GDFAF: Jeffrey Lewis & The Jitters, Hare & Hounds, Birmingham 20th October 2007

For the uninitiated, Jeffrey Lewis is an anti-folk singer-songwriter from New York's Lower East Side who writes quirky, intelligent and painfully catchy songs delivered in a fast-talking, sotto voce style. His website says his material "mixes 60s acoustic psychedelia like Pearls Before Swine with the experimental art-punk of the Fall and the urban lyricism of Lou Reed, sounding a bit like if Woody Guthrie fronted Sonic Youth." I'd prefer to describe it as sunny nihilism, but that's just me trying to be succinct. It's my new hobby.

He also moonlight's as a comic-book artist - and a rather gifted one at that - and his songs are often accompanied by 'hand-made music videos' delivered via flip-chart. Here's an example, his pant-wettingly hilarious saga of Mark E. Smith, 'The Legend of The Fall':


Anyhow, this was the third time I'd seen him play live. I guess that makes me a fan. The last two occasions were acoustic affairs consisting of Jeffrey Lewis, a flip-chart and a battered looking guitar that seemed to be held together with stickers. This this time around the guitar looked even more battered and bestickered, but he also brought along his band. The flip chart stayed at home, replaced now by some nifty back projection featuring a new batch of home-made music videos. Personally, I missed the flip-chart, but - as Rupert Murdoch once told the print unions - you have to move with the times.

Having been used to his quirky acoustic performances, I wasn't quite prepared for full audio onslaught of the Jitters. To spare me a wearisome trudge through a music thesaurus, I'll cut to the chase, resort to cliche and simply say They Rocked.

Here's a clip of them playing 'Don't Let The Record Company Take You Out To Lunch' at one of my favourite music venues in the world, King Tut's Wah-Wah Hut in Glasgow:


Supporting Jeffrey Lewis was his uncle, Professor Louie. The Professor, it seems, is a veteran performance poet who hails from that time-honoured political movement the corporate media try so hard to ignore: the Goddamned American Left [and no, kids, I'm not talking about the Democrats]. Here's a biog from his MySpace page:

"Professor Louie (a.k.a. Victor Lewis) is a spoken-word performer/political rapper who's been putting out underground albums in New York since 1985. Along with percussionist Eddie "Fast Eddie" Hernandez, Professor Louie has been entertaining and enlightening audiences for decades. Called a genius by Pete Seeger on many occasions, the phenomenon known as Professor Louie grew out of the 1960's radical theater group The Pageant Players and evolved via guerrilla solo performances in the streets and parks of New York City in the early 80's. Eschewing the music industry entirely, Professor Louie releases albums on the completely independent FREE BROOKLYN NOW imprint."

I thought he was fecking awesome, and his material reminded me of the Golden Age of Rap and Hip Hop - when the likes of Chuck D and Public Enemy would talk about more compelling things than conspicuous consumption and finely-toned abs. It gave me something of an insight into the pathos and social conscience that informs so much of his nephew's work. Here's what I mean:



All in all, then, a great end to my somewhat meagre contribution to Going Deaf For a Fortnight. Still, three gigs in six days ain't bad....

Interlude

I've been away for a while partly because I had a bit of a challenging week. Hearing bad news sort of compromises my fondness for low humour and knob gags. As Kurt Vonnegut used to say, "So it goes."

The other reason why I've been somewhat, um, prolifically-challenged is because my ISP SNAFU'd and cut-off my broadband connection. I won't name names, but this isn't out of some misguided sense of discretion. Hell, no. I've read the stories and heard the urban myths: I know that if you bad mouth these people they'll hunt you down like a dog.

Resolving the situation involved making numerous premium-rate phone calls to various discount-rate people, some of whom claimed I didn't exist. Maybe they're right. In case, in a few days I've somehow managed to circumnavigate the globe through the medium of call centre.

And I used to think that travel broadened the mind.

GDFAF: Jim White, Birmingham Barfly, 18th October 2007

Go to a gig, read a book or watch a film it’s difficult to escape the conclusion that true Characters are few and far between. Where once there were performers, writers and actors who went to the trouble of living a little before they went to the trouble of becoming famous, we now live in a world that seems to impatiently skip that intermediate step. You only have to compare a 1970s Parkinson interview with its modern-day equivalent to see it in action. For actors like Robert Mitchum or Cary Grant, “Before They Were Famous” meant something more than an early appearance in a toe-curling breakfast cereal ad. In the case of Mitchum, he could talk about criss-crossing America as a box-car vagrant without a cent to his name; in the case of Grant, he could talk about how young Archie Leach escaped from hopeless poverty in Bristol by going to America and reinventing himself as a fictional persona.

In music it’s the same. How many contemporary performers have biographies that can compare to, say, Johnny Cash, John Lee Hooker, Hank Williams, Leadbelly or Woody Guthrie? These are all artists who lived full, rich and sometimes dangerous lives before they became famous. What all these people have in common is that their experiences, their hardships and often their demons shaped their art.

Which brings me to Jim White.

Alt.country maverick Jim White is an old school Character with a capital ‘C’ who lived a full, rich and often dangerous life before he recorded his first song. A glance through his biographical details can be a surreal experience. He spent ten years as a New York taxi driver at the height of the city’s crack wars, during which time – and on more than one occasion - he nearly got a bullet in the back of his head [“I started doing it to pay my way through college,” he told the crowd on Thursday. “Bargain! Two educations for the price of one.”]. During another stage of his life he was an Fundamentalist Christian Evangelist [what is it about edgy, uncompromising artists and their close shaves with a religious life? Martin Scorsese, Johnny Cash and Bill Hicks pop into mind]. Oh, and he’s also worked as a boxer and an international fashion model. Yes, you read that right.

I mentioned in a previous post how the absence in between-song banter compromised my enjoyment of a gig. Well, Jim White more than made up or this. As a raconteur, he’s in the same league as Tom Waits [and that’s damned high praise indeed coming from lifelong Tom Waits fan]. The gig was interwoven with often painfully hilarious tales that included a theological arms-race that escalated to an Existential stand-off with the head of the Amsterdam branch of The Church of Scientology, as well as a harrowing account of the second time someone tried to kidnap him [it involved a late-night bedroom confrontation, an impromptu Bible reading and a hare-brained suicide mission to Mount Ararat].

He started the set with the menacing Static on the Radio and struck a nice balance between fast stuff and the slow stuff [A Perfect Day To Chase Tornados], between the old stuff that people wanted to hear [If Jesus Drove a Motor Home] and the newer stuff that he wanted to play, and between the “dark little songs” and a daft but lovely ode to the colour turquoise [Turquoise House]. Despite only playing with what he described as “3/4 of a band” [two guitarists and a midget Japanese drummer who later turned out to be fictional], they played tight and mean, and there was plenty of effortless on-stage banter between the guys [and some mock-redneck exchanges with the support act, Jenny Owen Youngs, who was invited up as a guest vocalist].

Anyhow, I’ve got to cut this short – it’s 8.30pm and I’m supposed to be going to a Jeffrey Lewis gig tonight. Must dash…

This can't be right...

So there I am, minding my own business and hammering out a blog post on my steam-powered laptop with the TV on in the background. Then I hear it.

A Nick Drake song being used for a cough medicine commercial.

The letter-writing campaign starts NOW!

GDFAF: Jenny Owen Youngs

I went to see the mighty Jim White at the Birmingham Barfly last night and a mighty damn fine gig it was, too. I'll do a full write-up tomorrow. Promise.

The support act was Jenny Owen Youngs. I'd never heard of her before and missed the beginning of her set due to a pizza oversight that involved my younger brother [AKA Brother Younger]. Well, that was my loss. A feisty angel from New Jersey, she performed a beautiful acoustic set and effortlessly charmed the pants off a large segment of the audience, mine included.

Her MySpace profile says that "her songs straddle the heart-wrenching and the tongue-in-cheek and say giddyup." Well, that combination works for me, and I couldn't put it better myself. This wasn't just your one of your run-of-the-mill oversensitive singer-songwriter types emoting by numbers. This girl had grit, attitude and an infectious sense of mischief. She ended her set with a blistering cover of Nelly's "Hot in Herre" that actually worked, fer Chrissakes. If I had a bit more money in my wallet at the end of the night I would have snapped up one of her CDs.

The fact I was somewhat smitten by her had no influence on my judgment, of course. Of course.

Jim White

My GDFAF catch-up continues...

Tonight I'm off to see Jim White at The Barfly in Birmingham. He's a bit of an off-beat alt.country maverick [aren't they all?] who also worked as a comedian, a fashion model, a boxer, a preacher, a professional surfer and a New York cab driver. He also appeared in the rather splendid BBC documentary film Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus in which he embarked on a road trip through the American Deep South.

So now you know who Jim White is. My work here is done.

GDFAF: Shady Bard, The Modified Toy Orchestra & Pram

By way of a recap: last week, Birmingham’s Town Hall reopened it’s doors after more than a decade of sitting derelict at the top end of New Street looking like a jilted bride’s abandoned wedding cake. A week-long festival of events are currently being held to celebrate its reopening, which on Monday featured an evening dedicated to the city’s experimental music scene.

The former home of the CBSO, Birmingham Town Hall dates back to 1834 and over the years has played host to legendary bands like Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones. It’s a fine example of neo-classical civic architecture and its design was based on the ancient Roman temple of Castor and Pollux, which also played host to legendary bands like Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones.

I used to go to gigs at the Town Hall in my teens and would love to sit back now, stroke my goatee and reminisce about catching some rock legends before they hit the big time and/or imploded due to musical differences and substances beyond their control. I’d like to, but I can’t. Here and now most of the acts I saw there and then cause me nothing but shame and indigestion. Let’s just say ‘Hue & Cry’ and leave it at that.

Monday night, by contrast, filled me with pride and joy. It also helped settle my stomach.

SHADY BARD

I’d heard of Shady Bard but hadn’t listened to them before. The lead singer was a slim chap whose trembling basso profundo voice seemed to contradict his body mass index. That’s a compliment, by the way. I’m a slim chap myself and I’d love to have a voice that contradicts my body mass index.

Anyhow, maybe it was the deep voice or the fact he started the set perched at his piano, but I was put in mind of a Boatman’s Song era Nick Cave. As anyone who knows anything about my taste in music will tell you, this immediately put the band straight into my file marked “Good shit wot I like.”

As the set progressed I was reminded of a lot of other things, too. With what - to my ears at least – sounded like an effortless stew of brooding melancholy seasoned with some good old-fashioned sardonic wit, I thought of the brilliant New York based band The National. My good friend and erstwhile gig pimp Pete Ashton apparently believes its bad form to compare unfamiliar bands to one’s that are more familiar.

This one’s for you, Pete.

THE MODIFIED TOY ORCHESTRA

The Modified Toy Orchestra is more than just the name for a band, it’s a bold statement of intent. They’re a five piece outfit that make sophisticated music using modified toys that make beepy, burpy noises. It really is that straightforward, and maybe the world would be a far less confusing place if more bands adopted this honest approach to branding. Or maybe it wouldn’t. I’m not sure I want to live in a same world as ‘The Generic Oasis-Inspired Guitar Combo’ or ‘The Blandly-Anodyne Conspicuously-Consuming Production-Line R&B Artiste’ or ‘McFly.’ Sadly, I already do.

But there’s more to The Modified Toy Orchestra than just a clear labelling policy that would put most major supermarket chains to shame. I’d seen two of them perform before - collaborating with Krautrock legend Damo Suzuki at the Hare & Hounds in August - but even that sublime and buggier-than-batshit night could not prepare me for a full-frontal assault by the MTO. The things these guys can do with a Texas Instruments’ Speak & Spell, a toy plastic guitar and a weird looking Barbie doll with red glowing eyes will blow your hat through a ceiling tile. They’re fun without being a novelty act, brilliantly innovative without being alienating, and they kick the arse of other genre-breaking electonica acts so hard that they’ll end up farting out of their nostrils.

PRAM

Local ambient avant-pop pioneers Pram were the headliners, and of the three acts that played they were probably the most experimental. Mind you, I’m not sure how you can measure how ‘experimental’ a band is. Maybe it has to be done under lab conditions.

I’d never seen them before, but I was looking forward to their set. For one thing, I’d been reliably informed that it would feature a marimba. As I explained to Jez, Pete & the delightful Jo, the sound of a marimba invokes in me images of sun-kissed beaches, of palm fronds rustling in a soft breeze and of soft white sand compressing beneath my bare feet. Pete – however – took exception to this, and questioned my right to indulge in such marimba-induced tropical fantasies based on the fact that I live in land-locked Birmingham.

“Ah, but I was raised in an Irish coastal town,” was supposed to be my swift retort. Unfortunately, I said “postal” instead of “coastal”. Being raised in an Irish postal town is a piss-poor retort in any context.

Pram’s music had a dreamlike, oceanic quality and the lead singer’s voice was beautiful and haunting. At various times they reminded me of Lambchop, Angelo Badalamenti, Stereolab and The Penguin Café Orchestra. At other various times I reminded myself that I should stop comparing new sounds to things I’d already heard. At least by reminding myself I’d save Pete the trouble. I think my friend Jez put it best when he described them as “a less-accessible Portishead.” Jez is much more succinct than me.

There wasn’t much in the way of between-song banter. In fact, there wasn’t any at all. At one stage I discretely whispered to Jez: “What this band needs is a fucking raconteur.” With hindsight, though, that was harsh. It’s a bit unfair to expect them to “Do a Springsteen”. They are, after all, local ambient avant-pop pioneers: lengthy pathos-soaked tales of growing up in New Jersey would have seemed a tad out of place. They did come across as very serious people, however. I get the impression that if you saw them at a party they’d be huddled in a corner earnestly discussing Jean-Paul Satre and Existentialism. Not that there’s anything wrong with that – I’ve been known to indulge in the occasional Sartre-themed corner-huddle myself - but I tend to break things up a bit by interjecting the occasional knob gag.

That aside, the music was beautiful and meticulously crafted. After the endorphin rush that accompanied The Modified Toy Orchestra, Pram eased me into a tranquil mid-theta state. The change in gear was a bit of a shock to my system, and my ankle ached the next morning. It seems I can’t handle polarity changes like I used to.

All in all, it was a very special night. Kudos to Capsule – the event’s organisers – for putting together something so special and unique, and let’s hope they get the chance to do something similar in the Town Hall again. I might not have managed to get to a “You had to be there” concert at the Town Hall in my teens, but on Monday night Shady Bard, Pram and The Modified Toy Orchestra more than made up for it.