_MUSIC

The Jazz Passengers

adrift on the high seas.

The show ended predictably with a cover of the massive, instantly recogniz- able crowd pleaser “The Tide is High.” But I suppose if they had foregone

Vic contemplated his next move, shuf- fling his wheelchair nervously about the stage, making small talk with individual members of the audience. The place was packed and eventually, people started chatting amongst themselves. “I

with Deborah Harry - September 24 - Vogue Theatre

This show, de- spite the fact that it was highly enjoyable, was pretty clearly a prestige exchange for all parties involved. You scratch my chequebook, Ill rub your ego. It’s cool for Debby Harry (If you have to be told that she’s the singer in Blondie, you are truly too out of touch to live.) to sing jazz and it gets lots of folks who would otherwise never even consider shelling

feel like I’m losin’ the audience. I kind of hope I lose most of you.” Vic is a curios- ity. Because of his physical handicap, the performance occasion- ally felt like a freak show with Seattle’s groovy community showing up to see the gimp from Georgia. It’s weird when someone who is genuinely tal- ented becomes popular with the “alternative” crowd. Artists are traditionally dense people who are easily amused. Someone with a quick mind like Vic Chestnutt veers from

out $23 for an evening of oddball jazz out to see New York’s excellent Jazz Passen- gers: Pll get my only complaint out of the way early because it’s a small one and in every other respect, I really thoroughly enjoyed this show. Occa- sionally, the Jazz Passengers are guilty. of a brand of cutesy whackiness that evokes the hateful Bare Naked Ladies. The main difference between them being that I would not like to kill the Jazz Passengers because once their embarassing attempts at humour were over with, they really displayed a remarkable ensemble talent for distill- ing pure melody.and rhythm in ways that were so interesting that I some- times thought that the audience, who - seemed to be there solely to be enter- tained, were actually getting some- thing just short of subversively tran- scendent music.

Their opening piece, a composi- tion that got started with a poem read by lead Passenger/saxophonist/ Groucho Marx wanna-be Roy Nathanson, quickly descended into a whirling miasma of sound based loosely on the melody from Blondie’s 1980 radio hit “Rapture.” With that coda firmly established, Debby...oh, sorry...Deborah Harry took to the stage. (P.S. Change of wardrobe required, Debby. That early 80’s black and white checkered new wave look should only be seen at the SPCA Thrift Store.)

From this point on, Bill Ware’s © spectacular vibraphone playing, Curtis Fowlkes’ trombone, E.J. Rodriguez’s drumming, Brad Jones’ stand-up bass, and Margaret Parkins’ economical cello wove together to create an intricate, angular web of clean, sharp melody laid over a bed of sheer rhythm. There were a couple of songs that were just plain startling to witness, in particular a lyri¢ ode to a handsome man from Fiji in which Harry’s vocals more closely re- sembled the singing style of German avant lounge act Dagmar Krause and the band’s swaying recklessness took on the impression of a boat hopelessly

entirely doing a Blondie song, the audi- ence’s outrage would be akin to seeing The Knack refuse to play “My Sharona.” Besides, the evening was so full of satis- fying moments and things had devel- oped into such a love-fest that by this point the only thing anyone could do was smile.

Terry Dawes

Show Review - Vic Chestnutt - Crocodile Cafe - Sept. 15

Watching a Vic Chestnutt show is pretty much how [ would imagine watching him on a front porch in Geor- gia would be. Even with a couple hun- dred people there, the atmosphere was positively laconic with Vic mumbling to himself between songs, trying to re- member words, taking long breaks between songs, elongating his set from mere entertainment into a transcenden- tal exercise. Taking requests, someone shouted out “Soft Picasso” and he strug- gled with his guitar until finally he asked, “How does that song begin?” “It was a...” came the response. Plastic strings amplified electrically. No con- cern with technique. Just banging and strumming. Occasionally, the songs seemed to melt off into nowhere while

— self-hatred to shame of

peddling his wares in seconds and can seem like a trapped animal when he doesn’t like a perform- ing situation. Here, in Vancouver, he picked a fight with a certain pushy fan. For a sample of Vic’s sound, I would recommend his records highly. He has three: “Little”, “West of Rome”, and “Drunk.” It’s pretty much folk art and needs to be experienced.

Show Review - Red House Painters - Mo’s in Seattle - Sept. 16

According to singer/songwriter Mark Kozelek, the music of the Red House Painters doesn’t really qualify as entertainment. In a way he’s right and in a way he’s wrong. After all, the Red House Painters are a Rock Band with all of the gunk that being a Rock Band connotes. They sell records which, no matter how transcendent and interesting are a commodity for buying and selling and are therefore entertain- ment. And when I went to see them, they charged $7 and played for about an hour and a half. That © sounds like entertainment to me. But there’s something to what Kozelek says. There’s a stateliness or grace to this band’s sound, some- thing that permeates their melodies that makes them not quite about the bottom line of getting peoples’ rocks off which is what most Rock Bands seem to be into doing. What do Red House Painters sound like? Essentially, they’re a rock band. They have guitar/voice/ bass/drum and they employ the verse- verse-chorus-verse sort of formula. What makes them not sound like a Rock Band is the extreme slowness of their rhythms. “Langour” is probably the word I’m looking for. Langour like lying on your back looking at clouds crossing the sky on a hot day. The slowness is just a mood, however, because the quality of their melody is as sharp as a diamond. All lean, no fat. Spareness and sparsness are key to the Red House Painters’ sound. When the sound sud- denly swells, it’s comparable to the

MUSIC

The Jazz Passengers

adrift on the high seas.

The show ended predictably with a

cover of the massive, instantly recogniz~ able crowd pleaser “The Tide is High.” But I suppose if they had foregone

contemplated his next move, shuf- fling his wheelchair nervously about the stage, making small talk with individual members of the audience. The place was packed and eventually, people started chatting amongst themselves

with Deborah Harry = September 24 - Vogue Theatre

This show, de- spite the fact that it was highly enjoyable, was pretty clearly a prestige exchange for all parties involved. You scratch my chequebook, I'll rub your ego. It's cool for Debby Harry (If you have to be told that she’s the singer in Blondie, you are truly too out of touch to live.) to sing jazz and it gets lots of folks who would otherwise never even consider shelling out $23 for an evening

1s, bid =

feel like I’m losin’ the audience. [kind of hope I lose most of you.” Vic is a curios: ity. Because of hi physical handicap, the performance occasion- ally felt like a freak show with Seattle's groovy community showing up to see the gimp from Georgia. It’s weird when someone Who is genuinely tal- ented becomes popular with the “alternative” crowd. Artists are traditionally dense people who are easily amused. Someone with a quick mind like Vic Chestnutt veers from

of oddball jazz. out to see New York's excellent Jazz Passen- gers.

Tl get my only complaint out of the way early because it’s a small one and in every other respect, I really thoroughly enjoyed this show. Occa- sionally, the Jazz Passengers are guilty ofa brand of cutesy whackiness tha evokes the hateful Bare Naked Ladies. ‘The main difference between them being that I would not like to kill the Jazz Passengers because once the ‘embarassing attempts at humour were over with, they really displayed a remarkable ensemble talent for distill- ing pure melody and rhythm in ways, that were so interesting that I some- times thought that the audience, who seemed to be there solely to be enter- tained, were actually g thing just short of subversively tran- scendent music

Their opening piece, a composi- tion that got started with a poem read by lead Passenger/saxophonist/ Groucho Marx wanna-be Roy Nathanson, quickly descended into a whirling miasma of sound based loosely on the melody from Blondie’s 1980 radio hit “Rapture.” With that coda firmly established, Debby...oh, sorry...Deborah Harry took to the stage. (P.S. Change of wardrobe required, Debby. That early 80's black and white checkered new wave look hould only be seen at the SPCA Thrift Store.)

From this point on, Bill Ware’s spectacular vibraphone playing, Curtis Fowlkes’ trombone, E.J. Rodrigue7’s drumming, Brad Jones’ stand-up bass, and Margaret Parkins’ economical cello wove together to create an intricate, angular web of clean, sharp melody I ‘over a bed of sheer rhythm. There were a couple of songs that were just plain startling to witness, in particular a lyrig ode to a handsome man from Fiji in which Harry's vocals more closely re- sembled the singing style of German avant lounge act Dagmar Krause and the band’s swaying recklessness took on the impression of a boat hopelessly

entirely doing a Blondie song, the audi- ence’s outrage would be akin to seeing,

The Knack refuse to play “My Sharona.

Besides, the evening was so full of satis- fying moments and things had dev oped into such a love-fest that by this point the only thing anyone could do was smile.

Terry Dawes

Show Review - Vic Chestnutt - Crocodile Cafe - Sept. 15

Watching a Vic Chestnutt show is pretty much how I would imagine watching him on a front porch in Geor- gia would be. Even with a couple hun- dred people there, the atmosphere was positively laconic with Vic mumbling to himself between songs, trying to re- member words, taking long breaks between songs, elongating his set from mere entertainment into a transcenden- tal exercise. Taking requests, someone shouted out “Soft Picasso” and he strug- gled with his guitar until finally he asked, “How does that song begin?” “It was a...” came the response. Plastic strings amplified electrically. No con- cern with technique. Just banging and strumming. Occasionally, the songs seemed to melt off into nowhere while

self-hatred to shame of peddling his wares in seconds and can seem like a trapped animal when he doesn’t like a perform- ing situation. Here, in Vancouver, he picked a fight with a certain pushy fan, For a sample of Vic's sound, | would recommend his records highly. He has three: “Little”, “West of Rome”, and “Drunk.” It’s pretty much folk art and needs to be experienced.

Show Review - Red House Painters = Mo’s in Seattle - Sept. 16

According to singer/songwriter Mark Kovelek, the music of the Red House Painters doesn’t really qualify as entertainment. Ina way he’s right and in a way he’s wrong. After all, the Red House Painters are a Rock Band with all of the gunk that being a Rock Band connotes. They sell records which, no matter how transcendent and interesting are a commodity for buying and selling and are therefore entertain ment. And when I went to see

them, they charged $7 and played for about an hour and a half. That sounds like entertainment to me. But there’s something to what Kozelek says. There’s a stateliness or grace to this band’s sound, some thing that permeates their melodies that makes them not quite about the bottom line of getting peoples’ rocks off which is what most Rock Bands seem to be into doing. What do Red House Painters sound like? Essentially, they're arock band. They have guitar/voice/ bass/drum and they employ the vers verse-chorus-verse sort of formula. What makes them not sound like a Rock Band is the extreme slowness of their rhythms. “Langour” is probably the word I'm looking for. Langour like lying ‘on your back looking at clouds crossing the sky on a hot day. The slowness is just a mood, however, because the quality of their melody is as sharp as a diamond. All lean, no fat. Spareness and sparsness are key to the Red House Painters’ sound. When the sound sud- denly swells, it’s comparable to the