MUSIC
Love as Laughter
Fri., Jan. 14
Since Love as Laughter singer/guitarist Sam Jayne moved to New York, leaving his bandmates on the West Coast, he has been fine-tuning his skills and playing out solo. Tonight, Sam kicks things off with a few songs from his just- released debut (and hand-silk-screened!) album, The Super Natural Sessions. Sam's flaneur lifestyle coupled with his sarcastic perspective of everyday mundane life makes for pleasurable lyrics, superbly illustrated on "The Cleaning Man" and "The Captain Was Here." The evening will culminate when Love as Laughter hits the stage. The renowned lo-fi effort hasn't played New York City in three years-not counting a private CMJ performance. Swearing at Motorists open (see A.D. Amorosi's preview, p. 38).
Knitting Factory, 74 Leonard St. (betw. B'way & Church St.), 212-219-3006; 9, $8.
-Lisa LeeKing
Allan Holdsworth
Thurs., Jan. 13
In case you don't know, Holdsworth was Eddie Van Halen's favorite guitarist for a long time; he loved his tone so much he stole it. But only the nerdiest of music lovers know of Holdsworth's legacy, which includes questionable jazz rock with later versions of daring prog rock acts like the Soft Machine and Gong, a long stint in Bill Bruford's bands and as a founding member of the art-cheese supergroup U.K. (which eventually turned into, uh, Asia). Sometimes his guitar playing is incredible on so many levels, but other times-especially his guitar synth work-it sounds like muzak from the dentist's office.
B.B. King Blues Club, 237 W. 42nd St. (betw. 7th & 8th Aves.), 212-997-4144; 8, $25.
-Christopher X. Brodeur
Curtis Eller's American Circus | Suns., Jan. 16 & 23
"New York City's angriest yodeling banjo player" spells out his influences: Stephen Foster and Buster Keaton. Clearly, they are components of Curtis Eller's vaudevillian music, but doggone it if he hasn't named songs after the Dixie songwriter and the deadpan comic on his most recent CD, Taking Up Serpents Again. But there's more to Eller's widescreen imagination, his epochal music. "I'm speaking in tongues unknown to men," he sings in a raspy, rattled voice across the slowly plucked banjo's ruckus of the title tune.
Accompanied by haunted cooing background angels-as he is throughout Serpents-the clarity of Eller's handsome voice and the rancid money-changing politics of his lyrics are obscured by the idea of his olde-timey sound. Take pause. Listen to this record repeatedly. The shuffling soft-shoe beats and wheezy accordion of "Hide That Scar" gently conceal the miscreant visions of his lyrics and the effortlessness of his vocals.
There's a wretchedly elegant sarcasm and darkly burnished humor at work within Eller's songs. Take the delicate pleasure of hearing Al Jolson on a jukebox on "Sugar in My Coffin"; Eller is better than he lets on. Perhaps that's because he's spent most of his time playing at funerals and horse races with little more than tuba, accordion and upright bass behind him. No matter. This is not music recorded in a vacuum. It should be heard in one, literally or figuratively. Despite his handlebar moustache and really old-school arrangements, Curtis Eller is more modern in his scope than a dozen glitchy laptoppers.
Living Room, 154 Ludlow St. (betw. Stanton & Rivington Sts.), 212-533-7235; 8, $5.
-A.D. Amorosi
Shivaree | Tues., Jan. 18In 1999, San Fernando-based alt-lounge trio Shivaree debuted with the trip-folk riddle I Oughta Give You a Shot in the Head for Making Me Live in this Dump. Five years and numerous managerial tailspins later, Who's Got Trouble (just released) confirms that the group's ambiguous sound-parts trip-hop, samba, dream pop and Europeanized space-jazz-doesn't encumber its intrigue.
Who's Got Trouble carries an injured tone that's difficult to embrace, but live, lissome frontwoman Ambrosia Parsley sure makes you want to try. Her icy croon is ink in the indie boy's sketchpad-echoes of Hope Sandoval and Juliana Hatfield-and despite their aloofness, the rest of the band can certainly cut a groove. Guitarist Duke McVinnie and keyboardist Danny McGough set a murky backdrop of cryptic, spiraling jazz hooks that, when combined with Parsley's tuneful moan, leave an inverted sort of resonance.
This is polychromatic mood music that might be better received at a table, so get there early. The mellifluous pitter-patter of Parsley's adolescent coo will be the perfect prelude to sleep, and though the excruciating femininity is not uncommon, this variety boasts shadowy piano fills and syrup-slow brass accompaniments. It is a steep $15, though, so burn the new U2 disc from a friend and enjoy the show.
Joe's Pub, 425 Lafayette St. (betw. E. 4th St. & Astor Pl.), 212-539-8778; 7:30, $15.
-Tim Birner
The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black
Tues, Jan. 18
The last time I saw the Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black, their lead singer, the bizarre Kembra Pfahler, was doing handstands naked, colored completely red, while dancers dressed as bunnies slammed paint-filled eggs into her vagina. It was pretty good. She sang like Shirley Temple gargling glass, over crunchy hard rock with catchy melodies, and we'll take that any day over the thousands of bands out there that are more boring than a mixed tape of Dave Matthews. But the last time I saw this band was a decade ago, so maybe they've changed. But I doubt it.
The Jayne County Five and the She Wolves open.
B.B. King Blues Club, 237 W. 42nd St. (betw. 7th & 8th Aves.), 212-997-4144; 8, $20.
-Christopher X. Brodeur
The Consul
Thurs. & Fri., Jan. 14 & 15
The Bronx Opera inaugurates its 37th season with the revival of Gian Carlo Menotti's Pulitzer-winning opera The Consul. The work, originally produced in 1950, tells the story of Magda Sorel, a woman trapped behind the Iron Curtain, and her search for freedom. In this opera, Menotti demonstrates his skill and versatility as both a composer and a librettist; the music alternates from instances of grand symphonic quality to more subtle chamber-style moments depending on the requirements of the dramatic situation, and the vocal lines and lyrics possess great expressiveness without any unnecessary adornment.
The Kaye Playhouse, Hunter College, E. 68th St. (betw. Park & Lexington Aves.), 212-772-4448; 8, $20-$35.
-Hector Meza
The Soundtrack of Our Lives | Tues., Jan. 18One hardly knows what they're going to get when seeing Oasis play live in the 21st century, aside from a rock-hard erection. That said, the ripped, aging soccer hooligan who punched his six-year-old daughter in the thigh for not standing during "Supersonic"-some might have seen that coming.
The relatively obscure Swedish opening act, on the other hand, probably not. If anyone had, then they wouldn't have busied themselves at the T-shirt table instead of coming on in for the party. In front of the most meager of crowds, the Soundtrack of Our Lives were finishing their unbilled opening set, and it was then, amidst the empty seats and violet lights, that the band decided to shoot for the stars. The five members of Soundtrack not hampered by a drum kit were playing their instruments, milling about the stage, performing their last song, which I remember thinking was pretty good. Then they hit a long pause, which sounded like it might've been the end, but the band was suspiciously still, and suddenly standing in a perfectly straight line-the mid-point, their burly overcoat-clad frontman. Just when the handful of revelers was about to applaud, the whole band caught some inexplicable, Jordan-over-Ehlo air. It was the most insane synchronized jump-kick powerchord explosion anyone this side of Gothenburg had ever seen.
That, coupled with the facts that they are not uncommonly referred to as T.S.O.O.L., and two of their albums are, with hilarity of dubious intent, titled, Behind the Music and Welcome to the Infant Freebase, are really all you need to know. As far as their sound is concerned, Noel Gallagher's quoted as saying they made the best album in the last six years. T.S.O.O.L. concede that Oasis have the best VH1 Behind the Music they've ever seen.
Bowery Ballroom, 6 Delancey St. (betw. Bowery & Chrystie St.), 212-533-2111; 8, $15.
-Dan Migdal
Swearing at Motorists, | Fri., Jan. 14Of the energetic shows I witnessed throughout 2004-all three of them-two of the year's haughtiest, rangiest, screamin'est came from Swearing at Motorists, the Dayton-turned-Philadelphian duo. Known for weary, witty lyrics and Sebadoah-meets-Palace pop, it's apparent that singer/guitarist Dave Doughman and drummer Joseph Siwinski have found a sound not solely dependent on emotional, calm musicality.
Perhaps they were seeking a sound equal to the bitter bite of their most recent recordings, 2002's This Flag Signals Goodbye lp and Along the Incline Plane EP. Battered romances and bitter ex-girlfriends seemed slightly at odds with their Palace-pace. Which was cool. Doughman's Bolan-like guitar runs made even their most convenient melodies oddly angular. Yet, they began their dirty, funky, punky feedback trail-the one I've heard as of late-with "Paul Williams," a screeching, blunt bitch-fest. If this sharded hardness is where S@M is heading, they'll make for one of 2005's coolest, most corrosive bands.
With Love as Laughter, Tigers & Monkeys and Sam Jayne (solo).
Knitting Factory, 74 Leonard St. (betw. B'way & Church St.), 212-219-3006; 9, $8.
-A.D. Amorosi
A Tribute to A Tribe Called Quest
Mon., Jan 17
A Tribe Called Quest might not be a household name for hiphop fans growing up on Lil Jon and 50 Cent, but during the early to mid 90s, Q-Tip, Phife and Ali Shaheed were one of rap's most intelligent and eclectic trios. Unfortunately, their 1998 breakup means this tribute will be everything Tribe except the Tribe. The Tribe's jazzy beats will be performed by the Bohemian Chocolate Cafe's All-Star Jazz band and the Tribe's fun, often socially conscious rhymes will be spit by rap legend Buckshot and Lyrist Lounge alum Wordsworth.
Joe's Pub, 425 Lafayette St. (betw. E. 4th St. & Astor Pl.), 212-539-8778; 11, $15, ladies free bef. 11:30.
-Richard Nurse
Brad Barr
Thurs, Jan. 13
Singer and guitarist Brad Barr takes a break from touring with the Slip to unfold some freshly crafted solo tunes at the Knitting Factory Tap Bar. Expect a fluid exploration of the emotional and sonic terrain left open by Dylan, Neil Young and Devendra Banhart. And maybe a Prince cover. The Dada improv comedy troupe Meowskers opens.
Knitting Factory Tap Bar, 74 Leonard St. (betw. B'way & Church St.); 212-219-3132, 8, $10.
-Simon Cohn
Kafka Fragments
Weds. & Thurs., Jan. 12 & 13
Soprano Dawn Upshaw is a force of nature. Not only is her range as a performer-in both dramatic and musical terms-impressive, but her repertoire and commitment to new and rarely performed works is admirable as well. In her latest effort, she has teamed up with the equally titanic stage director Peter Sellars and violinist Geoff Nuttall to present György Kurtág's Kafka Fragments. In this work, the extracts of Kafka's diaries and letters and the highly evocative yet simple music of the Romanian composer create an interesting exploration of human psychology.
Carnegie Hall, 154 W. 57th St. (betw. 6th & 7th Aves.), 212-247-7800; 8:30, $38-$52.
-Hector Meza
Antibalas | Thurs., Jan. 13No longer just a huge bunch of Fela Kuti wannabes straight outta Brooklyn, Antibalas are elegant models of devoted rhythmic enterprise-shambling yet precise grooves that are as mathematical as they are muddled. With large helpings of James Brown/Maceo Parker-style horn blasts to create a brass construction most holy, an Antibalas CD ably represents one of America's best live-stage treasures.
But their danced-around mess has often drowned out all of Antibalas' most severe messages in regard to justice, truth and the like. Essentially, their albums were good. Not great. As a band seeking to exploit their socio-conscious lyrics, their dedication to Kuti and all manner of African high life and the diversity that is their sonic community, Who Is This America, the band's newest CD, is crucial. With slices of salsa and gritty funk to guide their way, Antibalas find themselves with softer pockets of sound in which the singers and lyricists can "Pay Back Africa," point finger through "Indictment" and generally create the sort of ruckus that would have made Fela smile.
S.O.B.'s, 204 Varick St. (Houston St.), 212-243-4940; 12, $16, $14 adv.
-A.D. Amorosi
Paul Motian | Through Sun., Jan. 16Sure, he drummed with Coleman Hawkins, with Monk, Coltrane, Rollins, with Arlo Guthrie at Woodstock. And with that fount of canny jazz, Lennie Tristano, and with Bill Evans and Scott LaFaro in the early 60s as part of the genre-twisting trio that shaped the interdependent, contemporary jazz sound. But Paul Motian is still making it happen today, at nearly age 75 and is-along with master of verve Roy Haynes-the living embodiment of a better way.
Ever at the outer round of swing, never hitting a beat that doesn't feel better left to itself, Motian came through last year to great acclaim: His 20-year-old, brashly unfettered update of the legendary Evans trio (with tenor man Joe Lovano and guitarist extraordinaire Bill Frisell) put the Vanguard on its ear in autumn, and that was just an early set in their yearly reunion gig. Summer had with him Lovano, piano titan Hank Jones and bassist George Mraz playing packed houses at Iridium; by late in the year he was back at the Vanguard in young tenor Bill McHenry's band, piloting the music's intriguing fresh blood on an unbounded course he's been clearing and mapping for six decades.
Recordings with McHenry's new outfit and with Lovano's big-gun lineup join a recent catalog that stretches from Joshua Redman's crack sax to an '89 Montreal trio with bass great Charlie Haden and Cuban piano whiz Gonzalo Rubalcaba. As a leader, he's got a three-volume homage to early jazz out as the Paul Motian on Broadway series; he brings that band to the Vanguard for a week and, as the saying goes, you betta ask somebody. Studded with Tony Malaby and Chris Cheeks' saxes and the guitarists Steve Cardenas and Ben Monder (Monder smolders in McHenry's band), the Electric Bebop Band frolics with a master: Motian plays as wide as Art Blakey, as off and out as Sonny Murray, tickling the fancy and all the while upending it, twisting the helix swirl of being with an irascible taste for joy.
Village Vanguard, 178 7th Ave. S. (W. 11th St.), 212-255-4037; 9 & 11, $20 w/$10 min.
-Alan Lockwood
Rez Abasi | Sat., Jan. 15Jazzman Rez Abasi's electric guitar-playing churns, floats, sparkles; probing lines adventure with the burl and polish of John Abercrombie, while Abasi's melodic scope recalls Pat Metheny in great company, and intense, impressionistic passages brood as ferociously as Joe Morris' out-playing. Then he picks up his sitar-guitar, and this jazz-world accuracy gets an evocative immersion in a far broader world of tonic and harmonic vitality. Born in Pakistan, tutored on percussion by Ustad Alla Rakha, both Abasi's adroit soloing and his lean, evolving tunes are generated by exceptional reach and an intent, multi-hemispheric and very musical passion.
Abasi's last CD, Out of Body, featured a tight rhythm section and the paired horns of Tony Malaby and Ron Horton, garnering four stars in Downbeat and acclaim across the gamut of jazz press. Now Abasi's back for a gig celebrating his new Arabesque release, Snake Charmer. Cutting loose from the trad backing, Snake Charmer finds the guitarist pulling whorls and veils in the restless, wily company of Gary Versace's organ and Danny Weiss' curt, compelling drumming. His new cohorts' alert accompaniment slips pat channels, laced, charged, mutable. Versace transmutes from velvet threat to fish-shack funk, spurring moments of fairground nightmare then gallivanting with brief, Blakeian bravado. Steaming tracks alternate with moody or tender ones, and the leader gets a fresh foil on several from Dave Liebman's arch soprano sax.
Downtempo numbers ("Pearl"; "Motherland") percolate with Weiss on tabla and Kiran Ahluwalia's shimmered tanpura drones and lofting, wordless vocals. The driven numbers stay spare and convincing ("Tantra"; "Blood Orange," which Abasi wraps in splendid fettle), and the band gets their groove on for "Kismet," which could become a neat initiation for canny young players looking to play both limber and hard.
Versace, Weiss and Ahluwalia join Abasi for this gig, with Mark Mommaas taking over saxes and Naren Budhakar on tabla. With Weiss and Budhakar pulling down the rhythms, Abasi provides his bandmates ample space, both showcasing their chops and setting up his own startling excursions.
Joe's Pub, 425 Lafayette St. (betw. E. 4th St. & Astor Pl.), 212-539-8778; 9, $15.
-Alan Lockwoo