Club Notes
Words = Not Enough
originally published December 8, 2004
A cutout of Humphrey Bogart looks down creepily from on high over Jesse Flavin (The Good Ship) and those who have gathered in front of the stage at the Flicker Theatre & Bar. Away from his bandmates, Flavin is playing the solo singer-songwriter on this Thursday, Dec. 2. I swear that Bogey is looking straight at me with that self-assured grin, reeking of judgment and - in my case - contemptuous disappointment. After a couple of promising indie/ nouveau-folk numbers, Flavin gives up on his electric guitar and sampling pedal which, strangely, he feels are letting him down. With projected comfort and confidence, Flavin sings with a soft, enigmatic - both touching and touched - voice that exhibits a sweet middle with a coating of tender extremities. His folky - sometimes intricate, sometimes strummed- acoustic guitar work is equally as light yet moody.
After a while, Liz Durrett and her perfectly complimentary vocals intermingle with Flavin's soliloquy. For his last song (an instrumental), Flavin confesses to emulating some of his favorite guitarists and I am sure that I can hear Leo Kottke's influence among them. Flavin's simple-yet-textured set is reminiscent of some of The Good Ships' quieter songs like "Sugarcane" and "The Egglestone Guide," and while there is a sense that tonight's departure from that band is a bit of a coming out for Flavin, he handles it with the ease and instinctual aplomb of a sparrow feeding on the wing.
Liz Durrett, guitar in hand, takes the stage again, this time with her uncle Vic Chesnutt (harmonica and drums) and aunty Tina Chesnutt (bass). Picture a gondola whose sole occupants are fear and sorrow, as it pitches and rolls on the ebbing tide of a salty, moonlit, Mediterranean coastline. The gondola drifts submissively and alone, while its bow supports a tattered but proud flag bearing a sacred heart palpitating in the light punchy breeze. A softly stroked Italian guitar calls the little boat's tune, while the harmonica describes a silky and lonesome path; like the ribbon of silver moonlight, that beckons the rudderless vessel out across the black water. Durrett's pure vocals - bruised and stung by the pain of lost love and betrayal - float on the fatalistic breeze, cutting through flesh like paper and causing the heart to bleed into the tepid water, washing over unseen fish as they cry their futile tears. Just as the boat finds a current and slips effortlessly into the night, so too does the music of Liz Durrett. It's that good.
Friday night: fierce local legends Five Eight are singing about "Saturday Night" in front of a PACKED Caledonia Lounge crowd before launching into the first track off the new self-titled album. It's easy to see the appeal of this long-suffering laconic rock trio; always only a breath away from capitalizing on their local popularity and breaking free of their relative obscurity. Mike Mantione's vocals are heartfelt and charismatic, in a blokey, "I've lived hard and suffered the slings and arrows…" kind of way. Meanwhile Mike Rizzi's drums drive hard and fast, but with a myriad of combinations and permutations - playing with and dictating the flow of the songs rather than just keeping time. Matching Rizzi's rhythmic bollocking is Dan Horowitz's fast and furious bass work and equally dynamic, wry sense of humor and affably-comical quasi-political banter.
In yet another autobiographical reference (after playing "The World Beat the Shit Out of My Favorite Band"), Five Eight goes for "I'm Still Around," the musical antithesis of Elton John's "I'm Still Standing." The set is scattered with new songs that perpetuate the glory of Five Eight's music: ostensibly, its unpredictability and its ability to lull you into deeper lyrical moments and the way those emotive moments reach out underneath the skein of heavy rock and blues - or scream high above it - interspersed with bridges of pure rock extravaganza. This is my first Five Eight experience, but definitely not my last: my innocence is lost but I'm hungry for more.
During the week, I ran into Rob McMaken of Dromedary in the Grit and he informed me that Jonathan Byrd was playing at the Healing Arts Centre on Saturday night. I saw Byrd play with Dromedary some months ago, and Rob knew I was a fan. Not many people are here for the show, but it's one of those great un-amplified, intimate affairs. Byrd tells us the stories that inform many of his songs, many of which are different than the last time I saw him. Much of tonight's music includes songs learned from friends or fellow folk singers at festivals around the country. Byrd's lyrics and vocal intonations are uplifting and inspirational, reflecting the intricate nuances of life's frailties and failings, as well as the human spirit's triumphs over our many adversities and adversaries. Byrd draws from a plethora of guitar techniques and a profusion of vocal styles.
Now I deliberately put myself in harm's way in the 40 Watt. As I put pen to paper, my notebook vibrates from the outpouring of Lucifer juice boring forth from the wall of amps that local power-punk-metal duo Jucifer truck around the countryside. In full flight, the strobe-lit Amber Valentine looks like the creature that crawls out of the television at the end of The Ring. Jucifer's sonic assault is a brutal wall of sound not unlike putting your ear to a Harley Davidson's exhaust as it approaches 7,000 rpm.
Ben Gerrard
Ben Gerrard is a radio journalist and writer living and working in Athens. Club Notes is a weekly look at the local club scene.
Ben Gerrard
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Club Notes
The Tryptophan Haze
originally published December 1, 2004
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