Smog
8 out of 10 - Great. Good show.
Sunday, November 24, 2002
The Knitting Factory, New York City, NY
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Last time Bill Callahan and Co. played in New York, I tried to see them.
After waiting 45 minutes my partner and I sold off the one ticket we had
acquired to an ardent young fan who, like us, was ready to give up. The
happy look on the little urchin‚s face was enough compensation for missing
the show.
This time, I prepared. I reserved my ticket a week in advance and when the
time came, I flew to the Knitting Factory in style (i.e. a yellow cab). The
venue was pleasantly underpopulated when I arrived for the beginning of
opener Pacific Ocean's set. Singer/bassist Connie Lovatt (most recently of
Containe), guitarist Ed Baluyut (ex-drummer of Versus), and drummer Steve
Pilgrim were joined on this occasion by the venerable Alan Licht. Lovatt,
with her eye-obscuring hipster shag hairdo and detached singing style, begs
visual comparison with Cat Power chanteuse Chan Marshall, though without the obvious neuroses. Her voice, a tuneful if somewhat flat instrument, doesn't quite plumb the emotional depths. In fact, the whole band seems too, well, untraumatized for the moodier numbers and lacks the moxy (or maybe just the energy) for the upbeat ones. Without anguish and without attitude, they come off as a nice band with nice songs, but nothing to shout about.
(Though their last outing for Teenbeat So Beautiful and Cheap and Warm,
produced by Bill Callahan, is a fine listen).
Perhaps they suffer somewhat from the billing, because on this occasion
Smog is a powerhouse. I‚m not up enough on Smog's revolving door membership to know who the drummer was, but he was something exceptional; like a stylish, white-shirted octopus dancing across the kit. The recent release of Accumulation:None on Drag City guaranteed a career-spanning grab bag of past and future hits delivered in current-Smog style. With the possible exception of Marshall, no one covers a Smog song like Bill Callahan. A particular highlight from the back catalog was a revamped version of 'A Hit,' in which Callahan sings, 'I'll never be/a rock Œn‚ roll saint.' And he won‚t. Not with that vindictive killer cowboy baritone and deadpan stage antics. His only stage banter: 'This is Sunday, isn‚t it?.' Oh, and 'Thank You' as he walked off. Apart from that, only a flat stare, occasional leg gyrations, inexplicable squatting, and not a single smile. Other
crowdpleasing numbers: a driving version of 'Cold-Blooded Old Times' and
'Bloodflow' augmented with hickory-smoked flute, both of which appeared in
acoustic versions on a single for Drag City and fleshed out versions on
Knock Knock. If this show was any indication, Callahan doesn‚t need to
write anymore. Each song seems to have at least three identities for him.
I wonder if that little urchin boy made it this time around? I might just
like to take account with him. He robbed me of a mighty fine show that last
time, I'm sure.
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