I’ve Got Some Funny Ideas About What Sounds Good (Other Passengers/Brakes, Pianos)

It might not feel like it outside, but it’s October, and Halloween threatens.  So:  A night of tricks and treats.

The treat was local act Other Passengers, who – on the first night of their month-long residency at Pianos – turned in a set both rich and frustrating.

The band – after taking the stage more than twenty minutes late (trick!) – intro’d its set with a bunch of howls and guitar screeches that sounded, more than anything, like the classic Disney LP Thrilling Chilling Sounds of the Haunted House. 

The songs are heavy, haunted, haunting stuff; it’s music to murder a loved one by.  Perfect Octoberrock.  Fans of the goth-rock strain of post-punk will find a home, here, as will noise aficionados; think Cure/Bauhaus meets Sonic Youth.  I was won over by a couple things:  First, these Passengers put out a lot of sound – there are a pair of guitarists, wailing away from opposite sides of the stage – and it’s impossible not to acknowledge their intensity. 

The main draw – and the reason you will want to see this band – is vocalist/keyboardist Billy(!) Jones.  While his voice can sometimes strain with Robert Smithish inexactitude, he howls so hard it looks like the sound is forced to find other ways to escape than his mouth.  Ever sneeze, closed-mouthed, while pinching your nostrils, and feel the air escape through your tear ducts?  Jones looks like this is happening too him every time he sings.  One of these days, an eye just might pop right out of its socket.  Part Tex Avery cartoon, part demonic possession, part seizure, he winds up looking a bit like this:

The twitchier, the better.  A little epileptic dancing wouldn’t hurt the cause.

A video projector bathed the boys in images ranging from the usual random geometric pitter-patter (eh) to white noise/Blair Witch-style ennui (good).

There are some major problems, though:  With the guitars wailing away, it’s up to the rhythm section to define the shape of the songs, and they’re not up to it; the drummer and the bassist occasionally wandered from each other, and the basslines were consistently sloppy.  The band’s definitely a more-is-more type; spare parts flail around a bit, and one song that was apparently supposed to devolve into noise sounded instead like the band had given up on it.  Also, there were a number of feedback issues – much of it sounded out of control (which could have been a board problem). 

And:  Jones has to pull his face away from the mic when talking to the audience; he’s all mumbles, otherwise.

Mostly I liked what I heard.  They used, God-bless-‘em, hand bells during the intro to one number.  The band only has a single EP (Is it Nothing to You, All Those Who Pass By?), and the best song they played last night, “Wichita,” isn’t on it... but they recently returned from recording sessions just north of New Orleans (Ooooooo...).  Am looking forward to that CD.

The Other Passengers will be  at Pianos for the next few Tuesdays; Brooklyn Vegan interviewed them just yesterday.

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The trick (other than the door price being 50% more than what was printed in the Voice, this week) was Brakes, a side-project shtick-punk band from the U.K.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with having a little fun, and that’s what these Brakes are:  A very little bit of fun.

Composed of members of British Sea Power, The Tenderfoot, and  Electric Soft Parade, they’re best when they’re fast, tight, and short.  Live, the songs tend to be faster, tighter, and shorter than they are on their CD, Give Blood (which you can listen to here; remove the “x” from the end of the URL to get the WinAmp files to play).  ESP guitarist Tom White was awesome, flailing about in a suit and tie (the rest of the group wore T-shirts) and sweating more than Tom DeLay before an honest judiciary.  He even managed to brake a string during the band’s thirty-minute set.

Thirty minutes, but more than a dozen songs; in fact, “Comma Comma Comma Full Stop” got played twice (by request).  A bunch of Brakes’ ditties are mere dots, Locust-lengthed blurts that hit like drive-by shootings.  “Cheney” (listen) is ten seconds long; the full lyrics are “CheneyCheneyCheneyCheney, Stop being such a dick.”  “Pick Up the Phone” (“larryohlarrylarryohlarrylarylohlarry, pick up the phone”, etc.) clocks in at a full half-minute.

They have longer songs, too, if only to make a case for the shorter ones.  The slower and softer numbers can get pretty dull pretty quick; the most entertaining long form tune was a cover of Camper van Beethoven’s “Shut Us Down.”  Brakes opened with their best song, I think, a thirty-seven second burst of frustration called “Hi How Are You” (listen) that’s about being stuck in a concert audience next to someone who talks through the music.  “Won’t you shut the fuck up?  I’m just trying to watch the band” is just what I was about to say to the woman in front of me; so, thanks, guys.

There’s a winning whatthefuckness to it all, and an endearing yodel in singer/guitarist Eamon Hamilton’s voice (I’ve seen notes that describe the music as “c&w-tinged punk” or “rockabilly punk,” but other than the sweet little novelty number “NY Pie,” Hamilton’s vocal tic is the only country element...), but it doesn’t add up to too much.  Art Brut is clever-er, and better, and I don’t see much call to slavishly follow a second-rate snark outfit.  And before anyone argues that watching a band sing songs about watching a band provides some sort of meta-exercise, I’d like to bow my head for a second and fondly recall the dear, departed Wesley Willis.

Brakes were fun, but did not rock the mule deer’s ass.

Still, lots of blogger-love going their way.  Check out Miss Modern Age, Sound Bites, One Louder, and Death of a Party.

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Bowie Beats Boobies!  Finally.  My most-visited page is no longer the one with the pics of the Coney Island Mermaid Parade; thank you, Queen Bitch.

tags: other passengers  indie music  brakes  concert reviews  

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