SUNDAY, MARCH 23
Playing Sunday:
Ted Barron
Beauty & the beast: Allison Moorer & Steve Earle
Louis Teran
Sad American: Kaki King
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PETTY BOOKA at the Knitting Factory; RUBY DEE, JAIMI SHUEY, DAVE GLEASON at Safari Sam’s, noon; MARIA TAYLOR at Tangier.
MONDAY, MARCH 24
Playing Monday:
BLUE OCTOBER at Avalon; JIM WHITE at Amoeba Music, 7 p.m.; CHAPIN SISTERS at the Echo; RIPPERS, RED HEARTS at Que Sera; BELL X1, SUBMARINES at the Troubadour.
TUESDAY, MARCH 25Allison Moorer, Steve Earle at Royce Hall
Her husband might be the headliner with his name in much bigger print in the ads, but Allison Moorer could very well steal the show. She’ll certainly be more enchanting with the languidly melodic way she interprets songs from her 2007 mostly covers collection, Mockingbird (New Line), where she champions and expands on the work of a diverse lineup of a women songwriters. June Carter Cash & Merle Kilgore’s “Ring of Fire” is given a solemnly lulling makeover with a gorgeous sheen of celestial organ and violins weaving smoothly under her glassy vocals. Her spare, intimate version of Kate McGarrigle’s spurned-lover’s lament “Go, Leave” is quietly moving, while Gillian Welch’s “Revelator” is piercingly sad and ruefully entrancing. Acoustic-guitar-based remakes of Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now,” Cat Power’s “Where Is My Love” and her sister Shelby Lynne’s “She Knows Where She Goes” are simply lovely. Moorer’s new single, a straightforward take on Patti Smith’s oft-covered “Dancing Barefoot,” is so appropriately slinky and beguiling that one hopes its heroin references won’t trigger a relapse by former junkie Steve Earle, who celebrates Rush Limbaugh’s favorite crutch on “Oxycontin Blues.” Apart from the self-important crowing of “Steve’s Hammer (for Pete),” Earle’s recent CD, Washington Square Serenade (New West), is an enjoyable assortment of gruff-voiced, Dylanish visions of old-timey Americana, even as one wishes he had dug a little deeper lyrically to avoid corn-prone clichés. (Falling James)
Saul Williams & Dragons of Zynth at the Troubadour
Regarding The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of NiggyTardust (The Fader), the very literate and explosive Saul Williams’ recent album (the fruit of his collaboration with new big brother Trent Reznor) and an offering of his ever-spiraling poetic expression via smart, speedy raps that actually mean something, let’s jump straight to his MySpace page, which says that his band members include Krishna! James Brown! Fela Kuti! John Lennon! Edith Piaf! Nina Simone! Leon Thomas! Miles Davis! Jimi! Harry Potter! Steve Biko! and Jesus! Hope that gives you an idea of the spread and scope of the dude’s interests and abilities. No? Some influences, then: Paul Robeson, Gandhi, Coltrane, Ellington, Hiroshima, Whitman, Ginsberg, Marley, Shakur and the Countless Unnamed. Williams writes prose and poetry, makes music, has a message (many) and sometimes likes loud sounds to get his point across. The proggy metal/spacy soul aggregation Dragons of Zynth (with some TV on the Radio pals) jump into the fray with Williams; they might do some of the heady stuff from their own awesome and strange Coronation Thieves disc on Gigantic. (John Payne)
Jim White at the Silent Movie Theatre
Not to be confused with Dirty Three drummer Jim White, who was just in town backing Cat Power, this Jim White is a former Pentecostal true believer who’s transformed himself into a witty and literate chronicler of Southern culture. He’s been a surfer, a taxi driver, a drifter and a fashion model, but he’s best known for his wonderfully crafted, sometimes oddball songs. His 2007 CD, Transnormal Skiperoo (Luaka Bop), is an engaging collection of rootsy pop tunes such as the mournfully dreamy ballad “Jailbird” (where he tries to leave his past behind, “wipers in the rain tapping out time/coming up on a new state line”). “Fruit of the Vine” is a hazy, humid, spellbinding blues song about toiling in the fields, where he advises, “You learn to take your time/down south in the summertime.” White’s more playful on “Turquoise House,” where he wants a turquoise carpet and matching shoes and righteously wonders, “How’m I ever gonna pass for a normal guy?” He never will, and that’s a good thing. Also at Amoeba Music, Mon. (Falling James)
Ace Frehley at House of Blues
Ryan Russell
(Click to enlarge)
Dazed & confused: Russian Circles
Kiss sucks without Ace Frehley. It was first apparent when his was the quartet’s only solo album to find life outside bargain bin (with the radio hit “New York Groove”), and it was proved when their failed attempt to pass off his first replacement (Vinnie Vincent, the Ankh Man?) led to washing off the clown white in 1983. Knowing that Paul and Gene are currently with a dude who used to play “Ace” in a cover band makes me think that the mad phantom Abner Devereaux and his “Fake Kiss” won that colossus battle at Magic Mountain, and the half-imposter band may as well be singing “Rip & Destroy.” But rest assured, even as Kiss has become synonymous with caskets and condoms, Space Ace is still all about the “Cold Gin,” meaning he rocks, and let’s hope that the clean-and-sober guitarist will deliver that long-promised comeback album this summer — or at least before Axl Rose ushers in a democratic China. (Daniel Siwek)
