Ghostfinger
The Spin spent the weekend cruising Memory Lane, hitting up shows headlined by Character and Ghostfinger, bands we first saw during the Dubya era, when we were driving our mom's car — with the windows rolled down all the way home, hoping that dive-bar perfume of cigarette smoke tinged with old food grease wouldn't stick to the upholstery. If we're being honest, we were a little apprehensive about looking back. We've spent so much time this spring adjusting to life after things we love are gone, from Candice Ferguson and Jim Ridley to Those Darlins and The Stone Fox to Prince and David Bowie, that the part of our memory that reflects on the long-term impact of people and institutions is feeling a little bruised.
But the gigs proved to be exactly what we needed. Not only did they provide moments of superb rock 'n' roll catharsis, but they also reminded us of one of the most important benefits of a vital music local scene. It brought us back together with friends we hadn't seen in far too long, rekindling the fire of camaraderie and ambition that burns so brightly in early adulthood but starts to dim with age and responsibilities. And besides, few things are as inspiring as watching people you know from around town get onstage and rock the rhino's ass, as the late Wesley Willis might have said.
Some of the damnedest knife-twists come after the tide of grief surrounding a friend's death subsides, when you stumble across a thing that you know they would love and you get excited to tell them about it, only to remember that you can't. But there’s a sweetness in there too, because it’s one of the ways they remain present in spite of their absence. Accordingly, the air inside The Basement East was sweeter than usual on Thursday night, when long-defunct local post-rock instrumental outfit Character took the stage for the first time in 11 years to benefit the baby daughter of a long-time fan, the late Candice Ferguson, who died in April.
Λ°C, a new incarnation of artist and former Packing Plant curator Ann Catherine Carter's Lavender, began the festivities. The genius of the old Lavender was finding the funk in proto-industrial noise, and the new version fuses that sensibility with a dark flavor of synth-pop that shines when Carter's new partner, James Farmer of KROVI, takes the mic. The new name (read: "Lambda Celsius") can be taken as an oblique nod to Prince's adoption of an unpronounceable symbol, and the group's sound pays audible tribute to both The Purple One and David Bowie, to both of whom they dedicated a song. The crowd, still fairly thin, seemed appreciative, even if they preferred to remain in the shadows.
Λ°C
Next up, The Features leaned heavily toward newer material. The set was well-crafted, with mellower tunes from last fall's Sunset Rock building up into crescendos that thrashed with the vitality of a band fresh out of the garage. Arching backward like a pitcher winding up for a fastball, frontman Matt Pelham stood a full four feet from the mic to belt "Lions" from the band's triumphant 2009 comeback Some Kind of Salvation and 2013's pounding "Won't Be Long," which got plenty of applause. Still, we could feel the audience holding something in reserve for a bedrock classic anthem like "Blow It Out" or "Thursday," which didn't come this time. On another night, when memories weren't so heavily on the mind, maybe they'll be ready for the new jams.
The Features
Character's reunion would be notable were it only that they were doing it for love of Candice, or that they were tracing back an especially fruitful branch of Nashville rock's family tree, or that their roster features William Tyler in a role other than guitar hero. Dave Paulson played that part, careening and twitching his way around the contours of labyrinthine riffs, aided and abetted by utility man Luke Schneider on pedal steel, theremin and glockenspiel, while Tyler and keyboardist Ryan Norris built shape-shifting temples of harmony on foundations laid by bassman Eric Williams and drummer Scott Martin.
Character
Individually, the players are key members of Lambchop, Margo Price's band, My So-Called Band, Lone Official, Hands Off Cuba and many more projects besides. But that night, under a kaleidoscopic tapestry of video projections by Ben Smythe and friends, they were Character, united in the cause of interwoven melodies and time signatures that aren't weird just for the sake of being weird, but slyly tease us out of our accustomed rhythm until we find ourselves tapping our feet in 9/8. The show didn't sell out, but the Cheshire cat grins on everyone in the band, Candice's husband and Battle Tapes co-owner Jeremy Ferguson, and most everyone else in the room at the end of the night marked a success.
Character
What's better than finding your sun-bleached copies of Tuckassee Take, Let's Go and These Colors Don't Run in a box that miraculously survived half-a-dozen moves? Watching Lone Official, How I Became the Bomb and Ghostfinger reclaim Exit/In on a Friday night in a near-repeat of a gig that went down almost exactly 10 years ago.
Lone Official
As rock o'clock approached, a three-piece version of Lone Official — with drummer Ben Martin and bassman Eric Williams (getting a second wind from the previous night's Character reunion) supporting frontman Matt Button, serenaded the as-yet sparse crowd. One of the few upsides to local venue The Stone Fox shuttering in January is that Button, a familiar face behind the bar during most of the Fox's two-and-a-half-year run, might have more time to air these underexposed songs, stories of life in small towns and big towns that feel small painted with meticulously casual brilliance, and bring us some new ones.
How I Became the Bomb
Between sets, we caught up with friends on the side patio, until we heard the familiar siren song of "Killing Machine" waft through the door, and we bopped our way to the front of the crowd. Perpetually dandy frontman Jon Burr & Co. sprinkled the set with old favorites, including their 2014 viral hit "Ulay, Oh" and a set-closing storm through the song that defined their electro-pop sound, "Secret Identities." Yet just as exciting were the tunes from a forthcoming album, their first full-length since 2009, including the debut of a brand-new El DeBarge-meets-Michael McDonald number called "Cameos." If the group didn't lean in as hard as they do to the legacy of synth-enhanced post-disco R&B, they'd be total posers. But the commitment is real, the songcraft and playing are first-rate, and the show is as much fun here and now as it was in a house across from the Evergreen Cemetery in Murfreesboro 10 years ago.
How I Became the Bomb
The words "Ghostfinger reunion" could indicate one of half-a-dozen configurations, from ace frontman and righteous guitarist Richie Kirkpatrick accompanied by a mannequin holding an iPod to a full five-piece band with a brass section. What it meant on Friday was the classic trio of Kirkpatrick, drum god Van Campbell and keyboard wizard Matt "Mr. Jimmy" Rowland, augmented by pedal steel and six-string champ Todd Beene.
Ghostfinger
There was a little rust around the edges as they worked through classic repertoire like "Content," "Aminal Eye" and the dead-on ELO homage "Born on the Moon," but soon the grease was spread around, and the set brought back song after ingeniously offbeat song that we'd all but forgotten. "Lady," a Stones-y country ballad about paranoid Zeus stashing Dionysus' fetus in his thigh. "Gimme Some Money," a good-time barroom stomp sung by an unsettlingly honest panhandler. "Rock," a perfect blend of baroque, operatic sensibilities and maniacal, pituitary boogie.
Ghostfinger
The list went on and on. The crowd swarmed in close and pumped fists to "Love My Head," a high school fight song warped into a dance-metal rave-up, segued cleverly into an almost-Phish-esque instrumental showcase for Campbell and Rowland. We linked arms and swayed to the power ballad "Follow the Water," whose chorus "Am I tough enough for this? / Am I tough enough / For dyin' on the stage?" was painfully resonant to the point of tears — which dried up quickly during an epic sing-along of Elton John's "Bennie and the Jets." Not even an unfamiliar rig could slow down Kirkpatrick's guitar fury in the warp-speed encore "Devil," which Beene accompanied with fiddle licks on his steel.
During a tuning break, Rowland acknowledged the coming anniversary of that big Exit/In gig and asked the crowd "Are you happy with where you are 10 years later?" Despite the painful losses, despite times that feel anything but certain, we've got each other to share the grief, to share the load and to celebrate when the dice land in our favor. Though it sounded a lot like "Woo!" the answer was a resounding "Yes!"
