Thumping the Thymus (Broken Social Scene, Webster Hall)

They say Howard Hughes used twenty-six cameras at once during the filming of Hell’s Angels' dogfight scenes .

Broken Social Scene is back in town.  Last night, originally scheduled as the opening show of a two-night stand, wound up being the center of a three-night run.  And it had a bit of that perfunctory beginning-of-nothing, we’ll-be-back-again-tomorrow feel to it.  The awkward but determined middle child.

Which isn’t to say it was a bad show.  Not at all.  The saving grace of this band is that there’s just so much of it that something will work. 

This show was brisk, and at the 1:40 mark – when the band took its on-stage pre-encore break, it seemed like they’d covered their catalogue (in addition to the posted set-list, we heard “Looks Just Like the Sun” (sung by the Apostle of Hustle), the fast version of “Major Label” (is this their “Wave of Mutilation,” then?) and “Hotel”).  “This is the shortest show we’ve ever played,” gasped Kevin Drew, when he heard the time.  And though their last area appearance was as an opener, this was in marked contrast to the epic end-of-tour party that made up their most recent NYC headlining gig.

Lars von Trier, when directing Dancer in the Dark used over one hundred digital cameras to cover some scenes.  Over 100!  And he was just filming Björk!

I’ve written about them before, and badly.  That’s what, I think, I’m trying to say here:  It’s awful tough to pin this band down, explain how and why it works.  To emphasize any single part of it brings you deep into forest-for-the-trees territory.  At any given moment, so much is going on.  You need an extra set of ears.  And one thousand cameras.

I had my one camera, and – in addition to the usual poor ratio of useable shots there – trying to get this group in a single shot is impossible.  It’s not the sprawl (I was too tired to successfully count heads, tonight); it’s the ongoing parade of moments happening in every corner of the stage.  The violinist tapping her bow in the air along with the lyrics, when she has nothing to play.  The trombone player who drops his instrument so he can have jingle bells in both hands, then drops one of those in favor of a drink.  The guy who holds one xylophone mallet in his teeth while he uses the side of another to scrape along a tin can.

It makes me happy, this music.  And I don’t know why, in the pictures I took, everyone looks so sad.

The fullest music came during the road-tested songs from the new album.  “Shoreline.”  “Superconnected.”  “It’s All Gonna Break.”  The drumming – Justin Peroff was often joined on a second set by a member of Raising the Fawn – dominated some songs in a way I hadn’t heard it in their music, before; could have been the hall, but I liked it.  One song that almost completely fell apart – “Bandwidth,” was it? – was saved by a soaring violin.  There was no cavalry of clapping roadies during “Stars and Sons;” instead, Drew slyly told the audience to “clap your hands and say yeah.”

Emily was with them, this time (yes, this still holds), wearing a Rolling Stones T; her other band recently opened for the geezers.  And y’know:  I sort of like Amy on “Anthems” better.  But Haines’ presence guaranteed “Swimmers,” and guaranteed presence.  The band’s new female singer, Lisa Lobsinger, didn’t have much of that, vocally; with a poofy blonde ‘do, she looked a little like Eraserhead’s Lady in the Radiator (note to self: get haircut), and seemed to be the only one on stage not having fun... though Drew seemed emotionally unavailable, much of the time, hidden under a hoodie.

This time, no Stars, no Jason Collett.  Members of Do Make Say Think, Weakerthans, Raising the Fawn, Apostle of Hustle, and Metric joined the collective.

I got a full-on hug from a member of DMST.  During “Lover’s Spit” – and after a toked-up blather-filled pre-encore interlude from Drew in which he told us, “Don’t let the president destroy your marriage!” – both Drew and Charles Spearin (at right, in yellow shirt) lowered themselves into the audience and started... hugging everyone.  I will say this:  They’re cuddlier than Tim Harrington.

Brendan Canning hung out on the main floor, chatting with fans and signing shit after the show.

This is one of the very few bands I’d even think about seeing twice in a week – I almost went for the trifecta – and I’m back in it, tomorrow.    And I’m thinking that the perfect number of cameras to cover a Broken Social Scene concert is... Zero.

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More pics in the Flckr account.

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No opener, which is silly.  Not only are there tons of great Canadian bands deserving of the exposure, there are entire bands within BSS.  Doors were at 6; the band went on around 7:50p.

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Sorry for the lack of updates, this week.  Am suffering through some particularly unproductive insomnia.  Haven’t slept regularly for days.

Should never have strangled that hobo.

Anyway, there are a number of flights of fancy taxiing around my runway, waiting for clearance.  Once we get word from the tower, all systems go.

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Here’s something that gets my goat:  When Pitchfork publishes its attention getting gasp-Not-Best-New-Music Arctic Monkeys Review, an album not even ready for US domestic release overshadows that same day’s higher-rated review for the newPlastic Constellations CD.  Crusades is a nice chunk of rock, the boys are growing up.  Smart, mathy punk that can become startlingly melodic.  Fans of the Hold Steady will recognize some Craig Finn-style phrasing; the Minnesota punks grew up when Finn was Lifter Pullering out there in the land o’ lakes.

There are a couple songs at their site, but the choicest track is this one:

Plastic Constellations – Best Things (mp3)

Fucking rocks.  You should buy the album, and you should see them at the Knitting Factory when they play next Tuesday.  I caught an afternoon gig during CMJ, and imagine there’ll be more energy after nightfall.

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Speaking of Lars von Trier, Manderlay opened yesterday.  One of the few movies I actually managed to write-up, the review is here.

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