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As soon as the music started, I had to ask myself, "Where are the fezzes?"
Because as I raced across some distant desert with the faded treasure map in my leather satchel, over my shoulder I could see the biplane flying low right behind me, its shadow a dark blur rolling over this sun-baked sea of dunes. And there were the armed agents in Wayfarers and bad suits pursuing on camelback, and ahead in the heat-hazed distance I could see the Bedouin oasis where I knew I'd find sanctuary amidst veiled, silken-robed nubiles and spunky flappers in stiletto heels pouring gin tonics. I knew all this because the soundtrack told me so, serpentine horns and moaning keys crawling straight out of the Kasbah and into the back room burlesque. In my mind it all made sense, but I just couldn't figure out why the snake charmers on stage were fezless.
I suppose when you're dealing with Skerik you don't always get all the answers.
For instance, what the hell is a Syncopated Taint?
(Actually the truth behind that enigma can be derived from the ST7 website; it has nothing to do with an elusive, celebrated anatomical feature; rather it is a derisive term used by a paranoid 1930s politician to refer to the jazz music he believed was poisoning America's youth.)
(Which actually comes into play in this review.)
And perhaps more importantly, what kind of sound does a Syncopated Taint make? That answer slowly came to light as the evening grew late...
But it began with a dissonant, candid warm-up stretch which gradually gelled into an auditory sculpture in constant flux. From note one there was a mysterious anachronistic quality to the music, a swinging big band swagger that came bowling out of the five horns and immediately got the tightly-packed crowd's attention. Comprised of Skerik's tenor sax, Dave Carter on trumpet, Hans Teuber on alto and flute, Steve Moore on trombone, and the distinctive foghorn croak of Craig Flory's baritone, this wall of brass had a more conventional jazzy feel than I expected. With Joe Doria's Hammond and occasional Wurlitzer provided by Moore, there was a constant swell of darkened blues behind the airy, moody brass, which added even more of a 40s spy-theme noir to the music. The five hornmen clearly understood the story they wove, each taking off on solos passionate yet restrained. With dark, minor key melodies and tangled interplay, these songs carried a surreal sense of humor and evoked strong imagery. Most of the numbers they played were fully fleshed out, long enough to allow each player his own improvisation. And these guys are all certainly at the top of their game.
A typical piece would start out with a lush chorus of full horn harmony (or "hornocopeia," as one friend put it) that would gradually loosen up into individual parts from each player. After a round of soaring solos, the band would bring it all together again before diving into collective dissonance, where Skerik's skronking bitch in heat was unleashed. It was intriguing to watch this descent into madness: Skerik and crew moving from toe-tapping, (almost) traditional big band structure to out of control hornmade frenzy that would make your mama cry.
At this point I think it's necessary to highlight the drum work of John Wicks. This guy was simply mesmerizing behind the kit. With only a smallish arrangement of drums and cymbals, he managed to make an astounding amount of noise and plant the rhythmic anchor that kept the buoyant brass zeppelin from soaring into space. Even when veering from one style to the next—minimalist jazz, breakbeat, funky drumma—sometimes within the same song, Wicks had a relaxed, almost lackadaisical demeanor that belied his solid grooves. His was the only linear voice in a chorus of swirling melodic cacophonics, and he made his difficult job look absolutely effortless.
A couple other notable happenings: a little xylophone solo by Steve Moore added some circus-like twinkle during one of the slower numbers; and Flory's clarinet solo during another piece, which colored the mood distinctly Klezmer. Again, that 40s prohibition era throwback sound, from a time the Syncopated Taint was the shame and ruin of society, and tonight it was much the same but in a good way. Yes, something like a three-legged animal straddling swing, Dixieland, and Whirling Dervish, this Taint was a captivating anomaly that made my head spin.
I'm sure most of the material was taken from the Taint's self-titled album, but not having heard it before the show, I couldn't really tell you which tunes they played. However, the last song of the set was definitely the Willy Wonka theme, which seemed appropriate. Like a pack of overgrown Oompa Loompas, the guys paraded off stage and took their candy-colored music with them.
Then the encore started with a Benevento-Russo-style showdown between Wicks on drums and Doria vamping the Hammond. Again, after a somewhat vague and abstract beginning, they busted into the theme from Sanford and Sons, a clever and extremely funky number to cover. For a short time it was just the duo on stage, but soon Teuber was there adding bubbling flute, and then Carter's trumpet brightened things up, and suddenly the rest of the band was back on stage and freaking the funk. This is the Skerik I was used to, hard-hitting, bold, and funky, half a world away from the Kasbah and the oasis where I found myself earlier in the night. Skerik's visionary talent and raw energy had floored me once again. Talk about traveling without moving—the Taint took me around the world, back in time, and deep into my own inner space. Next time I see Skerik, I'm handing him a fez.
Jonathan Zwickel
JamBase | San Francisco
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