Lettuce 11/12/21 College Street Music Hall

 Lettuce, that genius “vegetable” that you put on your burger to make you think that you are actually eating a vegetable. No, we are talking about the funk outfit from Boston. I have not seen this band since the departure of chapeaued hollow body guitar wizard Eric Krasno. Rising from the ashes of the band Soulive, Kras’ version of Lettuce was guitar centric, and a vehicle for him to display his chops. The current incarnation, while no less funkified, was more of an egalitarian offering. Bass, guitar, drums, keys, two saxes, and a trumpet was the geometry. The keyboard player sang a bit, but this band is primarily a clatch of instrumental virtuosos. I am struck by the varied nature of funk. This band gave us dubby bass inflected funk, blaxploitation film score choogling, even some sappy 70s smooth jazz. The crowd was in constant motion, egged on by the frenetic light show. Two full sets culminated with an excellent take on Curtis Mayfield’s Movin On Up which strayed into a deconstructed dub-wise Everybody Wants To Rule the World and back to Curtis. Happy music for happy people.

Spanish Fly 10/22/21 Firehouse 12

 It’s been a while since experiencing the downtown trio known as Spanish Fly (it’s NOT Steven Bernstein’s Spanish Fly). Bernstein on trumpet (standard, valve, and slide), Dave Tronzo on guitar, and Marcus Rojas on tuba. These three christened the Knitting Factory and have been scraping the sides of the jazz world since the 90s. The first number was spare, as if the trio was chasing you through the woods on a dark fall night. Bernstein had a table full of trumpet mutes that were mostly homemade, at one point while returning one to the table it skittered off on the Firehouse floor, with an elfin grin, Steve proceeded to knock the other mutes off just to hear the sound. He was an equal opportunity trumpeter, giving time to all three incarnations. The valve trumpet looked like a cornet held on its side, with a “ backbone” of keys running up the center. The slide trumpet looked like a trombone put through the shrink machine, muted, it produced a troll-like squeal. If you close your eyes and think of a prototypical tuba player, you’d be pretty close to Rojas. Portly, with phlegm colored rims to his glasses, Marcus could hold the low end or whisper odd Tasmanian devil noises into the mouthpiece. Tronzo, sitting, played mostly slide guitar. The guitar rhythms lent a backdrop to the theatrics of the others. These guys are musical omnivores, and gave a shout out to the recently departed Hal Wilner who produced many oddities with the likes of SF back in the day. One number was a letter written by Lenny Bruce to his mother. The three tag teamed sections while the other two played. The letter started with Lenny waxing nostalgic about Thanksgiving, it morphed into his money troubles, and ended with him suggesting that his mother start working at a Filipino whorehouse and giving him the proceeds. A screwed down If 6 Was 9 was epic, with Rojas holding the beat at NyQuil levels. Another hot jazz number had Bernstein chasing Tronzo around. Thoroughly original and enjoyable set to the rapt packed house.

Kath Bloom 10/21/21 Best Video

 Local freakfolk legend Bloom took to the deck on this autumny afternoon. Kath has been singing her fractured brand of folk for years largely under the radar. Her collaborations with partner Loren Connors ( a downtown guitar wizard) had a cult following. Her childlike vocal delivery is somewhere between Tiny Tim and Malvina Reynolds at this point in her career but the poignant simple lyrics carry. Joined on stage by “Chloe” on shakers and simple percussion, and Dave Shapiro on acoustic, Bloom nervously warbled through her set. I’m intrigued by mentees seeking out shelved mentors in this scene. Think Devendra Banhart with Vashti Bunyan, Beth Orton with Terry Callier, heck even Volkswagen with a deceased Nick Drake. Dave is part of the young incestuos New Haven scene chronicled in a recent Maggot Brain article. He also has been tagged in a recent Wire article about production as well as a recent Relix sighting in the “5 artists to watch” section, so it’s no wonder that he has spent some time under Bloom’s wing. His alter-ego as Alexander showcases Fahey-esque primitive stylings, but can also skronk out as a member of Headroom. Watching Bloom reminds me of the late great Daniel Johnston, an outsider, slightly damaged, but engaging in their creative take on the world.

Primus w/ The Sword 9/26/21 Oakdale

 Most dates on this tour had heavy opener Wolfmother to prime the crowd. On this date, The Sword, from Austin took the duty. Aptly heavy, but not the vocal prowess of Wolfmother, choogled through their set. The music occupied the space between Sabbath and Zeppelin. Guitar, guitar/vocals, bass, and drums was the crew. When watching metal, or metal tinged bands, I’m struck by the fact that these bands make it or break it on the strength of the singer/ frontman. (Tell that to a 14 year old Andy who placed Page higher on a pedestal than Plant). Good set to a rapt crowd. Closed with a nice metallic version of Cheap Sunglasses.

Pretty full house for a pandemic rescheduled date for Primus. Primus has been Sailing the Seas of Cheese since the 90s. In that time they seem to have amassed a decent following of freaks and weirdos. Les Claypool on bass and vocals, guitarist Larry Lalonde, and Herb Alexander on drums has been the geometry for years. Primus plays a sophomoric, sinister, funk metal that occupies a space all its own. Claypool, dressed as if he was auditioning for the part of snake oil salesman in Westworld, commands the stage. He prowls while spitting rubbery bass lines that pummel the listener. The first set included such gems as Clown Dream, Too Many Puppies, Here Comes The Bastards, My Name is Mud, and finished with the seminal Jerry Was a Race Car Driver. Les said that as a child, he absorbed all things Rush, the Canadian metal power trio that has obvious influence on the Primus sound. The second set of the evening was a Primus reading of Rush’ A Farewell to Kings album. As a Rush “ appreciator”  I’m not thoroughly familiar with the record, but it was a fitting tribute considering the recent passing of drummerNeil Peart.

Mandingo Ambassadors 9/19/21 Best Video

 Re-scheduled from a no rain rainout in August, a trio of ambassadors made the trip north from Brooklyn. Led by griot guitarist Mamady Kouyate and aided by female percussionist and sleepy rhythm guitar/ van driver this group brought some high life to the deck for a Sunday afternoon show. Kouyate is skilled and steeped in tradition. The guitarist also manned a somewhat cheesy canned backing sequencer, whose purpose was to flesh out more sounds from a 10 piece ambassadorship, but came off like Eddie Van Halen playing Metallica karaoke from a Walmart setup. It would have been better to just have the trio play, as the backing sounds served up too much “sameness” for the songs. The happy vibe plays well, and I read that various iterations of the group hold down a Wednesday night residency at the ultra-hip club Barbes. In watching this group, I thought about early “happy” African music evolving in to socially conscious Afrobeat and it’s parallel to Ska moving to roots reggae. The “hey wait a minute” moment for colonialized people proved to be a potent inflection point for both genres.

Allison Miller, Wendy Eisenberg, Nick Dunston 9/17/21 Firehouse 12

 The triumphant, though masked and proof of vaxed, return of the Firehouse jazz series. With reduced seating, and only one set of music, you could feel the pandemic pent up need for live jazz from performers and audience. Miller, the drummer, was the leader, with Boston based shredder Eisenberg on guitar, and Dunston on standup bass. Miller seems like an exotic and cool aunt who infrequently blows into town with lilac spiked hair, turns you on to Sun Ra, then returns years later to see how you’ve “evolved”. The drum kit was spare, but she had a seemingly endless array of shakers, bells, and assorted pokers. One bell looked like she swiped it from the Bronze Age exhibit at the Met. Her sound was not forceful, but shaded with sounds and noises. Sheet metal, shoe horns, and brushes made for an atmospheric listen. At one point she dropped a mallet and seamlessly grabbed another tool from the bag as if that was part of the improv. Eisenberg is newer to the scene. She squeaked and squiggled before launching into full blown cacophony on most tunes. At one entry, she sounded like a mosquito, before latching on to the drum and bass groove. She sang one haunting “ballad” that started with the lyric “my silent nightmare is watching me”, creepy, yet inviting. Dunston played an admirable bass, his instrument looked like it spent too many hours in baggage claim. Almost full crowd for this most welcome return. Miller said the trio was hanging out at the Firehouse for a few days to bang out a new record.

King Crimson w/ The Zappa Band 9/5/21 Westville Music Bowl

 The Frank Zappa sound lives on through a maze of relations and affiliates. A potent stew of rock, jazz, and sophomoric humor is the backdrop for continual invention and re- invention. The lineup for this group is Mike Keneally, Scott Thunes, Ray White,, Robert Martin, Joe Travers , and Jamie Kime. The set list mirrors tunes played on the last show of the FZ 1988 tour. Peaches en Regalia, What’s New in Baltimore?, City of Tiny Lites, Florentine Pogen we’re a few of the highlights. The group closed with an appropriate version of the tune Andy, a chestnut from the One Size Fits All record.

Robert Fripp is still steering the prog monster known as King Crimson. The stage setup was imposing. Three full arena rock drum kits were side by side on the fore stage with the second tier of non drummers consisting of Mel Collins on saxes, flute and keys, Tony Levin on all varieties of bass, singer guitarist who took the role of Greg Lake, and cranky Fripp on guitar and knob twiddling. KC sound has evolved from late sixties orchestral faerie fluff, to menacing seventies prog metal, to eighties power quartet virtuosity. It was mesmerizing to watch three talented drummers play off or with one another. Each drummer came with a “side dish”, one with gongs/bells, another with keys, and the last with a variety of shakers and noise makers. There was one passage where each tried to shift the time signature and watch the next try to catch up. The set list included such heavies as Lark’s Tongues in Aspic pt 1, Epitaph, Court of The Crimson King, Islands, Red, and One More Red Nightmare. Encored with 21st Century Schizoid Man. The show was enjoyable, and the novelty of 3 drummers was a sight. I do think the schmaltzy Greg Lake- isms fall short on the 2021crowd, but there is “safety in drummers”.