Read Yellow (Final Show)
The Middle East Upstairs
Cambridge, MA
March 22, 2007

Stars, at the end of their celestial lives, swell to hundreds of times their size before collapsing and bidding the universe adieu. On March 22, upstairs at the Middle East, Read Yellow briefly became a Red Giant, expanding from four members to nearly a hundred for the climactic encore of the supernova that was their farewell show. Before launching into perennial show-closer “Model America” for the very last time, lead singer Evan Kenney invited the audience to join the band on stage. One of the most engaging aspects of any Read Yellow show was always the fierceness and glee with which they battered the line separating performer from audience. Kenney, a habitual stage-diver, would often sing entire songs from the floor, and guitarist Jesse Vuono was known to finish shows by handing his guitar and pieces of the drum set to eager noise-makers in the crowd. Now, during the last song Read Yellow would ever play, the audience-band boundary was fittingly trampled by dozens of sweaty bodies, as elated fans engulfed the stage, writhing and singing, glistening with sweat, tears, and spilled beer. “All we ever wanted,” panted Kenney during his post-encore thank-you, “was to play music with all our friends.”

It was a transcendent finish to a beautifully chaotic set featuring everything from crowd surfing to a flying yellow maraca to impromptu spoken-word poetry from some guy in the audience that drunkenly climbed on stage between songs — not to mention the intensity of an awesome band playing like it was their last night on earth, which, in some ways, it was. The band spent six years winning dedicated fans across the globe, playing high profile gigs with the likes of Mission of Burma, TV on the Radio, The Rapture, and Trail of Dead (to name but a few), and almost as many years being Boston’s underground darlings, forever on the verge of main stream recognition. Read Yellow had become something of a post-punk institution in the Northeast. And now they were calling it quits.

But while this fact was clearly cause for some visible sadness among the bleary-eyed, wistful wallflowers near the bar, Read Yellow shows had never given fans much room for anything other than flat-out jubilation: head-bopping, knee-dropping, rock ‘n roll catharsis. If personal tensions within the band were a factor in the break-up, it certainly wasn’t apparent. Everyone on stage was simply out to have a blast. Bassist Michelle Kay didn’t even seem to mind when Kenney pointed her microphone at the crowd, inadvertently preventing her from singing. She just rolled her eyes, held down the rhythm, and continued to mesmerize any unsuspecting fans letting their gaze linger too long in her direction. Fortunately, the seismic shockwaves from Paul Koelle’s drum pummeling prevented anyone near the stage from staying stationary for more than a few seconds.

At one point towards the end of the night, a fan that had spent the better part of a song crowd surfing attempted to re-launch off the side of the stage. This time security was ready to enforce the “no stage diving” policy and quickly escorted him out. Moments later, in true punk rock form, Kenney responded by diving, guitar and all, directly into the flailing arms of the audience, displaying for one last time exactly the sort of dynamic showmanship that made Read Yellow such a formidable live act.

Their absence leaves a black hole in Boston’s live music scene, but at least they went out with a big bang.

-Review by Jon Carter; photo by Matt Boch

The Books / Greg Davis
The Somerville Theater
Somerville, MA
April 15, 2007

“The historic Somerville Theater,” as a refined, gentlemanly voice referred to it over the sound system, is not your typical rock venue. Plush stadium seating is best suited for audiences that are expected to remain sedate, and for music that makes heads nod as opposed to asses shake. Consequently, it was a perfect venue for The Books, whose music loosely applies pop structures to collages of found-sound intertwined with softly sung vocals and acoustic instrumentation.

Opener Greg Davis set the tone for the evening. Sitting Indian-style between a Macbook Pro, a Korg synthesizer, and various obscure percussion instruments, he produced droning, pounding, impressionistic waves of noise. His set consisted of a single piece that began by feeding the arrhythmic beat of a small, double-headed monkey drum through a delay, transforming it into an intricate rhythm pattern. From there he gradually added layers of loops from his voice and the many instruments around him, culminating in a dense, prolonged, nearly ear-splitting drone.

The Books took the stage soon after, seating themselves unassumingly before the wild applause of the surprisingly diverse audience. Three songs into their set, singer/guitarist/programmer Nick Zammuto apologized for having a cold. “I lack the control over my voice that I never had anyway,” he joked, displaying the distinctive whimsy behind titles like “If Not Now, Whenever” and “Don’t Even Sing About It” (both of which made it into the night’s set). Considering that much of The Books’ vocals consist of heavily processed whisper-singing, any tracheal failings did nothing to damage the performance.

This fact was likely due to the upbeat atmosphere onstage and off. Referring to his skeletal electric cello, cellist/programmer Paul de Jong told the audience that he had christened it a “celliton” — that is, a cross between a cello and a skeleton. Towards the end of the set, he claimed that the instrument’s main wooden shaft was once the peg leg of a famous French cellist. Earlier on, Zammuto mentioned a few of his favorite things about playing in Boston. These included getting to see his family, whom he warmly acknowledged in the front row, and getting to perform with his brother, Mikey Zammuto, who stepped onstage to play bass for a track that he introduced as being about “arguably the best arctic creature on the planet,” by which he meant penguins. Obviously.

For audience members unconvinced of the penguin’s superiority, the song’s visual accompaniment made a strong case. Each song in the set featured a synchronized video, projected onto a large screen hanging between Zammuto and de Jong. In this instance the audience was treated to various shots of penguins cavorting adorably on ice. (They even looped that YouTube clip of the one penguin smacking the other face-first into the snow.) The video element overall, while admittedly hit-or-miss, was a welcome addition to the stage show. At it’s worst, the video featured the near-cringe-worthy “nature shots” that one might expect during a PBS theme song. But at its best it featured obscure clips chopped, looped, and screwed into somehow coherent and disarmingly compelling pieces — just like the band’s music.

Between the main set and the encore, the enthused audience stood up to clap. Every band gets a standing ovation when it’s a standing-room-only situation, but when that motion requires getting the crowd to leave their plush, stadium seats, it’s a job well done.

-Jon Carter

Walter the Orange Ocean / The Gulf / Me and Joan Collins / Fancy Trash
T.T. the Bear’s
Cambridge, MA
March 24, 2007

Showcasing an eclectic mix of four area bands, T.T.’s filled slowly with a rather diverse mélange of yuppie-ish thirty-somethings, the barely-legal college set, and even a few parents of the evening’s musicians.

The festivities began with the band that had traveled the farthest — Fancy Trash, a Northampton trio. Their foot-tapping folk rock was an effective opening, complete with upright bass, occasional harmonica accompaniment, and a healthy dose of vocal harmonies. With his long, parted hair and semi-neurotic wails, lead singer and guitarist Dave Houghton came across as a more attractive version of Jeff Mangum. Though the ambition and talent were there, Fancy Trash’s songs seemed redundant, often following the familiar verse/chorus/verse formula. Instrumental breaks were welcome and intriguing, but even they were a bit predictable.

Me and Joan Collins, a loud, well-dressed quintet from Cambridge, followed Fancy Trash with a high-energy combination of garage and glam rock. Considering their recent inception, the band’s disjointed stage presence was to be expected; their intricate sound, however, was quite cohesive. Lead guitarist Bo Barringer’s vocals were flanked on both sides by guitarist Jen Grygiel and keyboardist Jess Barnett, making for some great co-ed harmonies. The common denominator in almost every song was sex, but punchier and more upbeat numbers allowed for a different, more memorable take on the same theme. Barringer, clad in a bright white suit, shiny red shirt and black tie, spontaneously fulfilled a plea from a female crowd member to take off his pants, performing the final songs of the set in nothing but blue skivvies from the waist down.

Filling most of the club’s live performance area, The Gulf was clearly the most anticipated band of the evening. In contrast to the earlier performers, the band displayed a unique ability to marry elements from a variety of genres into a well-executed stew that was completely their own. Long, complex songs brought to mind everything from the desert soundtrack music of Calexico to a heavier, more powerful sound recalling Explosions in the Sky. Keyboardist Adam Brock and guitarist Adam Garland traded vocals while slide guitarist Dave Barbaree and trumpet player Brian McGrath added traces of Nashville and Barcelona to the palette. The band announced that the night would be bassist Sven Larson’s final show. One can only hope his departure will have a minimal effect on his colleagues, as The Gulf is one of the most original acts on the current Boston scene.

By the time Walter the Orange Ocean took the stage at around 12:30 a.m., the crowd had dwindled. Lead singer and keyboardist Daniel Burke didn’t seem to mind, still doing his best to woo the gathered females by crooning his lovelorn lyrics over a bed of electronic melodies. Guitarist Dan Hedley’s interplay with Burke’s synth was engaging, as were the duo’s vocal harmonies, but the true charm of the band’s gentle, lullaby-like delivery was lost so late in the evening, the chatter of inebriated bar patrons overshadowing the softer parts of songs. The band would have been more enjoyable given a better time slot and more like-styled openers. On this night, however, the previous performers had injected enough energy into the room to make the close seem rather anti-climactic.

-Review and photo by Brett Cromwell

Dreadnaught
The Press Room
Portsmouth, NH
March 31, 2007

The Press Room in Portsmouth features a cozy, second-floor venue with exposed brick for ambiance, hanging Oriental rugs for acoustics, and a tiny riser for the band at one end of the long, narrow room. To a club best known for blues and jazz, New Hampshire power trio Dreadnaught brought a little bit of both, contributing equal parts of their own professional prowess and rock swagger to make the mix unique.
The exhaustive, three-hours-plus performance showcased Dreadnaught’s original songs — primarily instrumental — plus a myriad of well-chosen covers spanning as many genres as the band’s own unique sound. Although drummer Rick Habib handled primary singing duties, several songs included vocals from bassist Bob Lord and guitarist Justin Walton. Much more entertaining, however, was witnessing Lord’s relentless thumb work on his Rickenbacker. Walton’s guitar performance was equally enthralling, and the two continuously played off each other during the night’s countless solos.

Songs like Booker T. & the M.G.’s “Hip Hug Her” and the Stones’ “Get Off My Cloud” were given fresh life courtesy of bluesy solos and a funky take, respectively. Intermingled with these and other covers from groups such as Steely Dan, Cream, and T. Rex, the band’s impressive arrangements held their own, thanks to flawlessly executed tempo changes, stop/starts, and precise fretwork.

While the rear end of the bar saw quite a bit of turnover during the band’s two lengthy sets, the front half was more grounded. If this show was any indication, the band’s upcoming release, High Heat & Chin Music, a two-disc set highlighting their ten-year history, will be a good buy for anyone interested in progressive instrumental music.

-Review and photo by Brett Cromwell

Moses Atwood
North Star Café
Portland, ME
April 13, 2007

The bluesman looked somewhat out of place in the sparkling new venue, having forgone his signature white suit in favor of a more rugged look, his handlebar moustache topping off his lumberjack shirt and jeans. But it wasn’t long before the patrons of the North Star Café were tapping their feet on the shiny wood floor, holding glasses of fine wine in one hand, and (in an ungainly attempt at clapping) frantically slapping their thighs with the other. Moses Atwood never simply owns a room — he recreates it in his own image.

A classically trained musician, Atwood has a knack for turning each performance into a lesson in the crescendo — a device he uses as much in preparing his sets as he does in the songs themselves. This night, he began with the goodnight ballad, “Hang Me, Oh, Hang Me,” rapidly making his way through blues standards and roots-inspired originals — each song building upon the next. And, when he finally erupted into the original — the somewhat lewd sea shanty, “Love, Whiskey, & Wine” — audience members found themselves erupting right along with him, rocking with their fair trade coffees and local pints as if they were mugs of the grittiest grog.

An eerie and bittersweet rendition of his own “Dreams of Angeline” was quickly followed by a showcasing of vocals on “The Ballad of Mary.” Slapping his chest as he shook the stage with the staccato rhythm of his foot, Atwood’s unaccompanied baritone drew the audience into the pseudo-spiritual with a disturbing twist ending. His performance of “Killing” — a song dedicated to Perry Smith, one of the murderers of In Cold Blood fame — demonstrated Atwood’s talent for marrying voice to lyric and both to instrument. The crowd went wild, and Atwood had once again succeeded in drawing the room along with him into the dark niche he has carved out for himself in the local scene.

For the final song, he summoned the talented Meghan Yates onto the stage for a harmonized version of “Marrow,” (the last track on his 2006 debut recording, also featuring Yates). But at this point the curtain had been drawn back as the two bantered and goofed throughout the song, ending the evening on a satisfying, light-hearted note.

-Rosaleen Torrey

Battles / Major Stars / Amoroso (CD Release)
Great Scott
Allston, MA
April 5, 2007

Looking like a cross section of modern music personalities, Amoroso were first to take the stage on this sold-out night at Great Scott. Long-haired guitarist George Welch played barefoot, giving off a hippie vibe. Bassist Kevin MacDonald, who donned plugs in his ears and sleeve tattoos on both arms, exuded an indie air. Their drummer, Bill Sullivan, with a shaved head and long beard, appeared to have taken his fashion cues from the metal scene.

The band’s sound fit in none of the aforementioned genres, however, and if their aesthetic could be categorized at all, it would fall somewhere between progressive and psychedelic rock. Amoroso’s songs began slowly and simply, but within the first minute billowed into larger-than-life, fast-paced rock anthems. Each member of the band held his own: Welch’s quick and distorted picking was accented by MacDonald’s competent and melodic bass lines — all of which were rounded out by Sullivan’s masterful percussion, creating a unique, intriguing, and surprisingly danceable sound.
Amoroso did not pause between songs, but instead signaled song transitions with more subdued instrumentation. The prog influence on their music was clearly palpable in these interludes, during which MacDonald and Sullivan either toned it down or held off on their instruments entirely to afford Welch time for an ethereal solo. These segues were met with great anticipation from the crowd, who waited on edge for the Boston trio to clamor back into full fanfare.

With the power of three guitars, Major Stars mounted the stage, treating the audience to a high intensity rock show. The band was just as willing, however, to reverse the dynamic with slower, more pensive tunes, performed with the same amount of efficacy.
Yet Major Stars’ vivacity was both a blessing and a curse. Vocalist Sandra Barrett proved herself to be a talented seductress, teasing the crowd from atop the stage. When she went as far as falling to the floor to get their attention, however, it seemed a bit excessive. The entire sextet established themselves as able musicians within their first three songs, so when they took on a long jam for their finale, it came off as rather superfluous, the crowd anxious for Battles to take the stage.

Eventually Battles did, much to the audience’s delight. It would be a moral blemish to begin a review of a Battles’ show without praising drummer John Stanier for an impeccable performance. Stanier has the precision of a drum machine, but the soul and stage presence of a rock star. An incredible performer, he exhausted himself with impressive chops throughout Battles’ set, his light grey t-shirt drenched dark blue by the end.

The band played perennial post-rock favorites, such as “Tras” and “Hi/Lo,” from their four years’ worth of EPs, but also treated the audience to a few tracks off their first and unreleased full-length, Mirrored. Songs from the forthcoming album, such as the currently available single, “Atlas,” showed Battles adding the new component of vocals to their already dense sound. Singing duties were taken care of by Tyondai Braxton, who looped, layered, and distorted his voice, creating vocals with rhythms and harmonies that complimented those produced by the rest of the band.

-Review by Martin Sattell; photo by Kris Ireland

Tom Thumb / E.R. and the New Jerseys / Satellite Lot / The Mitchells
P.A.’s Lounge
Somerville, MA
March 30, 2007

The Mitchells started out the evening on Somerville Ave. with a fairly bland set, marked by full-toned Les Pauls and toneless vocals. The Mitchells always seemed equally on the verge of snychronizing and falling apart. The trio was confident onstage, as if they were done trying to impress anyone, fiddling with their amplifiers and pre-apologizing for songs that they were “still working on.” The generous crowd seemed to enjoy the overture to the night and let the band take them where they would for the first set.

P.A.’s Lounge is a great destination for bands that are both from out of town and on the young side. Satellite Lot of Portland, Maine was both. While the multi-hour drive from Portland to Somerville can be a long one, Satellite Lot still found their road legs onstage with a messy opening that was more an amalgum of shouting and loud noises than anything else. As bands seeking their identity are apt to do, the members switched instruments and vocal duties multiple times. The most effective singer seemed to be the keyboardist, who did her best to carry the lead under the ever-watchful eye of her guitarist. She seemed to be channeling Madonna as the band played an over-pronounced dance beat to this “lost from the ‘80s” song.

The main event of the evening was about to begin, and those who had their musical patience tested earlier were soon to experience the sweet payoff of Eldridge Rodriguez and the New Jerseys, playing an honest and aggressive-yet-vulnerable breed of noise rock. The band launched directly into the first song, with E.R. singing barely a second in. E.R.’s baritone voice shook the newly installed church pews, enervating the room with his soul-baring vocals and vicious melodies. The crowd remained fixated on the frontman as he led the band through the slam-smash of album favorites such as “Stillborn in New Jersey” and the cheer-along of “You Get What You Want” — a true statement for the crowd that had waited for this performance.

Following E.R. was Tom Thumb for their advertised “last show.” They seemed to want to stretch out their final performance, taking what felt like 45 minutes in setup alone. Once their gear was assembled, they proceeded to string up their Christmas lights. After an interminable wait, the band began playing an uneventful set that seemed only to benefit people already familiar with the group. The band created moments of interest, but in the end faded away in light of the stronger third performance.

-Review by C.D. Di Guardia; photo by Marianne Bolduc