Bernie Worrell and the Woo Warriors; The Figgs Spread the Holiday Cheer at Brownies
My friend Paul turned me onto the Figgs five or so years ago. We were on our way to Burger King for some 99-cent Whoppers when he popped Lo-Fi at Society High?the band's seminal '94 release?into the tape deck. I remember listening to that first track, "Step Back Let's Go Pop," and feeling that same sense of elation I experienced when first listening to the Descendents or Dag Nasty. So when Paul called and asked if I wanted to meet him at Brownies for the Figgs show, I responded with a simple, "Fuck yeah!"
I arrived just before Radio 4 went on, and attempted to make my way through the packed crowd. Waiting in line for a Jack and Coke, I overheard a cute redhead tell her friend that she was going to buy her brother the Velvet Underground box set for Christmas. That's my kind of girl, I thought?until I heard her next sentence: "Lou Reed was in that band, right?"
Radio 4 played a quick but mind-blowing set, railroading the crowd with a torrent of hits off their Gern Blandsten release, The New Song & Dance. I expect big things from this local trio. The Figgs took the stage around 12:30, and I was so excited I nearly pissed myself. Luckily, moments before the first chord struck, I found Paul standing off to the side in perfect proximity to the bathrooms, and a spot so close to the action I could touch the band with a ruler.
Guitarist Mike Gent opened the show with a little holiday cheer from their "Christmas Shake" single, setting the evening's high-energy motif into full throttle. The first few songs reaffirmed why I love this band so much: pop-punk power chords with all the passion and precision that made bands like the Replacements and the Lemonheads so great. This three-piece from Albany played their asses off, never stopping to acknowledge the throng of girls in the front row mouthing the lyrics to nearly every song. When bassist Pete Donnelly kicked into "One Hit Wonder," a heavy dose of bluegrass twang, I couldn't help but pump my fist in the air like a dumb Dio fan.
About midway through their powerhouse set, the band leaped into a tremendous cover of the Kinks' "Father Christmas." Then drummer Pete Hayes, who I thought was going to puke up his dinner because he was playing so hard, led the Figgs through a high-speed rendition of the classic crowd-pleaser "Fucks Off." The chorus repeated the lyrics "Because this fucks off" so many times I thought I was spinning in a blender full of middle fingers.
When the band came out for a final encore, they performed an obnoxious epic rocker that sounded more like Golden Earring than the band I paid to see. Sometimes the dessert isn't as good as dinner. But when a band speaks to you as the Figgs once did me, it's best to keep listening. Which is exactly what I intend to do.
Ned Vizzini
Bernie Worrell is old. The keyboardist extraordinaire and founding member of P-Funk is getting near 60, which means...he can't play keyboards that well anymore. Luckily, Worrell?taking some hints from George Clinton?has gotten himself a fantastic band that keeps the focus off him and on the music he helped create. They're called the Woo Warriors, and Bernie was their maestro two weeks ago at Wetlands: gesticulating, posing and generally acting like the elder funk statesman that he is.
The core of the Woo Warriors is a four-piece that would do anybody proud. They must be particularly fun for Bernie, since they're much younger than he is and overtly influenced by his work. Second keyboardist Gregg Fitz has inherited Worrell's groove and can make extended breaks sound interesting and effortless. Michael "Moon" Reuben is a highlight on guitar; he doesn't just comp invisibly, he plays solos that sound like Mike McCready ripping funk. Drummer Gary Sullivan and bassist Donna McPherson created a foundation as Fitz, Reuben and numerous special guests wailed onstage.
The music is what you'd expect: Parliament minus the horns, with different folks taking vocal duties and all the tunes stretched to eight minutes. Early on, Bernie introduced a young lady who looked exactly like Janis Joplin and who used to be the singer from Deep Banana Blackout. She had circular sunglasses, and she sang in a dead-on Janis, fronting the Woo Warriors for most of the night. Hope to see her in the future. Another guest star was P-Funk veteran Darryl Dixon on saxophone. He came out for a few songs and played coked-up 80s sax?every lick sounded like the theme song from Cheers. Lots of fun for the all-white audience.
Interlaced with the Woo Warriors' two sets, Mary Harris and her funk trio played downstairs. Harris is a drummer/singer, kind of like Macy Gray but without all the drugs and with the actual talent. She has the biggest ass I have ever seen on any woman in my life. She sat down in the Wetlands lounge (the best place in New York to be a dorky white guy) and, once her band was warmed up, played some glorious stripped-down grooves in the style of Erykah Badu. She's going places. Her ass was as tall as my forearm.
Back upstairs, the Woo Warriors were working through old P-Funk standards (a bit of a letdown without the horns). I'd been waiting all night for Bernie to show his stuff, take a freakin' solo, and when he finally did, all I could do was laugh. The Woo Warriors gave him four bars and Worrell just played single dissonant keyboard notes, over and over. They gave him another four bars?he played nothing, just put his hands over his keyboard and looked accusingly at the audience.
Rock on, Bernie; you've got nothing to prove.