Exactly
a year after the band reunited at Maxwell’s, its longtime Hoboken
haunt, the Feelies took the stage at the small, narrow venue last night,
once again sating the desires of diehard followers.
Lead singer Glenn Mercer mused that this time fans only had to wait a year for a return. It was a nod to the decade-plus period during which many younger fans longed to see one of their favorite bands live for the first time, years after the group disbanded in 1992. During the lengthy hiatus, the Feelies gained ever more staunch followers. So it was no surprise that the turnout ranged from twentysomethings to the salt-and-pepper-haired.
“They sound like when they opened up for Lou Reed maybe 20 years ago!” beamed one older fan, before pausing. “I’m almost positive it was Lou Reed … there’s been a lot of partying since then.”
Looking ever slight in a red stripy button-down and shades behind his bright yellow guitar, Mercer nonetheless cut a constant figure of authority atop a tightly packed audience of devotees at the sold-out show. Mercer, guitarist Bill Million and bassist Brenda Sauter formed a strong triad at the front of the stage in front of the indispensable foundation that is drummer Stanley Demeski and percussionist Dave Weckerman.
With each trip back in time, the band—pride of Haledon, New Jersey, and inspiration for later groups including R.E.M.—gave more credence to the notion that it is timeless, not only in sound but also in its ability to recreate its earliest work.
Only one errant cameraphone glowed in the dense audience. Mostly, wrists flicked, heads bopped and a few post-punk-happy bodies danced that frenetic dance that tries to stay on point with the band’s insistent drumbeats.
For that last type of reveler, the group delivered a real treat in “The Boy With the Perpetual Nervousness,” an early Feelies track that exemplifies the group’s brand of Mozart effect with slow-build repetition that suddenly spirals into a cyclone.
Another favorite: “Crazy Rhythms,” also from the band’s 1980 debut album of the same name set for re-release this September along with 1986’s “The Good Earth.” The song grants a long, super-bridge of an interlude that’s all sheer wordless exuberance, the type of feeling that lingered past the close of “Doin’ It Again,” from the 1991 album “Time for a Witness.” One fan loudly stomped out the beat a few bars after the band stopped playing.
“Keep thumping!” someone urged, amidst soft laughter and just-cracked smiles. “That was good!”
