Music

June 12, 1998

CitySearch Music!

Scream Real Loud! I've been to many a Lounge Lizards gig in my time and I've always been a little perplexed by the audience. Not by the mix of tidy yuppies, paunchy jazz aficionados, gaunt hipsters, and giggling Japanese girls--that's perfectly logical. No, what makes me wonder is the reverent hush directed toward such an irreverent band. I mean, they stand up there and yell when they get into it, so why not us? At last Thursday's Bowery Ballroom show, there was barely a peep out of the crowd as the Lizards churned along like one of those spectacular, shining early steam engines--all gleam and moving parts and bursts of heat. Finally, the bassist was left alone on stage for a deep, minimal solo (band members exit when they're not playing) and as the audience stood either hypnotized or half-asleep, one woman tore open the silence with a guttural, prolonged shriek of "ROCK OUT MOTHERFU@#ER!" Everyone laughed and the spell was broken. In fact, it was hard to shut everyoen up afterward, particularly when John Lurie began playing the name game with the audience--how many names can you think of with the initials BB? The whole room began shouting for "Bill Bixby" and "Bix Beiderbecke" and "Bugs Bunny!"--"Bugs Bunny isn't a real person! That doesn't count!" and we were shushed for a version of "The Birds Near Her House" that extended well past the 12 minutes it lasts on disc. The entire show sprawled more than Lizards gigs I've seen in the past--longer songs, songs sliding directly from one into another, lengthy solosall around. (Though I would've liked to hear more from the mighty Calvin Weston, whose seemingly endless howling poundfests are always a highlight.) Still, I've said before, the Lounge Lizards are one of the few bands that can pull off this sort of extended jam without veering into Deadhead drawl territory. After an hour and-a-half, the band exited, and the audience continued exercising their newly-discovered power to holler--someone still yelling "Brigitte Bardot!"--until the Lizards returned for an encore. (My associates and I amused ourselves during this interlude by exchanging stories about people we knew whom John Lurie had hit on. No, I will not share success ratios.) Lurie dished a little on the new venue--asking if anyone had a tough time getting tickets (yes) and comparing the backstage to "Bosnia." Investigation revealed it to be pretty raw indeed: two tiny dusty rooms--one had lights and was crowded with sticky folding chairs, the other dark and empty, with an electrical cord running into the window and out the door, dangling three feet from the ceiling and looking suspiciously like the electricity for the entire building ran through it. The Bowery Ballroom's a nice joint, but it still needs some work. The following evening brought the wacky James "Blood" Ulmer/Afrika Bambataa and the Soulsonic Force/Jon Spencer Blues Explosion show, part of the Texaco Jazz Festival. You might scratch your head and say "this is jazz?" The question is confusing but I viewed the gig as more of a "this is blues"--be it Ulmer's electrified psycho-delia, Bambataa's urban storytelling, or Spencer's white punk flailing. As to Ulmer's set, all I can say is: the Hudson Tent runs on schedule, and you better believe it! I just missed him. (Damn!) However, we made it in time to see Afrika Bambataa and the Soulsonic Force take the stage--and I mean take, like an enemy ship or a sucker with money in his pocket because there was no half-steppin' afoot here. Bambataa was his usual imperious royally garbed self, and the Soulsonic Force came on like a reunion of old blaxploitation heroes--you know how Richard Roundtree and Jim Brown are still badass after all these years? Afrika may have seemed to let the Force dominate, but he was just giving equal time to every man in true democratic fashion. And there were skills up there to shame most of the youngsters trying to make a buck on a rhyme these days--the skinny guy with the sweatpants pushed up one leg, getting nasty enough to make Big Pun blush, or the Jim Brown lookalike dropping solid, no-nonsense science with Biggie-like authority. Then they began goading the audience to "scream as loud as you can." But every time the countdown to making New Jersey feel the noise hit "two," they'd begin rocking one more rhyme, delaying it once more. It was one of the most masterful displays of audience control I've ever seen--promise complete release, then repeatedly withhold it. These men are professionals and it came across loud and clear to the gathered Blues Explosion fans who, despite that band's undeniable funkiness, frequently displayed the creaky air of those who've just realized "Hey, I've got a...booty!" at last, came the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, who were taking some time off the recording of their new album to do what they do best. According to my highly-paid informants, the new record, being crafted at historic Green Street Studios (site of fine work by Public Enemy, Pete Rock, and--hey!--Afrika Bambataa), is "more accessible" than past Explosion works (whatever that means). It also contains the second-greatest song title ever, "Bacon," though the greatest song title ever, "We Need Lyrics" has been sacrificed. There will also be a collaboration with Luscious Jackson's Jill Cunniff. The Blues Explosion, doubtless a bit uneasy at going on after the Old School Avengers, kicked off with the irrefutable "Blues X-Plosion Man" and, as always, didn't let up for a second, pummeling the audience like Muhammad Ali, just hit after hit with no breathing room between. Which may be the secret of their mindbending show: they don't stop, so you can't think. That and Mr. Spencer's down-to-the-ground trash Elvis in silver lame action, along with the torrential drumming of Russell Simmins, looking like a demented 8-year-old all over his teensy kit. I had the privilege of taking a friend who hadn't seen the Blues Explosion to this show, and the sight of her when Spencer cranked up the theremin--shrieking like a lunatic, past the ability to form word or thought--once again underlines the basic fun of seeing a show: in our crowded city, there are few places where you can just scream real loud and it's even better when we can all do it together.

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