Thursday, April 28, 2005
Joe Jackson and Todd Rundgren
On a bill with Todd Rundgren and the string quartet Ethel at the Warner Theatre on Tuesday, Joe Jackson only occasionally resembled the angry young man he was marketed as when he entered the post-punk pop scene in the late 1970s. A couple of the more recent pieces he performed from behind a piano in his fabulous one-hour solo set, including "Awkward Age" and "Take It Like a Man," were as feisty as vintage Graham Parker, the prototype bitter Brit rocker.
Yet for the most part, Jackson, at 50, is a veritable Mr. Congeniality compared with his old self. As a when-in-Rome courtesy to the local audience, Jackson trotted out what he said was the only political number he's ever recorded, "Obvious Song." He introduced "Hello, Hello, Who's Your Lady Friend?" as a 1913 pop tune he learned for a part as a lounge singer in an upcoming period-piece feature film.
But the show's finest moments came when Jackson flaunted his brutally romantic side. Several tunes seemed perfect for the soundtrack of a chick flick. "Be My Number Two" is a pretty, and pretty desperate, plea to be caught on the rebound. The Tom Waits-like one-night-stand chronicle "Love at First Light" had Jackson crooning lines such as "And I sit here watching you sleeping / I only wish that I could remember your name" in a way that made them lovely.
Jackson, looking sharp in striped pants, sneakers and a long leather coat, seemed confused only when the crowd's enthusiasm boiled over. On "Is She Really Going Out With Him," both the crowd's rhythmic clapping and the unsolicited backup singing at the climactic moments (Jackson: "Look over there!" Crowd: "Where?!") made him stop playing and giggle.
Rundgren broke a guitar string just a few bars into his closing solo set, and he spent the rest of his show going for laughs and generally destroying page after page of his songbook, which includes some of the finest pop tunes ever written. Rundgren redeemed himself at least partly by bringing Jackson and Ethel on to back him in an encore of the Beatles' "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" that was chilling in its greatness. If only "Hello It's Me" had been afforded the respect it deserved.
-- Dave McKenna
The Duhks
The last time the Duhks played Iota the place was nearly empty. Tuesday night the joint was jammed with a mix of college-age and clearly post-college fans interested in seeing the rising acoustic quintet from Winnipeg.
Two years of relentless touring of folk festivals and concert halls have sharpened their skills as well as expanded their audience. And it helps to have a hot record produced by the respected banjo player Bela Fleck (with the great bassist Edgar Meyer sitting in).
Leonard Podolak's oddly tuned clawhammer banjo and Tania Elizabeth's brisk fiddle do most of the heavy lifting, while Jordan McConnell remarkably plays the guitar and bass parts simultaneously on his acoustic guitar. Percussionist Scott Senior provides an assortment of beats to accompany the fast-flying melodies; echoes of traditional Cajun, Celtic and Cuban influences fling across the stage, particularly on the several up-tempo instrumentals.
Singer Jessica Havey takes the material a bit too seriously -- her introduction to "True Religion" was off-putting instead of ingratiating -- but her dusky voice brings urgency to lyrics, even if, as with "Mists of Down Below," they're told from the viewpoint of a migrating bird.
The band managed to overcome any pretensions by playing their tunes with abandon, as if they themselves couldn't wait to hear "Du Temps Que J'etais Jeune," the country-flavored "Dance Hall Girls" or the impressive show opener, a blistering instrumental called "Legos."
The Duhks are in a fortunate place: They can pass for a folk band, a jam band or a traditional acoustic band, and impress any audience with their easy virtuosity. It will be interesting to see how big the audience is on their next visit.
-- Buzz McClain
Bleach
About 15 years ago, Tokyo popsters discovered an exotic new style that was, in a sense, indigenous: Okinawan folk music. There's one folkie ballad on the latest album by Bleach, an Okinawan trio, but it wasn't performed Tuesday night at the Velvet Lounge, where the young women evoked Osaka's noise-rock scene rather than any tropical clime. Shifting styles at high velocity, Bleach seemed to invent a new subgenre with each song: speedfunk, arena rockabilly, blitzkrieg reggae and so on, until a feedback blare abruptly ended the set after barely 40 minutes.
All three members of Bleach sing, but the essential contrast was between girlish guitarist Kanna and tomboy bassist Shuku-Suke. Although both sometimes interjected pop-rock ooh-oohs and dah-dahs, most of Shuku-Suke's vocals were raw screams that complemented her breakneck (yet precise) bass flailing. Feet planted far apart in a good-rocking-tonight stance, Kanna sang the vocal melodies of songs such as "Sun-Dance -- Moon Dance." Even her most tuneful passages were usually followed by hardcore punk flourishes, no-wave breakdowns or even jazz asides.
Bleach showed more energy than a dozen American post-hardcore bands combined, and that was entertainment enough for a 40-minute outburst. But the musicians were also adept and versatile, with the chops to negotiate their sudden stylistic twists. If this all-woman Okinawan trio is a novelty act, the novelty is how skillful it is.
-- Mark Jenkins