flashy excursions, which get kind of surprising at times, and the bassist's hair, gelled into some bizarre kind of vertical pompadour with Serious Hair Product involved and the most arresting thing about the band for me.
I've never seen Dorkbot, but I believe I've seen all the members before. It's an all-star cast they're assembling up there: Tiny Amps' singer/rhythm guitarist and Polaris Mine's bassist on guitars, Kevin Micka (aka Animal Hospital) on bass, Mad Man Films' singer/guitarist on vocals and general onstage freakishness, and Officer May's drummer! With all that talent onstage, it's no surprise that they're both polished and wild. The music is pretty noisy and not that overtly songlike, and I'm a bit disappointed that the singer leans heavily on the urgent screams, since I happen to know he's got a phenomenal singing voice, but he's got another set coming up later in the evening, and I'm a patient person. He certainly livens things up with his onstage antics, which include a whole lot of mic-attacking and eyeglass changing, culminating in him switching the glasses of all the band members while they play.
From bizarre and expansive, we radically shift gears to a rootsy two-piece. Benefits are weird that way. Modelo '78 is just a singer/guitarist and a drummer, 'though this is apparently the first time they've played in this configuration. It's real basic, kinda '50s-ish rock and roll. I find the drumming a little tentative; with just two instruments, I wish he'd rock out more. Most of the songs seem to be in Spanish; not that I can ever make out many lyrics anyway, but the added confusion of having them stream incomprehensibly by in a language that I barely understand a shred of under the best of circumstances makes for an interesting feeling of disorientation, which I tend to look for in my music. Their set is cut short by a broken string, with the guitarist bravely and pretty smoothly playing the one song that he can figure out how to play on five strings before calling it quits.
Mad Man Films are next, a crazy, noise-punky three-piece with a brutal rhythm section, precision stop-start dynamics, and a beautiful freak of nature on guitar and vocals. As I hoped, he sings more here than he did in Dorkbot, and he's got a voice of operatic power and clarity, without the ridiculous vibrato and weirdly plasticky tone that operatic training seems designed to impart. He also plays virtuoso whacked out guitar lines, but he stops doing so for longish stretches while singing, and the bass and drums are advanced enough that I don't miss it. Because we're running slightly ahead of schedule, they actually have time for a well-received encore after their short set.
There's more, but we book out of there at this point to head over to Great Scott, for a more artlessly fabulous rock and roll experience. (Without, alas, the powerful air conditioning that was making the Middle East so bearable on this mostly unbearable evening.) We arrive early in The Rudds' set, and J.Po is already gushing sweat. I can't believe anyone can stand up under stage lights and put out the kind of energy he does and not pass out. As I've said before, the purpose of The Rudds, as I see it, is to remove the strictures of tastefulness and restraint that would otherwise inhibit the full expression of J.Po's and Brett Rosenberg's awesomeness. In fact, the songs from the new album are a bit less overtly goofy, and I've come to really love the overt goofiness, but they've still got the wickedly flashy guitar solos and J.Po's impossible vocal gymnastics: the blissful freedom and easy surety with which he can climb from a rich low baritone to trill baroquely around the high notes in a gorgeous falsetto are dazzling. Tonight's set is an even mix of older and newer material, with a guest spot from Ellie Vee on "Delilah," and she sasses up the "What the hell is wrong with you?" in rock star fashion.
Then The Charms are up, debuting the new Cute Young Guy rhythm section. I obviously approve, and in fact they do a great job; not flawless, but very good for a first show, and they're about to embark on a three-month tour, so I expect a well-oiled machine when they get back to Boston. They too mix up old and new material, and especially on the old songs, what's most striking to me is that Kat is a wild woman tonight. She's got a fierce rock scream that I've never heard before, which she uses sparingly and to great effect in several songs while pounding the shit out of her keyboard. Ellie's voice is a pitch-perfect rasp, and when she drops ice down the front of her dress, I think the rest of the room gets that much warmer. And they close with my absolute favorite of the new songs, a showcase for her vocal fearlessness and for the band's polished, solid synchrony.
