A Bore No More
|Photo by Clay Patrick|
at the Hollywood Bowl, October 9
Gone is the diffident Norah Jones who once struggled shyly through rote concerts chained to her Wurlitzer, the one whose showThe New York Times
once called a crashing bore. After two years of wild acclaim and frenetic touring, the down-home diva beloved by Orange County smooth-jazz fascists and East L.A.ranchera
fans alike has allowed a personality to emerge thats as delicate as her piano technique and as irresistible as her effortless, honeyed sound on Sunrise, the sweet hit she wrote with her bassist-boyfriend, Lee Alexander. More Dolly Parton than Diana Krall, this is an unaffectedly sexy but egoless Jones who gets out from behind the piano, builds on a tradition of great side musicians and weaves herself into their sound.
Its a feel-good sound of the highest order. As Jones surrenders the stage to Robbie McIntoshs slide guitar, or drummer Andrew Borgers articulate solo on Adam Levys In the Morning, she makes you think shes just invited all these cool people to her private hootenanny. Yet for all the adulation heaped upon her since 2002s Come Away With Me crawled to the top of the charts (this years Feels Like Home shot up and stayed there), Jones has remained remarkably true to herself, her band and her music. Original guitarist Levy still plays all raw pain and passion on the Jesse Harris smoker Ive Got To See You Again, Alexander still stands silent and smiling, and Jones herself still declines to ever force the inherent beauty of a song. The new tunes are better, the old ones sound better (and seem to mean more), and hackneyed standards like The Nearness of You get a whole new life when Jones breathes her generous sound into them.
at the Troubadour, September 25
Year-round spring-break MCs Pepper deliver their beach-jock reggae-rock to a Troubadour crammed for two nights with chiefly female fans. Amid their Sublime-lite fare and cover-tune snippets, the Hawaiian trio load constant beer and sex references, onstage bikini girls, arms-aloft sing-alongs and tireless crowd cajoling for the sake of a live DVD being shot. Yet theres substance to Peppers shtick. The beats are economical and atmospheric, spiced with rimshots and snare flurries; the bass lines lope and languish with few wasted notes, and although both guitarist Kaleo Wassman and bassist Bret Bollinger struggle with their upper registers, their vocal tradeoffs hold interest, Bollingers pseudo-Caribbean inflections particularly endearing.
Considering Peppers mostly college-age crowd, the bands obsession with the 80s and 90s (their new album is titled In With the Old, and they repeatedly lament about back when shit used to be good) seems incongruous. Still, when they blast snippets of Nirvanas Smells Like Teen Spirit, RATMs Bulls on Parade and even GNRs Welcome to the Jungle, each igniting an instant mosh pit among the pretties, they make their point. On their own material, Pepper show a pensive, sensitive side on songs like 7 Weeks, the shirtless Bollinger briefly a thinking beefcake. Back Home, a crossroads of Peppers grunge and groove influences, channels the now SoCal-based groups unmissable Hawaiian pride. Though virtues abound, critical comparisons to the Police are a stretch, as Pepper never approach the musicality and majesty of Sting and Co.: The progressions and melodies are too obvious, the guitar too rudimentary, the drumming too restrained.
As Sublime and 311 have shown, the commercial potential of seemingly flippant bands like this cant be underestimated, and when the stage is overwhelmed by gals at sets end, its clear that Pepper are connecting like, big-time, dude.
THE INCREDIBLE STRING BAND, ESPERS
at McCabes, October 8
Weve been waiting around a long time for a tribute group we thought wed just do it ourselves, chuckled Mike Heron, the guileless 61-year-old Scottish co-founder of the Incredible String Band, before launching into another song from the ISBs heydaze, that sparkling period of 1967 through 69 when they released six albums of boldly expansionist, fantastically charming psychedelic folk music to fair commercial success and open awe from other musicians (including the Stones, Hendrix, the Who, the Beatles and soon-to-be members of Led Zeppelin).
While some bands from that period were so far ahead of their time that it took years for their accomplishments to be fully appreciated the Velvet Underground, the MC5, etc. the ISB seemed to stand outside time altogether, in that non-electric utopia of communal exploration that always exists but is rarely well-documented. Multi-instrumentalists all, they had different channels open, and their songs still work an intoxicating, timeless magic.
Tonight, after a lovely set of chamber folk by the Philadelphia six-piece Espers that wowed a sold-out audience that included Will Oldham, we got all the stuff that made ISB so incredible, though from an incomplete lineup. (Co-founder Robin Williamson is currently doing solo work; the trio now includes banjoist Clive Palmer, a co-founder who departed after the very first album, and an up-for-it Lawson Dando doing yeomans service.) The potion: pan-cultural instrumentation, sweet music-hall/folk ditties (especially Herons The Hedgehog Song and Painting Box), Palmers wry blues-folk country rambles, and the 12-minute reality survey that is A Very Cellular Song. On the last, Heron sang, Oh ah ee oo theres absolutely no strife/living the timeless life, with a smile that seemed a simple expression of joy the joy of singing something that was still so fundamentally true.
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