Tripped Up

Brian Jonestown Massacre leader Anton Newcombe wants two things: your attention and to start the revolution that his he and his band of outsiders are going to lead once they've got it. That's what he wants and that's what a lot the people who come out to see the BJM at their second of two shows at the Bowery Ballroom last night came to see him do. But, as anyone who picks up on the group's name check moniker knows, you can't always get what you want. Not all the time, at least.

Like most musicians who assemble bands to fulfill their grand ambitions, Anton Newcombe is an egoist of the first order. He likes running the show and being watched as he does so. And in the case of his recently-documented, long running, dysfunctional psych rock band's live shows, he provides a lot of extra action by abusing his band mates and starting fights with the crowd and getting wasted and storming offstage. It's fun to watch, but the catch is that Newcombe is a good entertainer not when he wants to be, but rather when he feels his band mates and his audience are letting him be one.

At the Bowery last night, the best moments of the BJM's marathon two-hour set occurred when Newcombe removed himself from his band's center (ie himself) and the crowd and let the often unspoken talents of his band mates find room inside his songs. At those times, of which there were many, Newcombe's voice found itself in good musical company and we had some seriously good rock going on.

At his essence Anton dude is a very traditional songwriter in the C,G,D,A,E chord sort of way (check out the excellent double disc retrospective Tepid Peppermint Wonderland for the enjoyable evidence) who writes tunes that could be played on an acoustic guitar and would sound great. But that ain't really what the BJM are about or what they're known for. They are known for jamming. Hard. And for indeterminate and hazy amounts of time. Sometimes, as was the case when they brought out the tablas and dulcimers at the Shout! 7 Year Anniversary Party last summer, hearing them sail down winding rivers of distortion and fuzz was the greatest thing you'd ever heard. It was swirling and psychotic and shamanistic and holy shit you couldn't believe this is the same dude who usually just yells at people and throws lit cigarettes at his drummer.

But—brake pump—for the last hour of the BJM's set, the music never got to that blissed out plateau last night and instead we were subjected to nearly an hour of unfocused wanking that went nowhere. How you say, it was a—bum trip.

We really wanted to give you our all Anton, cause we like you and your music and wanted to run with you to the place where denim grows on trees and linen shirts look very good on men and everyone knows the words to "Feel A Whole Lot Better" by heart. We want you to be you and we're in to fight the good fight with you, but next time, try to have your battle plans a little more laid out. This is serious business you're talking about here, right?

 

Comments

[joseph andrews]

Wait dude, here's even more serious business: get your raging homosexuality looked into before you start looking at other reviews of this meaningless event in an otherwise uneventful day in world history so you can shit on its (equally gay) author and "compare notes"... oh wait... too late.

[jimmypermo]

joseph needs to get his head looked into before someone pulls the plug on his homosexual panic. Glad I missed this one, Anton.