Backstage Pass

The Sea and Cake The Gargoyle, March 22

When the Sea and Cake took the stage at the Gargoyle, it was for a young, mostly college-aged crowd. Considering that the band members are—dare it be said—pushing their 40s, the youth of the audience seemed puzzling. At first it seemed like an Autumn-Spring romance, but when the band started playing, the mystery became clear. The Sea and Cake craft songs that, if not hummable, are moody and atmospheric. Multilayered guitars and keyboards, melded with a Yo La Tengo–ish bass and quirky drumbeat, all suffuse to create an esoteric experience. In a nutshell, it’s art rock. The crowd knew and loved their work, and they shouted their pleasure when vocalist Sam Prekop began “Left Side Clouded” from the latest release, One Bedroom.

After five years and at least as many CD releases, the Chicago-based band has garnered a devoted following on both sides of the Atlantic as well as Japan. This is appropriate to their style, which sounds more European than American. It’s an audio mimosa—sophisticated, urbanely jazzy but not urban, smooth, and deceptively intoxicating.

Guitarist Archer Prewitt, reminiscent of the sincere and intense Ethan Hawke from Dead Poet’s Society, performed with a quiet precision. He and Prekop played foil for each other onstage, faceting the thousand planes of a song with a notch, cut, or glance towards the other. They were clearly enjoying the gig, despite Prekop’s complaint about the frigid air that the Gargoyle provided. (He was not overstating the truth. Those near the stage shivered under an overzealous cooling system.) Drummer John McEntire of the tattooed arms and anarchy T-shirt was the

Sam Prekop (left) and Archer Prewitt front the Sea and Cake. Photo by Laura Hamlett.

only band member that actually looked like a rock god. For most of the set he seemed to be in a trance, staring straight ahead while battering an earthly groundline to keep the lighter songs from floating away. Unfortunately, Prekop’s breathy voice added no weight to the diaphanous songs. His Cocteau Twins–type vocals work best when they are considered part of the scenery, merely another layer to the songs and not the driving force which moves them forward.

Although this was ostensibly a tour to promote One Bedroom, several of the tunes were from the band’s earlier releases, including The Biz and Oui. One of the set’s best numbers was “An Echo In” (Glass EP), which allowed Prekop and Co. to examine frision of energy and let it build into something almost punk. The band encored with a cover of Bowie’s “Sound + Vision” and “The Argument” (The Fawn), which is as cryptically straight as any of their songs have ever been: “I’m messing with the soul untied/And all it takes you is anywhere.” Leaving the States for another European tour in May, they will acquire new inspirations while they extend their own unique version of post-rock. —Rudy Zapf

Mary Alice Wood w/Leslie Woods Blueberry Hill, March 22

A fundamental incongruity applies to Mary Alice Wood: although in most of her press photos, she looks as solemn as Sunday morning—the lady has a piercing gaze—in person and in performance, she frolics like Friday night. That frolicsome nature took center stage, figuratively and otherwise, in Blueberry Hill’s Duck Room during the release party for the St.Louis singer-songwriter’s second solo CD, Daisies in My Hand.

Knoxville artist Leslie Woods and her band opened the evening as smoothly and dangerously as a free flow of Tennessee sipping whiskey. Woods’ smoldering debut, Velvet Sky, appeared last year.

Once Woods yielded the stage to Wood—a clause that hints why this magazine’s copyeditor spends most of his free time drinking—the lady behind Daisies in My Hand reprised most of the 12 tracks from that disc, among them the inestimable “Angel” and “Two Feet,” the incandescent “Hey Diddle Diddle,” and the instrumental “Cowboy in a Curl” (enigmatically dubbed “the kitty song” by one of Wood’s young nieces).

Interspersed among such original compositions were covers charming in their diversity: Jennifer Warnes’ “I Know a Heartache When I see One,” Hank Williams’ “Your Cheatin’ Heart” (in the key of G, by the way), Loretta Lynn’s “You Ain’t Woman Enough,” and—hello, chutzpah!—the theme to the Mary Tyler Moore Show.

Also featured on the set list were various numbers from Wood’s tenure with local groups like sugarstickygirl: “From the South Side,” “Carrot,”“Hey Hey Hey”(which she characterized as the closest she’s ever come to penning a Monkees ditty).

Mary Alice Wood shines onstage at Blueberry Hill. Photo by Mickey Bernal.

Otherwise included was one new-as-newgets number, “Miles to Burn,” with characteristically splendid lyrics: “My window’s dusty, a farmer’s residue—funny how an open road can set its sites [sic] on you.”

For most of the set, accompanying Wood (who, for most of the set, played acoustic guitar) were bassist Mark Robke and percussionist Brian Reed, who drummed with such concentration that he appeared to be in pain. The electric sixstring wizardry, meanwhile, came from John Horton, a guitarist astonishingly stolid and immobile as well as astonishingly masterful; Horton, frankly, needed no cheap theatrics to distract from deficiencies in his performance because no such deficiencies existed—from the first note, he wowed the crowd.

All things considered, with the CDrelease party for Wood’s Daisies in My Hand,local music lovers received a fine aural bouquet with which to start the spring. —Bryan A. Hollerbach

Jump, Little Children Blueberry Hill, March 25

Blueberry Hill was swimming with familiar Tuesday night opportunists, smoke and drink in hand, each waiting for his or her respective buzz to either kick in or wear off. Down in the Duck Bassist Jonathan Gray of Jump, Little Children. Photo by Mandy Jordan.

Room, though, something altogether different had begun to breathe.

Jump, Little Children is a funky South Carolina–based five-piece whose sound is a dynamic mix of Irish-influenced intricacies and solid alt-rock explosions. I’ve been following the band for seven years and, in my opinion, this performance was one of their finest.

Jay Clifford’s lead guitar and vocals were simultaneously soothing and igniting, haunting the melodies of songs like “Say Goodnight” and “Dancing Virginia.” Evan Bivins beat drums while his brother, Matt, a jack-of-all-trades (mandolin, tin whistle, accordion, harmonica…), shook the set with the beatnik-like, spoken-word pieces “Habit” and “Body Parts.” Up against Jonathan Gray’s upright bass and Ward Williams’ skillfully interchangeable cello and guitar, the band is its own ebb and flow.

Their music is engaging, not simply because they’ve mastered interesting tools, but because as a group, their talents and energies create a vision of effortlessness as multiple sounds and instruments compliment each other delicately. The band is working on a new album to follow their most recent CD, Vertigo (released on their own EZ Chief Records), though no official date has been set for its release. —Mandy Jordan

The Fire Theft Mississippi Nights, March 27

It seemed as if, just as I was getting into Sunny Day Real Estate, they were breaking up. That's probably not too far from the truth, considering the band broke up twice-once after 1994's Diary and again in 2000, after reforming in 1998 for How it Feels to Be Something On.

Lucky for us listeners, three of the members of SDRE—Jeremy Enigk, vocals and guitar; Nate Mendel, original bass guitar; and William Goldsmith, drums—have reformed, adding a few friends accumulated along the way. Original SDRE guitarist Dan Hoerner has departed; in his place are second guitarist Bill Dolan and keycontinued on next page

Backstage Pass

boardist Nick Macri. As with all good things, though, there’s a catch: they’re no longer SDRE, and have no plans to reprise SDRE songs. But they’re written an album’s worth of new material, and they’re taking it on the road.

Appearing as the Fire Theft, the quintet made a stop in St. Louis last month before an enthusiastic if undeservedly small crowd (but, hey, they’re touring without an album, label, or recording contract, and they’re doing no interviews until they’re signed) at Mississippi Nights. The audience was largely male, and young— early ’20s, most of them, despite the fact that

Three to See

Here are just three of the great original St.Louis bands that play around town on a regular basis. Check them out as soon as you get a chance. 6—There is nothing more satisfying than finding a young, creative local band that can delight teenagers and annoy parents. Armed with a loud volume and plenty of profanity, this industrial-goth band are pretty much a parent’s nightmare multiplied by six. They have a ferocious sound that turns two synthesizers and a guitar into dangerous weapons, as opposed to the more mellow ’80s sounds often heard on the radio. The sound is aggressive and original, and the band’s live show is so full of energy, it’s hard not to be drawn in. To add a visual effect to their set, they have TV screens on stage playing clips of popular horror movies. Fans of exciting live shows have nothing to fear; 6 is here.

Somnia—It makes sense that this band’s CD is titled The Rock EP, because over the past year, Somnia has really developed into a solid and entertaining act. This four-piece, guitar-based group has all the catchy hooks and memorable stage antics to become a national act. Singer/bassist Aaron Popp has a strong stage presence that sparks so much energy in audiences as to use club floors as trampolines and sing along with the catchy songs. Somnia is a local band that proves the St. Louis music scene is far from asleep. 7 Shot Screamers—7 Shot Screamers are a young band with a unique sound that blends rockabilly and punk rock to create a lively set sure to leave audience members screaming for more. The band has a charismatic lead singer who puts everything he has into the show and comes across like he’s ready for MTV. His showmanship is so strong and the band’s sound so distinct, it’s well worth it your time to check them out. I actually missed their last show at the Way Out Club but I look forward to getting another shot at seeing them play. —John Kujawski Jeremy Enigk fronts the new incarnation of Sunny Day Real Estate, now performing as the Fire Theft. Photo by Cayte Nobles.

SDRE’s most highly regarded album, Diary, was released a full ten years ago. So the story goes, and the cultlike fan base continues to grow, even after SDRE’s separation. The only source now is the highly informative fan-driven Web page, (www.thefiretheft.com), mastered by one of the biggest SDRE fans; leading us all to the music Enigk, Goldsmith, and Mendel are now making.

From the start of their set opening with “Uncle Mountain,” there it was: Enigk’s angelic voice. But the music that backed it was rockier, more straightforward, even showing the great influence of classic rockers like the Who, the epic sounds of Zepplin. Instead of the meandering SDRE staples such as “Pillars” and “The Ocean,” the Fire Theft brought us straightforward rock songs. Enigk’s playing and singing style-swaying side to side while he sings, guitar in hand-resembles the Sting of older times. He seems uncomfortable on stage as he always has, not talking with the crowd, preferring simply to just play without introduction or distraction giving the performance a genuine pure intensity.

After the third song of the band’s set, a fan called, “When does the album come out?” Enigk admitted, “We don’t know yet. We wish we did.” Though at this time, over 10 songs have already been recorded and are seeking final touches and a home to be released.

It’s when he screams that he’s at his best-fullthrottle emotion, conveying everything in a single, sustained note. The Fire Theft is branching into what seems to be new emotions for this intriguing man, a more hope-filled outlook, as exemplified by the personal touches in “Sinatra.

After a two-song encore—one of which featured Enigk on keyboards, alone onstage save for a chord here and there from the guitarist—the Fire Theft slipped away, into the early spring night, leaving us to wonder: would they return again? And if so, how long would we have to wait for the next reincarnation of these music makers? —Laura Hamlett and Cayte Nobles

North Mississippi Allstars Blueberry Hill, March 28

Let’s get it out of the way right now: This show jumps into the innermost circle for consideration of the finest performance of 2003. I don’t care what happens for the rest of the year. Jesus himself could return and perform alongside a

from previous page

reunited original Meters lineup (he would play the triangle), and this would still be better. The North Mississippi Allstars (singer/guitarist Luther Dickinson, drummer Cody Dickinson, and bassist/big man Chris Chew) have always had a lot going for them, but they’re starting to cross over from “very good” to “ridiculous.” Scientists have determined that if they improve any more, they’ll explode.

And at Blueberry Hill on this particular night, we got unadulterated excellence from opening bell to closing washboard solo. The Allstars led off the festivities with “51 Phantom” and never really looked back. Their brand of rootsy slideblues might suggest one-trick-ponydom, but they dismissed with that idea thoroughly, casting every tried-and-true song in a new light. Whereas the album version of “Drop Down Mama,” for example, had a one-tick-faster beat that instantly set it apart from most blues/rock fare, we got a groovy funk-down for six minutes. In fact, many of the songs were in a slightly different tempo. There are a number of different ways to make the leap from being a one-set act to a two-set headliner, and that’s one of the neat little tricks available.

The last couple of times the Allstars rolled through St. Louis, they played at Mississippi Nights and confined themselves mostly to material from their first two albums, Shake Hands With Shorty and 51 Phantom, but this time there was a healthy measure of new songs. Not only that, but some songs came out of extended improvisations that would have done the Allmann Brothers proud. That wasn’t always there before. And here’s an advance tip: there won’t be a dropoff in quality on the next album, either, if this show was any indication. Those who fell in love with the rootsy Shake Hands when it was released in 2000 would find that hard to believe, but it may well be true.

At each of the earlier Mississippi Nights concerts, the highlight of the night was predictable: the “Po’ Black Maddie/Skinny Woman” combo, the arrangement of which doesn’t stray from the album version. It’s always been catchy enough to stand on its own and be the band’s money shot. But at Blue Hill, “Po’ Black Maddie/Skinny Woman” blended right in with everything else, like “Shake ’em on Down,” “Sugartown,” and the always crowd-pleasing “All Night Long.”

There’s really no more to say. As a critic I’m supposed find something to criticize, but for three hours I was reduced to being just another fan with my head bobbing, standing in my own drool, along with everyone else. And you schmoes think this reviewing stuff is easy? —Taylor Upchurch

The Datsuns The Galaxy, April 2

I must say that I attended the Datsuns show with some trepidation. After hearing the New

Zealand foursome’s debut self-titled album, I was unsure exactly how a rather bland ten tracks would translate into a live show. The songs hit somewhere in the dangerous middleground between the cock-rock schoolboy antics of AC/DC and the searing garage of the Stooges. They almost make me scared we’re going to be assaulted by nu-hair metal soon.

The Galaxy, still unable to aid in smoothing the raw edges of live balls-to-the-wall rock ’n’ roll with alcohol, was not as full as I’d hoped it would be. In fact, the crowd was downright sparse. At the show’s climax, there were, at most, 25 people in the audience, most quite stoic in composure. Not exactly that balls-tothe-wall rock atmosphere I was hoping for. The show began with local noiseniks Sullen, who proved solid in their Breeders-meet-the-90-DayMen aural assault. Their set was short, but in sheer amplification alone, they paved the way for the oft-hyped headliners.

After a short interim, the Sights hit the stage for what became a fairly disappointing jaunt through their sophomore album, Got What You Want, which runs unabashedly from the same musical wellspring that gave us the Who and the Jam. Songs like the album opener, “Don’t Want You Back,” demonstrate a deftness for emulating the intensity of early, jangly English garage, but the

delicate piano and Hammond organ, along with singer Eddie Baranek’s rousing vocals, were drowned out by guitar noise that hardly translated into “jangly.” All the band’s dynamic, incendiary elements were lost behind a curtain of noise that did nothing for their more polished sound.

When the Datsuns finally took the stage, I desperately hoped they could inject some adrenaline into the audience—and the ambiance—of the otherwise lifeless venue. Hype has surrounded the band since the middle of last year, with NME touting them as “the next big rock blah blah blah.” Thus, England loves them. Thus, Europe loves them. In the U.S., though, they have yet to find acceptance. And it was a tough gig: an empty Midwestern bar, but after opening with a medley that included the thorny “Sittin’ Pretty,” it was obvious that the lads from Sort-Of Down Under were not going without some type of very loud, guitar-involved fight.

The rest of their set was blistering, with song after song of ridiculous guitar wankery. I don’t usually like guitar solos very much, but those that came squealing out of Christian Datsun’s guitar were miraculously dumb works of feedback and fingering. Highlights of the night included the album’s best material, like “Harmonic Generator” and “MF From Hell.” The band’s “encore” consisted of one song: the album-closing “Freeze Sucker.” I think at least three overblown solos punctuated the song: a crowd member played Christian’s axe with a pool cue, and both Dolf and Christian slammed their entire arms against two guitars strapped to the latter’s body...back to back, of course. In the end, Dolf de Datsun screamed a lot, Christian played many, many solos, and my ears were brutally attacked by both. I even saw some onstage headbanging. And despite the relative disinterest of the crowd, the Datsuns delivered exactly what I’d hoped for: devastatingly loud, stupid, energetic rock music. —Andrew Rea

Keller Williams The Pageant, April 4

Laugh is an engaging album and all, but there’s nothing in it to suggest a link between its creator, Keller Williams, and Off the Wall–era Michael Jackson. That’s reason number one to see Williams live: he made the leap effortlessly, at the Pageant on the first Friday of April, with a note-perfect version of “Don’t Stop (’Til You Get Enough).” That made two Michael Jackson covers in two concerts for this reviewer (the North Mississippi Allstars being the other, having blindsided the audience with “The Way You continued on page 22