Continued from Part One, of course…

Bill Kopp: How would you describe — what is it that you deliver with the Fabulous Thunderbirds that’s different than what you do with Kim Wilson’s Blues All-stars?

Kim Wilson: That’s easy. [The Fabulous Thunderbirds] is just a hybrid of a lot of different things. It’s Americana, it’s all of those musics put together.  Whereas the solo thing, that is straight Chicago stuff. We vary it a little with that thing, but this is really a lot of different musical genres.

It’s a concept that I’ve had since I was a kid. It was out of necessity at first, ‘cause I would have to play a lot of soul beats to get people up and dance. Then I could play some blues.

If you look at that first James Cotton record on Verve, that really kind of confirmed everything for me. He was really a huge inspiration in a lot of ways to me. Harmonica, of course. But he was a great singer. He was doing “Blues in My Sleep,” he was doing “Knock on Wood,” “Turn On Your Lovelight,” “Don’t Start Me Talkin’” by Sonny Boy Williamson. All these different musical things. So I said, “Yeah!”

[Our conversation turns to Stax artists; everybody’s talking at once.]

Kim Wilson: That’s when they were makin’ records. A lot of texture was comin’ out of these guys. And all they did, really, was turn on the tape recorder and play. Instead of something that’s “produced.” And that’s what I want to get back to with the new thing.  I’ve got this thing now that you have [a new CD of eleven songs, sold at shows – ed.] and it’s very close. But it’s gonna change. I may re-cut the whole thing on analog.

Bill Kopp: That was my next question. So is or isn’t this your new album?

Kim Wilson: It’s supposed to be, but we weren’t done with it. And we knew we weren’t. But since we paid for it…

Bill Kopp: Yeah, what the hell. In the meantime, something is better than nothing.

Kim Wilson: A good example [of a sound I like] is the Black Keys. They’re an interesting bunch, sonically. I saw ‘em on Leno the other night, and I really enjoyed them. I thought, “There’s some guys who’ve really picked up the essence of what music is.” I like the guy’s voice, and he was playing this way-cool Supro guitar. They’re another band that’s a hybrid: it’s not blues, but it has the essence of all those things. You’ve got to know blues – and a lot of other things – to be able to play the way that they play. There are very few people who can do that and get away with it commercially. That’s the kind of thing we’ve done in the past, and that’s what we’re really ready to do now. If this was 1985, we’d be in the Top 20. But there is no Top 20 any more.

Bill Kopp: I saw you guys – sort of like that drunk guy in the autograph line was saying to you – open for Double Trouble at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta. It was the night before Stevie Ray went into rehab. He went into Peachford [Behavioral Health Systems].

Kim Wilson: Poor kid…

Bill Kopp: That was sort of the commercial apex for the band, but what you do now continues to be really interesting.

Kim Wilson: What we’re doing now really has progressed to a point where people really allow me to sing. Which has never really happened until now. I mean, here I am, 59 fuckin’ years old, and I’m just finally learnin’ how.

This kind of music is all about being a journeyman musician. It takes your whole life to do what you need to do. There are a lot of people who are young, who have a lot of potential. You can see it coming, coming, coming, and then: where did it go? I think it’s great to be at a certain age – like me – and get to the point where it’s like a rebirth. Where you can stand yourself, the things that you do.

You’re always experimenting with different techniques. You’re always listening to the old records, trying to pick up the essence of the things. I’ve been listening to some Ray Charles lately, and other singers. I enjoy that stuff, and I’m learning. Always learning. The object is, maybe at this stage of my life, maybe I’ve busted my head through the basement of that peer group that I want to be in. Guys that I’ve revered all my life and have played with. And if I had done that when I was, maybe, 25, I’d be done.

Bill Kopp: But you might not have appreciated it at that age like you would now…

Kim Wilson: You gotta realize, when I was 25, I was like someone who was sixteen. It was another time. That whole extension of how kids grow up fast these days, it extended into my twenties and thirties. And it worked out okay for me. I’m havin’ fun, I’m very excited about music, and I’m very excited about being good at it.

Bill Kopp: That comes through onstage.

Kim Wilson: No one can like you if you don’t like yourself. And the bandstand might be the only place where you do like yourself!

Bill Kopp: Looking at your tour itinerary, it seems like you have a varied lineup of festivals and types of venues. Do you tweak the set depending on the gig?

Kim Wilson: Yes. I don’t have a set list. I just call ‘em off.

Bill Kopp: You guys don’t go into a huddle between songs. That would be super-unprofessional: “Excuse us a moment while we discuss what our next song is going to be.”

Kim Wilson: I just holler ‘em out. But [chuckles] we’ve got a real problem with Johnny Moeller. I holler out the song to him, and he’s goin’, “What?!” And I’m thinking, “Can’t this guy read my fuckin’ lips?”

Bill Kopp: “Or my mind…”

Johnny Moeller: Everyone else does!

Kim Wilson: I’m doing all these signs to him [makes wild hand gestures]. And then he finally comes up to me, and I tell him.

Johnny Moeller: I think it pays to be as deaf as you are!

Kim Wilson [to the whole band]: Believe me: you’ll all be wearin’ fuckin’ hearing aids by the time you’re my age. I’ve got twenty years on the oldest of these bunch of guys. [laughs all around]

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The Fabulous Thunderbirds are nominally a blues band, but in the thirty-plus years since their founding by Kim Wilson and Jimmie Vaughan (the latter left for a solo career in 1989) they’ve melded a lot of styles into their music. The group rose to commercial prominence with MTV and radio hits “Tuff Enuff” and “Wrap It Up,” (both 1986), but continue to be a popular concert draw.

After Vaughan left, Wilson led an oft-changing lineup (one that for a few years included ace guitarist Nick Curran, whose album Reform School Girls is reviewed here). The latest lineup has been together since 2008, and includes Wilson (vocals and harmonica), Johnny Moeller and Mike Keller on guitars, Randy Bermudes on bass, and Johnny’s brother Jay on drums.

I had planned to meet up with the band just before they took the stage at the 2010 Bele Chere Festival in Asheville NC, but schedules being what they are, the band didn’t have time before taking the stage. In the end, this worked to everyone’s advantage. After Wilson and his bandmates worked the autograph line, they invited me into their tour bus (good thing, since it was a hot and humid July night) and we sat down for a post-show conversation.

Bill Kopp: For me, your music has always sort of transcended genres. It’s not strictly blues: there’s plenty of R&B, soul and rock in it. And it’s changed over time. Do you think those changes are a function of the changing lineups, or do they have to do with the sorts of songs you write?

Kim Wilson: I’m kinda going places that I want to go. I might not have been able to go those places with other lineups. This lineup affords me to go a lot of different places, a lot of different kinds of music. More than I’ve ever been able to do. The singing has become a little more important…the singing is everything. It’s the whole thing. The harmonica is good, and you can create a lot of excitement with that, but without the songs and the singing…

It’s all about females appreciating it. So you’ve got to be able to sing ‘em up a little bit to get that. Otherwise [chuckles]…you’ve got problems.

Bill Kopp: Do you think you have been unfairly pigeonholed as a blues act?

Kim Wilson: Sometimes. When we try to do things now, you know, they put us right in that blues category. And they’re able to do that because the blues category is so nebulous. People are having a hard time figuring out what blues is, because they’ve been exposed to so much stuff that isn’t blues, [but] that’s called blues. There’s very few bands who are gonna be able to really play blues.

As much different stuff as we do, lots of times on blues festivals, we’re the only people playing any blues!

Bill Kopp: Lots of jam bands and stuff…

Kim Wilson: Jam bands – that’s okay. As long as they don’t call it blues. I think it’s time for just music festivals. There’s so few people playing blues now. What’s cool about these roots festivals is that you get people like Mavis Staples, Alison Krauss and Robert Plant, Robert Cray, Los Lobos, some jazz people, some soul people. You really get the cream of all musics, and you kind of cut the fat off. Ad you get an opportunity, a special day with [artists] who are kinda just starting out.

There’s a standard that you need to go by. You need to give the audience the top of what there is. And I’d like to think that we are one of those bands. But I think you’ve got to give people their money’s worth. I think that after five in the afternoon, you really can’t be messin’ around. You know what I mean? Up ‘til five, maybe.

Bill Kopp: “It’s been a long day. Impress me!”

Kim Wilson: Right. What do they say? Win or go home. I mean, it’s easy for me to talk like that now, because I just got finished playing in front of a great crowd. They were very receptive from the beginning. And that makes your job so easy. You just give ‘em all you got, and you can relax. There’s not ever a feeling of being frantic.

Bill Kopp: When they’re looking at their watch and crossing their arms, you’ve got problems.

Kim Wilson: And that happens sometimes. But this is a concert pretty much in a perfect world, as far as a crowd goes.

Bill Kopp: It helps that [laughs] we all get fairly liquored up earlier in the evening.

On some level I kind of see you as a more modern version of John Mayall.

Kim Wilson: The way I’ve got people comin’ in and out [of the band]?

Bill Kopp: Yes. You’ve got the vision. The way I see it, there’s enough “space” in your vision. It’s not like, ‘you guys are gonna come in, and you’re gonna play this note, and you’re gonna play it this way.” It’s not that. It’s wide open. And it’s not just that you’re the constant guy. It’s more than that. Do you think the Mayall comparison is a fair one?

Kim Wilson: Sure. But there’s a fair number of people you can say that about. Muddy Waters, for instance. There’s a few bandleaders who have played a lot of different kinds of music that have had people come in and out of their bands. People like Duke Ellington and Count Basie had some unbelievable people.

Mayall, he helped out a lot of people. He gave a lot of people jobs, and pushed them on their way. He did a great thing. And he made people aware of blues music. He comes from my era. That was back in the sixties when we were kids. I’ve gotten to know John over the years. He’s a great guy; he’s always been very gracious, very complimentary. I have a lot — a lot — of respect for John Mayall.

Bill Kopp: It’s hard to imagine: if we didn’t have him, what we would have missed on. Some really talented people that might not have gotten that hand up.

Four-fifths of the current lineup has been together since 2007, and Mike Keller has been with you for two years. With all the gigs you’ve done, I imagine that you all got that whole unspoken musical communication thing down pretty quick.

Kim Wilson: We’re finding some direction now. The whole Chicago blues thing with this band is not there; that’s not what it really is. You can get some tastes of it, but it’s more Bobby “Blue” Bland, Texas-type stuff, more guitar-oriented stuff. I’ll pick up the harmonica maybe three, four songs in a night. And good ones, y’know? But I think it’s really about all those different directions you can go, that you can show people.

I’ve actually thought about doing some more country…doing a country type of thing. I love George Jones, and I’ve thought about showing people what I can do as a country singer.

Bill Kopp: There are hints of that in your music. Country blues. It wouldn’t be a left turn for you.

Kim Wilson: You know that song, “Do You Know Who I Am.” That’s very country sounding.

Bill Kopp: If you tweak the arrangement a little bit, it would be totally George Jones.

Kim Wilson: [laughs] I’d love to hear him do it!

Bill Kopp: That would be nice. It would probably pay some bills, too, wouldn’t it?

In part two of our interview, Wilson talks about the origin on the concept of the band, where he wants to go with the new recordings, and who he’s listening to these days. Wilson also throws a few good-natured f-bombs.

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My “people” (as they say) are from New York City. So trips to Center of the Known Universe were a highlight of my youth. I recall one particular trip during which my uncle (one of New York’s Finest, thankyouverymuch) took us out for a slice of pizza. A mere lad of thirteen or so, I was more than a little amused to hear the story of Ray’s vs. Original Ray’s vs. Genuine Ray’s etc. When it came to getting a New York slice, many people staked a claim to the real deal.

Over the years, similar situations have arisen with regard to bands. Perhaps most famously, a certain evil promoter (I dare not speak his name, but fans of the group will know of whom I speak) wheeled out a touring ersatz Moby Grape featuring no original members. And the real group was still around! In the days before they became a boring, flaccid FM radio sensation, Fleetwood Mac was subjected to the same sort of indignity. For a few years in the early 80s, Sam Moore toured with a different guy named Dave.

When the music’s good, everybody (or most everybody) wins. When it’s not, fans can’t help feeling a bit as if they’ve been cheated. And in both situations, the lawyers usually make out pretty well. Point of all this is that the issue of who owns a band name is often a sticky issue. Roger Waters famously took his former Pink Floyd bandmates to court over such matters. And as I mentioned in a recent review, guitarist Kurt Winter — a name probably unfamiliar to most of my readers — owns a quite famous band name: The Guess Who. As such, neither lead vocalist and composer Burton Cummings or guitarist Randy Bachman is allowed to use the name.

Luckily, sometimes it gets sorted out. And some of those times, the resulting act is not only something approaching the real deal, but they have something to offer musically. So it is with the band currently billed as Bill Haley’s Original Comets. Featuring two guys who really were there — and who really did play on the hit records — the group plays more than a hundred dates a year, more than half of them at the Andy Williams Moon River Theatre in Branson Missouri.

Joey Ambrose is 72 years old. Possessing an onstage demeanor reminiscent of Louis Prima (a similarity he mines to good effect), Ambrose is an expressive sax player who doesn’t ever seem to get winded. Ambrose fronts the band, doing most of the stage patter and corny jokes (this is Branson, after all). He also takes ample opportunity to solo on his horn, proving that he hasn’t lost it in the years since he and bandmate Dick Richards left Haley’s employ to form their own group, the Jodimars. (That would have been 1955, by the way).

Richards is the drummer. Did I mention he’s 82 years old? To look at him leaves little doubt that this is so: he’s of slight frame, thin, and quite honestly pretty damn old-looking. But watching him onstage, you’d never know it. The swinging Richards pounds the skins expressively, keeping time with military precision. And believe it or not, toward the latter part of the Comets’ 40-minute set, Richards takes a drum solo that lasts some four minutes. The crowd responds with slack-jawedness and thunderous applause.

The group peppers its nearly-all-hits repertoire with some crowd interaction, and at one point Ambrose and guitarist Jackson Haney (a fine axeman with looks favoring Gerry Marsden and a voice that’s nearly a dead-ringer for the long-departed Haley) heads into the crowd, thanks to the wonders of wireless technology.

Ambrose does a fine job of placing the songs in their context for the crowd, and even when they do an original (a ballad called “Lost in the 50s Tonight” or something like that) it works within the sonic parameters. On that song and others the backing band engage in convincing Jordanaires-type backing vocal arrangements. And perhaps surprisingly for a revue of this type, the band does not shy away from extended instrumental solos. That is a quality that I find especially refreshing; these guys really, really do rock.

Thankfully, the group doesn’t make prominent use of modern technology for their sound. In addition to Ambrose, Richards and Haney, the band includes keyboardist David Byrd, an unassuming fellow who probably adds more to the sound than is readily apparent. And on upright bass the band features Lou Colbe, whose introduction includes the fun fact that he used to play with Sammy Davis Jr. I’m not sure that helps his rock’n'roll cred much, but he plays well.

All involved seem to be having a good time playing the same set they do night after night (this was the final night of a month-long Branson residency), though Colbe may ever-so-slightly be tipping his hand that he is bored, on autopilot, phoning it in. During one of Ambrose’s longer banter sessions, if you look closely you can see Colbe’s lips mimicking Ambrose’s every well-rehearsed word in perfect synchronization. One could look upon this with cynicism or disappointment; I just find it funny. It doesn’t seem to be done with anything but a bit of mischievious humor.

Overall, the band performs in a way that barely moves the kitsch-o-meter needle off the zero mark; they truly are the real deal, rocking more than youngsters half their age.

After rocking two-thirds the way around the clock, the band members make themselves available post-show for handshakes, autographs and photos. A day or two earlier I had been cratedigging at Goner Records (chronicled in this book) in Memphis’ Cooper-Young neighborhood, and scored an early 70s reissue LP called Bill Haley’s Golden Hits. I present it to both Ambrose and Richards in hopes of getting their autographs, and both oblige. Ambrose, surprised to see an LP sleeve in 2010, says to me, “Hmm…let me see if I’m on any of these…” He flips the sleeve over and reads down the track list. “Yep,” he concludes, “I’m on all of ‘em!” And so is Richards. Lucky me!

The group clears out to give time for the stagehands to set up things for the headliner, Paul Revere and the Raiders, my primary reason for coming to Branson. I’ll report on that show soon. Stay tuned.

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Though I did my best not to, as the July 2010 Paul McCartney concert in Charlotte kicked off, I already had in my head a couple of ideas I thought I’d use in my post-show summary. But besides putting on a great show, McCartney managed to be something I hadn’t expected: just slightly unpredictable.

Sure, I had a pretty good idea of what songs to expect, and in what order. And I knew that we’d be treated to an evening’s full of by-the-book McCartneyisms: the well-rehearsed off-the-cuff anecdotes, the homespun snippet of some ditty of supposed relevance to the town he’s playing in, the everybody-say-woo bit, the connecting with a specific audience member (in this case a guy woman waving a “MCCARTNY” [sic] auto license tag), and repeated observations of what a great time we’re all having.

Buying a ticket to a Paul McCartney concert is not about witnessing spontaneity. But it is about a bunch of other things, all good. The man is in his late sixties now, and remains one of the planet’s richest performers. In 2010 Paul McCartney hasn’t got anything to prove to the audience. He could get up there and phone it in, and plenty of people would be satisfied, and would likely queue up for tickets to the next tour.

More than most performers, McCartney has always been one who truly wants to make his fans happy. You hear plenty of songwriters say things like “I write songs to please myself” and such, and thank goodness they do, because that’s what makes it real. And there’s ample evidence to suggest that the same is true of Macca. But onstage it’s a different matter altogether. He’s there to put on a show. He knows it, we know it.

Even to someone who has grown up with the Beatles, Wings and solo McCartney catalog (including tangential projects like The Fireman, the Liverpool Oratorio and Standing Stone, and even the Percy “Thrills” Thrillington album), a McCartney concert can still provide some mild surprises.

One surprise was how much Paul relinquished bass playing duties to Brian Ray. When McCartney did play bass, he used his trademark Hofner, but for a good half of the show, Ray played a Gibson SG bass while McCartney displayed (with some subtlety) what an accomplished musician he actually is. And that’s not an insignificant point: while his skills as a composer, singer and performer in general are well established, all-around-crack-musician isn’t always the first phrase that comes to mind when thinking of McCartney. Of course that’s wrong: this is a man who played all of the instruments on his first solo album, and did so before it was practical or relatively common (see: Todd Rundgren, Mike Oldfield, Stevie Wonder, etc.) But on this tour Paul plays lead guitar, acoustic guitar, mandolin, ukulele and piano.

The pacing of the show was flawless. With a catalog as vast as his, McCartney has material that covers a wide range of styles and emotions. Putting together a set list is a high-wire act, especially for someone so focused on crowd-pleasing. There are the demands of the casual fans: they want to hear the mega-hits, and they want them played Just Like the Record. For those people, McCartney served up ditties like “Let ‘Em In” and the mini-suite “Band on the Run.” Some punters are hardcore: they want to witness Paul reach deep into his songbook and pull out some deep album cuts. For them (well, us, really) McCartney and band pulled out “Mrs Vandebilt,” “Letting Go” and the Beatles’ “I’ve Got a Feeling.” And to keep things a bit contemporary, the band cranked out the two most accessible tracks from the Fireman project.

One of my original premises, one of the things I was expecting to comment on at some length, was the critical role that keyboardist Paul “Wix” Wickens occupies in the band. Wix has been part of McCartney’s touring lineup for twenty years: it’s perhaps worth pointing out that his time with McCartney has vastly outlasted such musical collaborations as those with John Lennon (spanning 1957-1969) or Denny Laine (1971-1980). Only Paul’s wife Linda, who succumbed to cancer, could claim a longer musical association with Paul.

And beginning with McCartney’s 1989-90 world tour (the first time I saw him onstage, as it happens), Wickens was indeed a central component of the sound that came from the stage. By the late-late 1980s, keyboard technology had finally advanced to the point where it was possible to recreate the complex and distinctive sounds of the Beatles’ Baroque and Mannerist period works (Sgt. Pepper, Magical Mystery Tour, Abbey Road) in an authentic fashion. So it was left — in those days — to Wix to play the horn charts from “Magical Mystery Tour,” the orchestra in “A Day in the Life,” and so on. Fans delighted to these carefully faithful live renditions of Beatles and Wings hits of yore.

Wickens — the band’s onstage musical director — remains in that role. But in 2010 his delivery is much more subtle. The current band (him and McCartney plus guitarists Rusty Anderson and Brian Ray, and drummer Abe Laboriel Jr. — a stable lineup going on nine years now) is focused less on providing audio carbon copies of classic songs. They’re careful not to mess with the arrangements too much –  don’t nobody better mess with our Beatles — but on the 2010 tour, the audience is as likely as not to hear what used to be a horn chart part played instead by Rusty Anderson on slide guitar. Not only does this work, but this approach gives the band a more rock-oriented edge. It also provides a less “plastic” feeling, and I say this as a keyboard player myself.

This go-round there were no tunes from Magical Mystery Tour, only two from Sgt. Pepper, and only one from Abbey Road (unless you count a George Harrison song). Also notably absent were any of the early Beatles rockers. But overall the set was well balanced, with perhaps a bit more Wings material (about ten songs) than casual fans might have expected.

The nearly three-hour setlist was carefully sequenced. The segues were smooth. Thoughtful pieces — like an amazing “Eleanor Rigby” featuring Paul on acoustic guitar, Wix on virtual (and note-perfect) string octet plus Anderson and Laboriel on vocal harmonies — led seamlessly into other styles. Particularly effective was the ukulele-led George Harrison tribute of “Something.” It led into a powerful like-the-Beatles version for its second half, effectively bridging a mini-set of mellower numbers back into rock and roll without jarring the audience.

Hardcore fans will always find something to carp about, and in this reviewer’s case it was the lack of getting to hear “Two of Us.” But instead we got to hear “I’ve Just Seen a Face.” Nice, but McCartney did that one on the Wings Over America tour, and he’d never done “Two of Us” until this tour. But at three hours, nobody could realistically claim that McCartney didn’t offer value for money.

Like Paul sings in “Venus and Mars / Rock Show,” the experience of seeing him onstage in 2010 is “like a relic from a different age.” But it’s a welcome and unforgettable experience. Few performers have earned the stature of Paul McCartney, and fewer still consistently deliver onstage. Over the course of thirty-seven numbers, his energy didn’t visibly flag once, and he never lost the audience, not for as much as a second. You could learn a lot about performing by studying a McCartney concert. But it’s also fun to just go and enjoy the evening. I did both.

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I had seen Bigelf before. As related in earlier features, I attended the Asheville NC engagement of the 2009 Progressive Nation tour, and was delighted to discover this new (to me) band that sounded like Black Sabbath with Mellotrons. I found their visual aesthetic both over the top and appealing all at once. Vocalist, front man and keyboardist Damon Fox stood at the front of the stage, with a straight mic stand in front of him. At each side he had keyboards: Minimoog, Mellotron, Hammond organ, etc. Guitarist Ace Mark staked out a position in front of some huger Orange amplifier stacks. Froth wailed away on a relatively small drum kit, and left-handed Duffy Snowhill held down the bottom end. Great show, good sound, but short set.

Not long thereafter I was fortunate to get some time with Fox. We went on at considerable length discussing keyboard and other arcane subjects. Then a few months ago I learned that Bigelf was touring the USA opening for Porcupine Tree, another act I follow (my interview with Steven Wilson is here). So I immediately made plans to travel to Charlotte NC for the show.

Some might think the pairing of Bigelf and Porcupine Tree an odd billing. Porcupine Tree’s music combines the best of classic progressive rock stylings with a modern metal aesthetic. The group’s music is powerful, expressive and often emotional. What it isn’t — with rare exceptions — is playful, whimsical or in any way humorous.

Bigelf, on the other hand, try (and succeed) at having it both ways. The four-piece serves up the power, with crushingly heavy riffage, (sometimes) doomy tempos and old-school (circa 1973) arena rock trappings. But they’re also winking the whole time. Stovepipe-hatted Damon Fox is having a laugh, but significantly, he’s having it with the audience, not at them. The music has fun as one of its foundational elements, even when Fox is singing about the evils of money or being blackballed.

The 2010 shows represent some significant departures from the feel of the Progressive Nation dates. On the ‘09 tour, Bigelf had huge stages within which to work. The band was able to spread out, and Ace brought all his groovy Orange amps. In the confined space of the tiny stage at Charlotte’s Amos’ Southend, Bigelf was crammed into an area at the front edge of the stage (headliner Porcupine Tree’s equipment was set up behind them). Ace kept half of the amps at home, and everything seemed sort of piled on top of itself.

But that didn’t prevent Bigelf from bringing the show. Fox took advantage of the intimate vibe of Amos’ Southend to engage the audience in witty banter. The band seemed at once looser and more in command of their material than they had at the (also excellent) Prog Nation date.

Porcupine Tree’s Steven Wilson runs a tight ship: as a fellow concertgoer told me — he had seen several dates on the tour — Wilson kept the evening’s proceedings on a very strict schedule. So Bigelf would be hitting the stage exactly at 8pm, he told me, and they would play exactly forty minutes.

Not so. Deciding they wanted to give the audience more, Bigelf came out a full ten minutes early, and played right up to their scheduled finish time. After the band got through its first song, the audience — most of whom clearly were not familiar with Bigelf — was completely won over. Unlike the brief Progressive Nation set that highlighted tracks from the 2008 album Cheat the Gallows, the Amos’ Southend show concentrated more on older Bigelf material, much of it from their 2005 release Hex. While the audience largely didn’t know the difference, the Charlotte set presented a more balanced overview of the Bigelf sound.

I spoke to Damon Fox and Ace Mark after the show, and Fox explained that they felt it was time to change things up a bit, having played the Cheat the Gallows material on both the US and European legs of the Progressive Nation tour.

Doubtless the opening slot on the Porcupine Tree tour is opening Bigelf up to new audiences, and if this night’s crowd was any indication, there will be an increased built-in fan base waiting for the next album from Bigelf.

Here’s their latest video, the track “Superstar” from Cheat the Gallows. Ace is playing what looks like a damn careful copy of the infamous “Fool” Gibson SG, an instrument that has belonged to Eric Clapton, Jackie Lomax and Todd Rundgren.

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The New Mastersounds are a four-piece instrumental band out of Leeds in Northern England. The group plays an engaging brand of funk-soul-R&B in a style that makes knowing nods to great music of the past. The quartet includes guitarist Eddie Roberts on guitar and tambourine, drummer Simon Allen, Pete Shand on bass guitar, and Joe Tatton on Hammond organ and piano. The group was in Asheville NC for a headlining spot at a weekend Earth Day festival in April 2010, and Eddie Roberts and Simon Allen sat down for a backstage pre-show interview.

I had originally planned to meet the band a full year earlier, on the eve of an April 2009 show scheduled in Asheville, but last-minute entrance visa complications for the group caused the scuttling of that and several other shows. This was their first appearance in Asheville since that time.

What’s in a Name?
Prior to the forming of New Mastersounds in 1999, guitarist Eddie Roberts led a band simply called the Mastersounds. “It was never called the Mastersounds until I was in it,” asserts drummer Simon Allen. Before that, he recalls, it was called “‘The Yard Movement’ or some daft thing.” In any event, as Allen explains, the original name had to go when “Eddie realized it was the name of a Wes Montgomery-led band.” Roberts picks up the story: “I thought it was just the name of an album when I stole the name,” he chuckles. “I thought, ‘Ah, that’s a good name for a band. Why didn’t they think of that?’ Turns out they did!”

“But then,” Roberts continues, explaining why they kept the name, “we thought, ‘Well, it’s not like we’re ever going to play in America. So it’s not going to make any difference!’” Ultimately they added the “New” in light of lineup changes. In those early days the group mostly played restaurants in Leeds and Manchester. “We’d be trying to play as quietly as possible,” explains Allen, “but Eddie’s guitar is so loud anyway.” (Roberts quickly responds, “I never turn it past two!”) “Sometimes people would be there,” says Allen, “and they’d have just come out for a quiet meal. And then we’d start playing. And they’re trying to pretend that they’re not hating the intrusion that’s right next to their table.”

The New Mastersounds. Photo © Bill Kopp

After the laughter subsides, Roberts continues the story. “The Mastersounds was put together to play a club that we were part of. We ran a night there. There were DJs playing funk and soul, with some deep house music on a different floor of the place, and there was a live room at the top. So we put a band together and played every Friday night there, on a tiny little stage.” That experience working in a small space clearly informed the group’s overall sensibility: even now when gigs allow plenty of stage room, the four-piece huddles closely together. It’s clear that the lively musical dialogue and interplay of the band is built on this foundation. (more…)

They fought the law, and the law…well, let’s call it a draw.

What law, you ask? Why, the law of diminishing returns. Do essentially the same thing over and over, and you’ll get less of a return on your investment. And to some extent, that’s what happened on March 30 when King Khan and the (Sensational) Shrines stormed the stage of Asheville’s Orange Peel.

It didn’t have to be that way. I’ve seen Khan with this band three times now, and their live shows can be nothing short of incendiary. Sure, they’re a bit mannered, and some planning is absolutely essential when you crowd ten people onto stages of varying sizes. The band includes frontman King Khan on vocals and some guitar, plus a standard band lineup of guitar / bass/ drums / keys. To that they add a percussionist, three horn players (one of whom adds guitar on some numbers) and of course their famous cheerleader Bamboorella.

But having seen the band twice before (once on this same stage in 2009, and before that at Washington DC’s Rock and Roll Hotel in summer 2008) I must report that the show — while quite exciting — was essentially those shows, redone.

Once again the band opened (after a brief instrumental intro) with the winning “(How Can I Keep You) Outta Harm’s Way.” And from there the set list followed a path quite similar to that of the shows from one and two years before. A few cuts I didn’t recognize might be newer songs, or they might be ones I just hadn’t heard before. Khan’s lengthy humorous storytelling over “I Took My Baby to Dinner” was a warmed-over plate; I’d been served that dish before.

But I don’t want to be too hard on Khan and his band. They did rock, and the audience loved every minute of the show. Concertgoers who haven’t seen the band before would likely voice none of the concerns I’ve cited so far. The band was in fine, energetic form, and delivered their trademark wild abandon. The guitarist and bassist deserve special mention: playing intentionally-cheap looking brands of instruments (Harmony and Hofner, respectively), they kept things rock-solid and thrilling at the same time. And the keyboard player lifted his (relatively heavy) organ emulator over his head several times during the show, often while continuing to play. Showy yet effective. And loads of fun.

The band is very visual. Ten people running around the stage while cranking out a high-energy cross between James Brown and the Sex Pistols, they thrilled the youngish crowd. But Khan seemed ever-so-slightly off his game; tired, perhaps. Wherein in the past his demeanor conveyed an effective cross between debauchery and communitarianism, on this night he didn’t seem to connect with the audience at his usual level. They were giving him and the band plenty of love, but while the 2008 Khan roamed the audience bowing namaste-style to dozens of people one by one, on this night he instead spat some sort of liquid on people in the front.

The relatively brief show (about 70 minutes including encore) covered all of the Shrines styles, but didn’t offer much that pointed a way toward the future. King Khan and the Shrines deserve a wider audience, both on the strength of their recorded output and on the thrill of their live show. But if they don’t change it up onstage a little more, they may never break out into that well-deserved wider success. Here’s hoping they do. And despite my reservations, I’ll be there the next time they roll around these parts to check on their progress. Because even when they’re not bringing their best, King Khan and the Shrines still out-rock and out-entertain most bands.

Maybe you’ve been lucky. Maybe you’ve had the pleasure of attending a concert where the performer was truly, really, wholly into it. I was lucky the other night. I saw the Moody Blues in concert.

Yes, the Moody Blues. I know what you might be thinking. A long string of hits, sure. But nothing in the last couple decades. A bunch of guys in their sixties. What could they possibly have to offer beyond nostalgia?

Plenty, as a matter of fact. There are three members remaining from the classic lineup, or as hardcore Moodys fan might say, from the Moody Blues Mk II. Mk I, you may recall, was fronted by Denny Laine — later of Wings – and scored a hit with Bessie Banks‘ “Go Now.” But that lineup folded, and the group that came together to record the groundbreaking Days of Future Passed in 1967 is the one that people remember.

And it’s the one that had all the hits. By 1972 the Moody Blues had racked up an impressive string of hit albums and singles. Tired of the frenetic pace, they took an extended hiatus in ‘72, during which time the various members busied themselves with solo albums. All have their moments.

They came back together in 1977 to record Octave, but by the end of that album’s sessions, Mellotron player Mike Pinder threw in the towel; he had had enough of the touring life.

In the early 80s the group — augmented with Swiss keyboard player Patrick Moraz — staged a surprising comeback. They returned to the charts with another string of hit albums and singles, aided in no small part by several music videos. Some of those have aged well, and some are cringingly, horribly dated.

In the mid part of the new century’s first decade, flautist Ray Thomas retired from the group owing to (non-life-threatening) health reasons. As Graeme Edge explained it, “He struggled on the road for two or three years; it was kind of heartbreaking. He finally had to say, ‘I can’t do it any more.’”

So now the group is down to Justin Hayward (guitar, vocals), John Lodge (bass, vocals) and Edge (drums, spoken word interludes). Onstage they’re augmented by a keyboard player, a second drummer, and two female multi-instrumentalists. One plays additional keys and acoustic guitar, and handles high vocal harmonies. The other plays tambourine, guitar, and all of Ray Thomas’ flute parts. She sings as well, and can do a mean karate kick.

Onstage, the band rocks quite credibly for a bunch of older gentlemen. While the supporting musicians do indeed support, there’s little doubt that Hayward, Lodge and Edge still can deliver the goods.

An underrated lead guitarist, Hayward makes it clear onstage that he’s no slouch. In addition to still nailing all of his vocal parts — he sounds exactly the same singing “Tuesday Afternoon” as he did some 43 years ago — he also cranks out a number of impressive (if brief) guitar solos. On “The Day We Meet Again” (one of a surprising three Octave cuts in the current set list) he plays a vintage Farfisa organ.

Lodge still wears leather pants onstage, and though he’s a bit weathered-looking, his playing is none the worse for wear. At one point in the show he strolls onstage with a double-neck axe that’s half Fender P-bass, half Telecaster with left-handed neck. His pipes haven’t failed him, either.

Then there’s Graeme Edge. The band’s eldest member — he’ll soon be 69 — the drummer makes it clear throughout the set that there is nowhere on earth he’d rather be at this moment than on that stage, playing for us nice people. He grins throughout the performance. At one point, he drops a stick. Without missing a beat (literally), his co-drummer takes note of the situation, and tosses Edge a stick — overhand, across the expanse of the stage — while both continue to play. Edge catches it and continues playing as well.

At one point Edge comes out front to do the Ringo thing. Not only does he shake a tambourine and do some spoken-word bits. Though Edge wrote the spoken interludes that are a hallmark of Moody Blues albums (”Breathe deep the gathering gloom…” “There you go, man; keep as cool as you can…” “Live hand in hand, and together we’ll stand…”), original keyboardist Mike Pinder was often the one who recited most of them. Edge told me in a recent interview that “back then, Mike had the big brown voice, and I was still young and high-pitched. But thanks to the ravages of whisky and cigarettes, I’m back down where his voice was now.”

What’s more, Edge dances across the stage at one point, doing that Michael Flatley the-top-half-of-my-body-doesn’t-move Irish dancing stuff.

Is the banter scripted? Sure. When Lodge introduces the rarely-performed “Peak Hour” from Days of Future Passed, his intro isn’t all that different from one night to the next (I saw one show on the current tour, and listened to an audience recording of another, so I know). You want spontaneity, go see a band full of 23 year olds. And see how many timeless songs they can serve up.

No, there isn’t any new material. The band has two hours to make the audience happy, and they balance their set deftly between the hit songs the punters pay to hear (admittedly great songs like “Ride My See Saw”) and deep album cuts that only hardcore fans would know (”Driftwood” from Octave again, featuring Hayward at his most yearning and romantic).

Short of actually dragging a Mellotron onstage (hey, Bigelf does it), the 2010 edition of the Moody Blues re-creates their classic hits in a manner reasonably close to the album versions. Thanks to a device called the Memotron (a reliable and lightweight digital descendant of the Mellotron), the keyboard player reproduces many of Pinder’s classic sounds. While there is a slight 80s feel to some of the keyboard sounds, that’s only fair. The group’s third chart run did span that era.

The PA sound is excellent. “That takes a lot of work and effort, but we’ve always prided ourselves on having a good live sound,” Edge told me. “We’ve always stayed on the pointed end of technology.” The band members all use in-ear monitors rather than old-fashioned foldback monitors. The result is also a cleaner-looking stage setup, and plenty of room for Lodge to roam (his bass was wireless).

I’m lucky to see them. The show is slightly better paced than the 2008 tour, and the song selection is a bit more interesting. The group plays at least one track from each of their seven classic-era albums, and while this reviewer could have done with a bit less of the 80s material, those tunes do rank among the evening’s most well-received numbers.

Tickets aren’t cheap — in most markets the cheapest seats go for $45 and up — but for a show that balances nostalgia with some genuinely exciting rock and roll moments, you could do a lot worse than go see the Moody Blues in 2010.

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Memphis soul trio The City Champs brought their southern-fried (mostly) instrumental sounds to Asheville NC’s Orange Peel on Saturday February 19. Opening for the North Mississippi Allstars, the City Champs turned out a half-hour plus of their subtly updated take on the stylings of Booker T & the MGs.

While the trio’s debut album The Safecracker (reviewed here) deals in an ever-so-slightly jazzified take on Memphis soul, that dimension of the City Champs’ musical personality was dialed back on this night. Perhaps that was owing to the audience: the Orange Peel was packed to the brim with late 20s and early 30s backward baseball cap-wearing males (the audience was easily a 5:1 male-to-female ratio). That said, this veritable sausagefest of noodle-dancing frat boys really dug the City Champs.

Owing to their status as an opening act, the trio was situated right at the front edge of the stage. This reviewer’s position right up front meant that the sound heard was of the instruments themselves rather than the house PA (though the Orange Peel’s techs are well known for producing a crystal-clear — if loud — mix). We heard every hit of George Sluppick’s snare, every crash of his cymbals.

Sluppick’s Rodgers jazz kit was a sight to behold. An undersized kick drum (probably a 20″) and oddly oversized cymbals may have looked odd, but they helped him deliver the goods. His stickwork did that perfect tightrope walk of in-the-pocket and loose.

Keyboardist Al Gamble’s setup was notable as well. The foundation of his setup was a gutted Wurlitzer electric piano — well, actually just the legs and bottom — with what one could only call a “modesty panel” (probably off an old scrapped organ) hiding what he was actually playing. This reviewer’s best guess is a Hammond XK, a modern digital instrument designed to reproduce the sounds of the mighty, legendary B3 without the backbreaking , roadie-requiring nightmares that vintage instrument entails. Gamble made ample and deft use of a real Leslie speaker throughout the set.

Guitarist Joe Restivo played a guitar of unknown make, but it was definitely of the Epiphone Casino / Gibson ES-335 style, a double cutaway hollowbody. With a minimum of effects, Restivo delivered peerless and joy-giving solos throughout the set.

Most songs followed a similar format: a guitar solo, a keyboard solo, repeat and then both join in for a swirl of sound. Oddly, during the 30 to 40-minute set, the City Champs played no more than three or four tracks from their album, opting instead for more rock-oriented (yet excellent) material.

Odder still — not bad in any way, just a surprise to anyone who’s heard the completely instrumental album — midway through the set Gamble maneuvered his mic to a comfortable position and…sang. A credible cover of “Get Out of My Life, Woman” (performed most notably in 1966 by the Paul Butterfield Blues Band on their peerless and groundbreaking East-West) ensued.

Throughout the set, the crowd afforded attention and applause well beyond what is customary for an opening act. Though the tightly structured numbers of the City Champs were all about soloing, they’re no jam band, so their success at the hands of the jam-band audience can only be assumed to be down to the basic quality of the group’s songs and performances.

But then came…the jam. Guitarist Luther Dickinson of headliners the North Mississippi Allstars had been waiting in the wings all set (well, not exactly the wings; his presence onstage through most of the City Champs’ set was actually a bit distracting: a number of fans persisted in snapping photos of him as he watched and waited), and for the trio’s final number they welcomed him onstage. At that point his scenery-chewing antics took over. Dickinson proceeded to crank out slide guitar licks and apply them atop the City Champs’ music. The crowd absolutely loved it. Me, I was there to see and hear the Champs, not an Allman Brothers tribute act.

Nonetheless, the City Champs acquitted themselves well, and showed themselves to be consummate young professionals. In a perfect world they’d be opening for an act better suited to their style — say, Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings — but in the meantime, this will do.

Not being an especially ardent fan of Dickie Betts, this reviewer left the show halfway through the first of the North Missisippi Allstars’ generic blooz numbers.

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I’ve just been informed that John Fogerty will be playing at this year’s Bonnaroo Music Festival in Manchester TN. He’ll be on the “main stage” on Sunday June 13.

You can read my report from the 2007 Bonnaroo festival here. You can read my reviews of CCR / Fogerty stuff here, here, here, here, here and here. And you can read my interview with Stu Cook, CCR’s bassist, here.