The Spin
Fossil fuel
It was the early ’90s all over again Sunday night at the DINOSAUR JR. show at City Hall, replete with hoodies, relaxed-fit jeans, weak stage diving and weaker mosh pits. We spent most of the opening acts counting how many mini-LOU BARLOWS we spotted (at least 10). When the no-longer-extinct Dinosaur finally went on, the show was a lot like watching the reunited Pixies—a reminder that not only did both bands put some noise back into the alt-rock underground, but also that for both acts it was never about the performance and always about the songs. Just like the last two times The Spin saw Dinosaur Jr., they didn’t talk much and the volume was deafening. Make that earsplitting—this time around, one attendee remarked that it was so loud he was actually disoriented.
But maybe it was just the more obscure material being played. As a girl exclaimed near the set’s end to a friend, “It’s like nobody knows the music!” Ah, yes: Dinosaur Jr. released three whole albums before the more palatable Green Mind, and the early stuff—particularly You’re Living All Over Me—got preferential treatment. Since this tour features the original lineup, there was no point playing the stuff Barlow didn’t know. Not that it mattered: J MASCIS’ status as indie guitar god is cemented, but songs like “In a Jar,” “Lung” and “Kracked” confirmed the beauty and simplicity of his melodies all over again, even if he all but buries them under a brain-frying sludge of solo chained to solo chained to solo over MURPH’s furious drumming.
We wanted to yell something sassy like “Just Gimme Indie Rock!” to Barlow, but it just didn’t feel right. The crowd, which included BOBBY BARE, JR., Superdrag’s JOHN DAVIS and a host of local club owners, was clearly split between a small group of core fans and (mostly) latecomers to the Dinosaur era. There was a double encore in which Mascis and company covered the Cure song “Just Like Heaven,” transforming Robert Smith’s wistful sadness into frustration and rage. But even though Mascis’ long hair looked blonde in the greenish-blue stage lights, we knew it was gray. Barlow, meanwhile, was but a beefier version of himself, still looking like that alternative guy from junior year. “Freak Scene” garnered the biggest crowd response, and a group of guys tried to get a mosh pit going. But it didn’t quite take—it’s been too long since the year punk broke.
Into the Woods
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There’s nothing like a legendary guest soloist to make an already fine student ensemble kick it up a notch. That was the story last Saturday at MTSU, where PHIL WOODS, now 74, inspired the school’s JAZZ ENSEMBLE I to play their hearts out, giving his all to a half-dozen of his originals. Just about everything and everyone that the (almost) first-generation bop altoist touched turned to gold: pianist MATT ROWLAND, a member of the popular local rock band Ghostfinger, had ample room to show off his jazz alter ego as he articulated convincing, eloquent solos. Woods never strayed far from his position in front of the rhythm section, guiding them through subtle paces and calling out the solos for the whole orchestra. At least two members of each horn line had a chance to stand out and weave their own voices with Woods’. But it was the master himself who had the last word, asserting his unfancified command of tone and phrasing on compositions that moved fluently from elegiac tributes to spirited reinvigorations of bop and ballad traditions.
Collective effort
Self-branding can be a risky proposition. On the one hand, it can create momentum and connect like-minded artists. On the other, it can be pretty lame if it comes off as pre-packaged buzz. We’ll stay out of that debate and talk about the music. We had our virgin MOVEMENT NASHVILLE experience Sunday night at 3rd & Lindsley, watching three acts from the collective—LEIGH NASH, AUTOVAUGHN and BANG BANG BANG—record a taping for Lightning 100. Nash, formerly of Sixpence None the Richer (who else had that damn song “Kiss Me” stuck in their head for all of 1999?), opened by apologizing for her membership in this group that is out to “shatter the misconceptions” about Nashville’s rock scene. “I wouldn’t call myself rock,” explained the mature vocalist, who is releasing her first solo record this year. “ ‘Prock’ maybe—pop-rock.” Gotcha. Sipping red wine, the, er, procker sang sweet songs about love, her son and the idea of heaven. Next up was Autovaughn, a band with a penchant for white shoes and vintage clothes that matches their thoroughly retro sound. As with many groups these days (cough TheKillersInterpolFranzFerdinand cough), they mine ’80s pop for inspiration, and their straightforward tunes are so familiar that they create a pleasurable aural déjà vu, like an I Love the ’80s special up close and live. And like those pithy productions, Autovaughn have a loud, bright energy—the drummer even managed to sweat through his shirt in under 30 minutes. By contrast, Bang Bang Bang play raw Southern rock that recalls a more melodic Kings of Leon: despite the band members’ overall lankiness, “muscular” is the word that comes to mind. And guitarist BEN BROWN’s goofy grin and child-like enthusiasm were adorable—it’s been too long since we’ve seen someone having that much fun playing rock ’n’ roll.
Mattoid fills the void
Everyone loves a pony...so it was no surprise that folks were disappointed when post-punk revivalists The Ponys failed to show up for their scheduled bill with The Mattoid at Murfreesboro’s Grand Palace Sunday night. During The Mattoid’s set, rumors circulated that The Ponys ditched the show and were VIPs at the Dinosaur Jr. show at City Hall; to put a stop to all the speculation, Grand Palace owners displayed the phone number of The Ponys’ booking agent to the crowd. After some 26 random phone calls from audience members, the truth was uncovered: The Ponys’ van had broken down in North Carolina. Still, though they teeter ever so close to self-parody, The Mattoid were damn entertaining, and managed to save the night from being a total loss.
Garing...Garing...gone
Having completed demos for Lost Highway, honky-tonker GREG GARING is moving out of town, up to the mountains of North Carolina. Fortunately, there is a chance to catch him before he goes, playing with his full band at Mercy Lounge, Tuesday, April 18. Garing’s rangy voice and pure country soulfulness are simultaneously classic and idiosyncratic, capable of warming the heart of even the most cold-hearted music cynic.
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