Darrell Grant
@
Tula's Restaurant & Jazz Club
May 5, 2000
Seattle, WA

Links:
Darrell Grant

One set into the evening I realized I'd made the right choice. The chemistry between Darrell and his trio, which featured Chuck Bergeson on bass and Brian Kirk on drums, was impressive. The energy in the room seemed to flow back and forth between them. The solos were effortless, energetic and imaginative, without sounding contrived or forced. Darrell's emotional involvement with his music was evident on his face and in his playing. He may be a Northwest native now, but his New York roots were evident in his style and showmanship. The closing portion of the first set focused on Darrell's more recent material, songs like "Twilight Stories," "Smokin' Java," and "Quiet Times," which were obvious crowd favorites. It was a little after 10pm and the residue of my long hard week was a distant memory. I remember smiling for the first time that evening.

According to Darrell, one of the wonderful things about being a pianist is the sense of harmony one acquires. The highlight of the second set was Darrell's unique display of his own sense of harmony by deconstructing a popular jazz tune and asking the audience to guess which song it was. Some years ago there was a game show called Name That Tune, where contestants got a few notes but never a whole song. Trust me, if Darrell were in charge, even with a whole song to listen to, many a contestant would have left empty-handed. But before the contest could start, things looked bleak. Chuck on bass didn't have the sheet music and thus had no clue what the mystery tune was going to be. Once the trio was on the same page--literally--the contest got underway. All we had to do was shout out the name of the song if we knew it when he was done: simple, right? Wrong! Darrell destroyed the tempo, changed keys, and did things to the song that left the audience dazed, confused and in awe. Of the forty people in attendance, only two knew the answer and I was not one of them. The song in question was a Cole Porter number entitled "What Is This Thing Called Love," a track he also performed on his Black Art CD.

Other songs of note in the second set included "If I Should Lose You," "Slander" and "Goodbye." The latter two both appear on the Smokin' Java CD, his latest release. It was a captivating performance by Darrell and his trio, the evening was as memorable as it was relaxing and best of all no brain cells were harmed in the writing of this review. Oh, and by the way Darrell, in answer to your question about who drinks more coffee: we do. Everyone knows that, Mr. Oregon.

-Cecil Beatty-Yasutake
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El Vez/The Squirrels
@
Crocodile Café
May 19, 2000
Seattle, WA

Links:
El Vez
The Squirrels

It wasn't long before it became time for the experience most of the rest of the audience was also there for: El Vez. Preceded onstage by the Memphis Mariachis--most definitely the tightest, most in-the-pocket backing band I have ever seen--and the lovely Elvettes (Lisa Maria and Priscillita), the Mexican Elvis led off with a medley of his Spanish favorites, including "Chihuahua," "Huaraches Azul" and "Quetzalcoatl." But El Vez is not simply a novelty act who translates Elvis tunes into Spanish. I wouldn't be seeing him for the fourth time if he were. El Vez is an incredibly talented performer who can mix Santana, Rod Stewart, Bachman-Turner Overdrive, Elvis (of course) and more, tweak the lyrics (or completely rewrite them) to be Latino-conscious without making us gringos in the audience uncomfortable...all while putting on a capital "S" Show, complete with choreography and costume changes.

During the evening he sang the praises of undocumented workers ("Taking Care of Business"), feminine strength ("Chicanisma"), second-generation Mexicans ("Soy un Pocho") and more; he changed costumes offstage and on (via tear-away clothing and one change behind a backlit sheet); he gracefully recovered from any small fumble including coming out to an absent microphone; he was the consummate entertainer throughout, and for his encore he allowed himself a relapse to his "former persona" as Robert Lopez of L.A. punk band The Zeros, returning onstage wearing only red leather hotpants, boots and a leash to cover Iggy Pop's "I Wanna Be Your Dog"--being as unintentionally authentic as to receive a large cut on his back and a split-open toe. As great as his albums are, El Vez is definitely a performer whose Shows must be seen to be fully appreciated--and then you too will call him "El Rey."

-Paul Goracke
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Links:
Jonathan Richman

Here's the ingredients for a fantastic evening of music: austere stage dressings (read: none), simple arrangements for drum kit and guitar, sprightly singer with an astounding knack for turning a conversation into a song, and a rapport with a devoted audience that seemed to be simultaneously shy and self-effacing and completely engrossing. Richman's songs--wait, that's a horrible simplification of his work--his slices of life, his poetic discussions of communication and instances of time--are like such good conversation at dinner, fabulous anecdotes that you want to repeat with great relish at the water cooler the following day. There were stories of the silent treatment; of girls with no humor;of being nineteen and in Naples; of guys with no future; of Pablo Picasso; of dancing in the lesbian bars; of the grace that can still be found in aged baseball pitchers.

The crowd was on its feet at the end and Jonathan was very taken aback by the level of appreciation being bestowed. He tried to shyly duck off the stage. But, before he could go, a little girl scampered all the way up from the back of the auditorium, climbed on the stage and ran up to him. He bent down and listened intently as she politely asked him a question. He smiled the crooked smile that had so beguiled us that evening and came back to the microphone. "It would appear," he said, "that I'm not quite finished."

That I had a hundred little girls in my pocket that evening. That we all did.

-Mark Teppo
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Joseph Arthur
@
The Knitting Factory
May 2, 2000
New York, NY

Links:
Joseph Arthur

As the only American recording artist on Gabriel's Real World label, the past few years have been a rocket ride for the former Ohio native, but he's weathered it well and with Gabriel's support his art has thrived. Now with the release of his second official release for Real World, Arthur was onstage at the un-rockly hour of 7pm for a set of solo acoustic numbers that was being broadcast over the Internet to fans scattered far and wide.

Rather tall and lanky, he took the stage dressed in black and, with disheveled hair and several days of growth on his face, his image cut an interesting mix of John Lennon and Liam Gallagher. Picking up an acoustic guitar hand-dressed with artwork similar to his canvases, he mumbled a shy hello and launched into "History" from the new release. Seemingly shy only when not behind his music, the song pulsed with an intensity, Arthur's powerful voice drawing the crowd closer to soak up the song's warmth. With much of Come to Where I'm From crafted with clever production effects and backed by a full ensemble, I was interested in seeing how Arthur fleshed them out with just his voice and an acoustic. So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when, around the third song in, he started fooling with all the pedals and effects he'd surrounded himself with.

Thumping the body of his acoustic and then offsetting that bass rhythm by tapping on the guitar's neck, Arthur looped these percussive sounds and then started to build off them one layer at a time. A little slide, some distorted vocals, a bass line run--one by one he built upon each sound to create a larger image, and before long he had invented an entire backing band for the music. Looping and carrying on for the better part of ten minutes, the song was somewhat self-indulgent, but not in a bad sense. Arthur was clearly at ease, whether behind his guitar or on his hands and knees twiddling knobs, and the audience was more than happy to give him ground, as the end result was well worth the courtesy. It was something that Arthur would return to again over the course of the evening, and regardless of whether it was just him singing against the strum of his guitar or with the added ambience of a rack full of effects, every note and every sound had its place amongst the art, the candles and the crowd.

Arthur culled songs both old and new, smiling at familiar faces in the crowd and apologizing for the early hour. "I appreciate you coming out this early...it's hard to come out this early." He closed the set by once again indulging in his multitude of effects, and when cheered back on for a final encore he chose to play the somber, Leonard Cohen-esque "Invisible Hands." All eyes and ears spellbound, he sung with a quiet reverence and then slipped his guitar off and put himself down once again in front of his effects to quietly fade the piece out. The flowers and art glowed in the light of the candles, the incense slowly wafted towards the ceiling, and everyone stood quietly holding their breath, savoring the moment of something that worked out beautifully.

Joseph Arthur is a prolific songwriter, artist and poet; a genuine article in an industry that these days seems built around fraud, misperception and the lowest common denominator: money. His website is littered with almost daily updates of his writings and paintings, and it is obvious he is driven by a powerful muse that goes beyond fame and fortune. A shy man in person, he is alive inside his art--and we should all count ourselves lucky to be able to touch a portion of it and savor its magic.

-Craig Young
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La Venexiane
@
La Chiesa di Vivaldi
May 22, 2000
Venice, Italy

2000 is the 250th anniversary of the deaths of both Antonio Vivaldi and Johann Sebastian Bach--luminaries of the classical world. My knowledge of both extends to the fact that I spent too many years when I was younger struggling with the Vivaldi trumpet concerto and Bach was responsible for that perennial symphonic band regular "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desire." That and "l'importanza dell'influenza di Vivaldi su Bach è ormai ampiamente documentata ed è testimoniata dai lavori dello stesso Bach." (But I'm just cribbing from the program notes there.) In Venice, they've been celebrating the music of Vivaldi and Bach during the 11th International Venice Festival for Vivaldi with most of the performances taking place at the church where Vivaldi wrote most of his music--more than 250 years ago.

(Here's some perspective: Seattle's Benaroya Concert Hall is less than 1/50th as old as that church and, seeing the way Seattle discards architecture, probably won't be around nearly that long.)

Tonight's performance was a collection of concertos for flute, violin, cello, and harpsichord. La Venexiane--a remarkably talented troupe of musicians who've been together since 1990--performed in costume from the 17th century and played to a relatively packed house of appreciative Vivaldi lovers. I can't count myself in that group--too many sordid memories of struggling with the trumpet concerto as a boyo--but I certainly could recognize that rock and roll and some of the more experimental genres that I find myself listening to are but pale shadows when you consider the historical impact and longevity that masters like Bach and Vivaldi have had. And that the sound of a cello--especially played with such energy and passion as Elena Vianello did this evening--is something nearly sublime, even to an AC/DC-raised child such as myself.

-Mark Teppo
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Nina Hynes/Sergent Garcia/10 Speed Racer
@
Mercury Lounge
May 15, 2000
New York, NY

Links:
Nina Hynes

Having said that, the situation that Reverb Records recording artists 10 Speed Racer and Nina Hynes faced at the Mercury Lounge couldn't have been anything but depressing. It was the first night of their U.S. tour celebrating the release of Hynes' new album, Creation, and there's always a lot of stress and pressure on a first date, which means that there's bound to be mishaps large and small. It's simply Murphy's Law. But to add to these stomach butterflies, in the strangest pairing I've ever seen these two alt-rock bands were sandwiched on either side of Sergent Garcia, an Afro-Cuban outfit whose set tonight was the last show of their tour. And even if it's Black Sabbath playing their first gig of a tour and the Hansen Brothers playing their last, Murphy's Law dictates that the Hansens are going to kick Ozzy's butt every time. Plain and simple.

With that in mind, 10 Speed Racer took the stage and offered up an earnest set of music whose sound straddled the Brit-pop infection of Blur and the rock-inflected familiarity of Pearl Jam. Mining a familiar vein, they had their hearts in the right places, which will always go the distance with me. What wore thin was the lack of presence in the singer, who became too preoccupied with malfunctioning gear and spent far too much time between songs switching instruments. That between-song dead time will kill an audience much faster than you think; and though this small audience was mostly made up of fellow label mates, even their patience started to wear thin. Granted, there was a case of the nerves going around, but still...

Then a funny thing happened: as 10 Speed Racer left the stage, the nearly-empty floor started to swell with people by the dozens. At first I thought they were flooding in because 10 Speed Racer were over, and I was somewhat taken aback by such rudeness, then I realized that all these people were funneling in to catch Sergent Garcia on the last show of their tour. Packed from front to back, they waited patiently for the band to take the stage, and when they did the crowd let out a roar. Sergent Garcia are an eclectic mix of Afro-Cuban rhythms spiced up with reggae, hip-hop and just plain ol' booty-shaking sounds. From first downbeat to last, they kept the crowd sweaty and in the groove. You just can't go wrong with these rhythms, they're guaranteed hip shakers one and all. That coupled with this being the last show of their current tour pushed the bar up and over the top; they were untouchable and were out to prove it.

As quickly and quietly as they came, the crowd left, leaving those of us lining the periphery of the bandroom scratching our heads at the surrealism of the whole situation. Two different sounds, two different convergence points.

Nina Hynes and her band took the stage next and bravely proved what 10 Speed Racer were unable to: that it is possible to make the best out of the worst. After suffering from a few tech problems and nervousness through the first few songs, they reached a point in their set where they fell inside their own music and nothing else seemed to matter. Hynes' voice sounding much like The Sunday's Harriet Wheeler, the band a mix of a more rock-influenced Portishead crossed with My Bloody Valentine--the venue, the crowd and the previous few hours were pushed aside while they focused only on the sweet sounds of their music. And when they hit that point--when they hit their groove--there was a noticeable difference in attitude and atmosphere. The sound rose, the band glowed and everyone who remained was lucky indeed to see a band locked in a beautiful moment of synergistic release. Simply captivating.

-Craig Young
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Links:
The The

Surprisingly genial, Matt takes a moment between songs to interact with the sold-out crowd at the Showbox, teasing us with little hints and histories of the songs before he and the band launch into them. Playing most of the new album as well as old favorites, he embarks on a roaring course across the naked terrain of the album. Goosed along by a "we've got a bus to catch" tempo, the evening is not spent in mournful introspection, but impassioned celebration of the wounds and recoveries of the human psyche. Powerful and electrifying, The The gave Seattle an aggressively complete evening of despair, hope, and the promise of elation.

-Mark Teppo
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