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Brain Damaged Eggmen by
Dave Vann |
A few clicks away, a bona fide arms-in-the-air par-tay was exploding across a packed field where Lyrics Born, Common, and Blackalicious rang heads with authority. As with much of the reggae here, it's
always strange to see stages full of African-Americans playing to a sea of buttermilk, but the enthusiasm on both
sides was palpable and blessedly color blind. It's impressive to see literally thousands of arms shoot into the air on
command, and the roar each time they said "Somebody scream" was deafening. One thing this hip hop triple threat
brought was a pronounced sense of showmanship. As much as they want to ignite minds, they respect their role as
entertainers, too.
Jon Gutwillig :: Disco Biscuits :: by
Dave Vann |
For all those bitching about the reduced number of jam bands (whatever that is) at Bonnaroo this year, the gloriously
tangled, insanely multi-layered pairing of Umphrey's McGee and the Disco Biscuits ranged far and wide. Despite speaking two fairly unique languages,
the bands cross-pollinated for a unique hybrid on Friday. The finale of Umphrey's set went off like a smile bomb,
traveling through "Baby You're A Rich Man" to "Another Brick In the Wall" to "Brain Damage" and "Eclipse." Biscuits
Marc Brownstein and Aron Magner replaced UM's Ryan Stasik (bass) and Joel
Cummins (keyboards) starting with "Another Brick" to reprise the Brain Damaged Eggmen, their
Beatles-Pink Floyd tribute band that debuted earlier this year on Jam Cruise. There's a sense of daring-do to these
in-the-moment stunts. Just hitting the right marks as this huge thing careens around has to be challenging. The
VERY switched-on audience at this one rode every curve with cheek-stretching smiles. As always, I walked away
stunned at the general level of musicianship being displayed, and not a little charmed by two bands I can't always
find my way into.
New Orleans Remembered
Having wandered journalistically on Friday, I gave myself permission to really sink into the New Orleans-themed late
night on Saturday. Dr. John - the
man who gave us the name 'Bonnaroo' – planned a return to his '70s "Night Tripper" character for the first time in
decades, followed by a mini-set from Rebirth
Brass Band, and a pre-dawn funk-a-thon from Ivan Neville's Dumpstaphunk - the nastiest, most politically charged thing coming
out of New Orleans today.
Preservation Hall by
Pamela Martinez |
Even if Congress and the White House have shirked their responsibilities to New Orleans, Bonnaroo made sure no
one forgot about what happened there last year AND how much more there's left to do today. Every time my
energies flagged, I would stop by the Preservation Hall Cafe and recharge with a smorgasbord that
represented the past, present, and future of New Orleans music. The Preservation Hall Jazz Band was the sound of Main Street, USA, an
institution of bright brass and shuffling feet that made you kick your chair aside the second they started stomping.
The New Orleans Bingo! Show assaulted us like clowns with a cause, fun and bouncy and not too well
balanced. Liquidrone were an American cousin to Blur but with far greater sensuality. In fact, the feeling
of skin and slink permeated most of the artists from the Big Easy. There's a hearty, gourmand's appetite to the New
Orleans folks that inspires us to live a little more lustily.
New Orleans hit the main stage Saturday with the one-two punch of the Neville Brothers and the inspired teaming of Allen Toussaint with Elvis Costello and the Imposters. The Nevilles are
the Nevilles. If you've seen them in the past decade, you have a good idea of what you're getting. And while
pleasant
enough, their Bonnaroo set held no surprises. Sturdy and full of bonhomie, the Nevilles have internalized a bit too
much of the BBW-wine bar scene that's been their bread and butter for years.
Elvis Costello & the Imposters with
Allen Toussaint
by Dave Vann |
On the other hand, Costello and Toussaint hammered us with southern grit and overflowing soul packed with tight
horns, menacing guitar, and one of the richest vocal blends this year. Tunes like "Broken Promise Land" off their
new collaboration, River In Reverse, unapologetically force us to examine the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina
and
our collective debt to a city that's enriched the world's artistic culture in untold ways. Costello was in particularly
fine voice, one of the most readily identifiable singers in a century with genius phrasing. Toussaint was no slouch
either, commanding and welcoming in equal measures, making many of us sigh during "Brickyard Blues" and
"Southern Nights."
Costello pulled out a new one he'd written just Friday for a TV appearance. Predictably, it was bloody great, which
helps leaven Elvis' tendency to show off his abundant talents. Sexy horns and bouncing piano from that 88-key
duster Steve Nieve propelled them towards the final verse, which Costello howled with impassioned
abandon, "In the name of the Father, Son/ In the name of gasoline and the gun/ Wake me up!" Elvis urged the band
to
dig in with phrases like "Come on and get some!" Working from new arrangements by Toussaint, familiar tunes like
"High Fidelity" and "I Can't Stand Up For Falling Down" were given church revival bang. "Watching The Detectives"
had a Kingston vibe and Mancini smoothness that practically reinvented it. Costello proved an enthusiastic
entertainer, wooing us with asides like "We love you - individually and as a group." Later, he remarked, "I've never
written a song with the words rock 'n roll in the title, and I've written 350,000 songs," before diving into the record
shop homage "International Echo" off River. Nice to hear someone sing "Give me 7-inches, give me 12" and
NOT have it be a double-entendre! Without question, this was one of the festival highlights.
Dr. John by
Jon Bahr |
Returning to Saturday midnight, all these various New Orleans threads seem to tie themselves up as Dr. John
emerged dressed head-to-toe in dark feathers. A massive voodoo doll sat on stage, and the whole group -
reportedly hand-picked just for this gig – looked as if they'd leapt from the gatefold of some rare piece of vinyl. A
mocha enchantress danced as seductively as Salome throughout the simmering incantation. Full of devils that burn
a candle on you, the songs captured the lazy eyed hypnosis of the original recordings but let them fly through the
night air. Nostrils full of witchy woman incense, we danced dazedly, drinking in the twinkling lights and perfect half
moon as "Mama Roux" made us howl happily half mad. Later, appropo of nothing, the Doctor growled, "It's going to
rain. It's going to rain, motherfucker!" JamBase columnist and Honest Tune magazine publisher Tom Speed
turned to me, his voice low and serious, and said, "It's going to rain tomorrow." Dr. John had called it into being,
and a short burst of precipitation the next morning was merely a prelude to the downpour during Phil Lesh's set.
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