|
Breaking though a rare quiet moment in the nearly five-hour mood food performance at Las Vegas’ Legends Lounge came the shout from the back of the club: “YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING GREAT!!!!!” The fortunate few hundred in the house roared their concurrence; the San Francisco clan with special guest Vince Welnick had already won this crowd over with a sizzling set-and-a-half, and had most recently broken off an astounding version of The Beatles’ "Tomorrow Never Knows."
From the downbeat of first set opener "Stuck in Detroit," this audience had no choice but to dance. By the time guitarist Sylvain Carton (who doubles as a saxophonist) had finished deftly picking his way through the ‘Dead classic "They Love Each Other," asses were shaking in all directions. Little did the already appreciative crowd know that the opening duo would hardly be among the gig’s more memorable sequences. Guitarist Tom Lattanand’s "Lord Saenz’ Evil Domain" took the show to a new level below which it would not again stoop. Tenor saxophonist Mitch Marcus (aka: A. Forcefield) teamed with Carton here for a number of slick sax segments, including a fiery and challenging bridge which gave way to an absolutely mean Marcus solo, backed by the pure force of the creative and Trump-tight rhythm section—bassist Andrew “Thumpnugget” McIntyre, drummer Parker Daggett and percussionist John Merrill. Welnick’s "Way to Go Home" grooved like never before with the saxophonists—one moment dueling adversaries, the next moment best of friends—leading the way through the first set finale.
The second set just flowed. It was one of those sets where—even when the music stops, you find yourself still swaying and moving—perhaps to the jam you just came from, perhaps to the one you’re approaching.
Preceeding "Tomorrow Never Knows," the set’s opening trio sandwiched two hypnotic ‘Food originals--"The Face" and "Fieldtrip"--around a scintillating cover of Talking Heads’ "Crosseyed and Painless." After hearing his Byrne-esque vocals on this number, I’d bet my last dollar that Merrill owns Stop Making Sense. The transition from "The Face" into "Crosseyed" should be heard — get the discs (call Mitch, I guess). And if you somehow still weren’t convinced (where had you been if you still needed convincing?), the sequence that concluded the set offered a strong indication of what this band is capable of. The original "Diamond Chant" led the way into the closing duo of Steely Dan’s "I’ve Got the News" and the ‘Dead’s "Shakedown Street." The final two were connected in what amounted to a near half-hour of the grooviest live music you could ever hope to hear. Each tune was covered perfectly—‘The News illustrating just how disciplined and tight this relatively new crew can be, with Shakedown affording a chance for Marcus to showcase uncanny knack for pushing a set-closing jam over the top.
Marcus’ genius creation "Forest Hills Desert" led off the third set, and it quite reasonably could have been the third set. This song is an epic musical journey. First you’ll meander through the forest and scramble over a series of hills, and you’re thinking, “this is nice...” Nice, huh? Better hope you brought plenty of water (and your dancing shoes), because this desert is no day-hike. The structured melodies which mark the trail heading into the desert are misleading—soon you look up and you’ve lost the trail. All you can do is follow the flow--a fierce, furious flow—an assault of alternating leads (did Coltrane and Hendrix really rejoin the living and sneak up onto that stage while my eyes were closed?); a jam that ultimately deposits you on the highest hill in the desert trying to remember where on earth you had come from, how the hell you ended up here... and can we please, please go again!?
Two more 'Food nuggets followed, including "Miscus Viniscus," which surely must exceed the legal limit for catchy grooves in a single tune. But this was Las Vegas--no arrests were made.
Marcus’ torrid sax work combined ideally with Welnick’s graceful interpretation of the ‘Dead ballad "Standing on the Moon." The already gleeful Deadheads in the audience were by this point certifiably gay. Throw in a celebratory version of "Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey," and—my God—it’s almost 3:30 in the morning. In a mad rush to be the first on the block with mood food swag, the Legends crowd-—larger now than at the show’s advent nearly five hours prior--raids the merch-booth. Many autographs are signed. Good vibrations and good weed abound. This was one hell of a fine concert.
You can have the buffets. And the surf ‘n’ turf. I’ll have the mood food.
Rich Ham
|
