PLAYGROUND BOSTON

Progressive rock bands always receive far too much stick than they really should.  Yeah, they are the easy targets – the geek who whiled away afternoons diligently practicing their craft while the metal bands chased girls and smoked pot out in the woods.  Perhaps because of their musical proficiency, this collective jealousy has slowly calcified into outright disdain and dislike.  I’ve got more than my generous helping of primitive rock records in my collection, and I cannot deny that the 70s punks had good measure to rally around a new musical form, but on the other hand I cannot argue against the merits of King Crimson, Van der Graaf Generator, and Yes.  When you’ve a band which can meld together a massively complex musical vision without losing the primal urge to rock, well you’ve got a winner by all accounts I can come up with.

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A three-way marriage.

That’s legal in Massachusetts, right?

Well, that’s exactly what you get out of The Indobox’s Adventure Rock:  a three-way marriage of electric, electronic, and acoustic as they switch at will from the passionately organic to the grindingly distorted and onward to the pleasantly & head-bobbing-ly danceable.

That also means there’s no way to single out any one instrumentalist or even vocalist.

Quinn Ferree’s natural drums give way periodically to drum-machine sounds that ramp up and down in the backdrop of tracks like “Reading,” and “Part II.”  Guitars provide stabbing rhythms and monolithic chords in the background while bright synth lines decorate a track. At other times, those same guitarists take the front seat, dial on the delay, and swim their way into your ears. The vocal styles and sounds also change throughout the record thanks to multiple singers, making for a further varied experience.

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Some of the best local rock bands Boston has to offer were joined at the Middle East by the Philadelphia synth-pop trio Conservative Man. The bill was a celebration of the release of CM’s brand new self-titled EP, subject of some serious buzz over the last few weeks from various media outlets.

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All Photos by Pete Legasey

As the vibrator was once used by men to sober us “hysterical” women and our wandering wombs, I imagine a piano or a music lesson was also used as a way to distract and tame us. But, now, in the same way the vibrator has become a great symbol of female sovereignty, sexual empowerment, and self-discovery, so has the power of rock. And if you have any question, consider the carnal force behind Karen O’s vocals on “Bang” from the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s 2001 EP, listen to some PJ Harvey or go ahead and blare “Horses” by the always lovely Patti Smith.

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photo by Pete Legasey

Elvis Perkins had the packed Paradise in the palm of his hand from the very beginning. The band began its opening song, “Gypsy Davy,” from Elvis Perkins in Dearland’s “The Doomsday EP,” on the Paradise’s balcony, creating a slow, pageant-like procession down the stairs before making their way onto the stage to finish the song. The gigantic, booming bass drum and trumpets heralded the start of an unforgettable performance from Perkins and his band.

“Chains Chains Chains,” a wandering, ethereal sort of tune came next, ultimately setting the tone for the remainder of the performance: if the songs themselves didn’t sound like a journey, then Perkins’ lyrics would make up for that, often touching upon the topic of travel. With the lighting, the curtain behind them turned a lush, deep crimson, creating a cozy backdrop that seemed to cushion the traveling troubadours, especially throughout the slower tempo songs. The slow start didn’t last long though, as Perkins & co. launched into a version of “Heard Your Voice in Dresden” that’d shake anyone’s bones.

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I realize posting a review of a show that happened two weeks ago may be considered old news by any blog and music standards, and for this, I apologize. But, this band is worth writing about, regardless of how timely this post might be.

How many blondes does it take to make a hundred people dance? Answer: one.

Sarah Guild, the petite dynamo fronting The New Collisions, blew me away with her powerful stage presence at their CD release party. Of course, there is something to be said about a platinum stunner as the voice to a pop/ rock band: Blondie, Letters to Cleo, No Doubt, Be Your Own Pet. There’s nothing dumb about these fierce leading ladies. And, it’s a formula that works.

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Boston’s very own hardcore legends, Converge, are a band that I have always felt very strongly about, ever since I discovered them about 8 years ago. Nearly a decade, 4 stunning albums, and 2 Converge tattoos later, I feel I can safely say this is not going to be a picture perfect review, full of unbiased statistics and facts on Converge, and their newest release, Axe To Fall. Converge cannot be explained in facts and numbers, they are so much more than that, so much deeper, and dare I say it, more soulful than that.

First and foremost, I should say that Axe To Fall was born into a rather large and daunting shadow. Over the years Converge have released albums that can be described as nothing short of legendary, from the absolute masterpiece that is Jane Doe, to the classics, When Forever Comes Crashing and Petitioning An Empty Sky. These albums are held in such high regard by Converge fans that any new album is thoroughly scrutinized, torn apart, and ruthlessly compared to the classic fan favorites. To be perfectly honest, and badly as I wanted to be objective and judge the album on it’s own personal merits, I nearly did the same thing.

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All Photos by Pete Legasey

Perhaps they took pity on us. After all, much of the crowd at Harper’s Ferry was hoping to see grammy-nominated, 247-piece puppet-core goofballs Green Jelly (pronounced “Green Jello”) along with openers Hydrahead, Neurological Damage. However, word began to trickle through the Allston grapevine earlier that day that Green Jelly had fallen prey to a sudden financial disaster when founding member Moronic Dictator’s assets were frozen by his bank. Monsieur Dictator and his mates could not scare up enough last-minute cash to get out of California, and had to cancel the scheduled tour behind their latest release, Musick To Insult Your Intelligence By. Of course, the crowd would not have gotten to see Green Jelly anyway, given that Planetoid would have already reduced them to a steaming mess of slime and bone fragments long before the headliners hit the stage – but the point is, they (the crowd) didn’t know that, and fully expected to be regaled with Green Jelly’s obscene retellings of “the Three Little Pigs” and other childhood favorites.

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Having recently gone through a break-up, I’ve found myself in the mood for a bit of country croon. Loretta Lynn, Lynn Anderson (you PGB readers might remember The Suicide Machines’ cover of “Rose Garden”), Patsy Cline, and, yes, even some busty blonde Parton have replaced the bitch fest where time with my other single girlfriends is supposed to be. While some see classic country (women’s country, for some reason, particularly) as a mouthful of inanely entertaining deadbeat husband squawks, I don’t see anyone criticizing Muddy Waters’ for “Crosseyed Cat”.  There’s nothing exceptionally profound, really, about the everyday these folks write about, but these songs, they’re like old friends. And over the years these acoustic stories have found their way at the intersection of country, blues, and folk.

There’s been a recent surge of some great folk/ country acts like Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros and the rock-heavy Those Darlins (both, by the way, are completely intoxicating, and I am admittedly writing under the influence of both debuts). But, these acts are still missing that familiar quality, the humor and hurt in the storytelling that Waters, Dylan, Cash, Wynette, or Cline will always have for the most of us. So, when the opportunity came up to see Luke Doucet at Club Passim last Saturday, well, it just seemed timely.

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