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- Jennie Stearns (USA) / Johnny Dowd Band (USA) - 04/13/2004
- Maxon Blewitt (B) / Johnny Dowd (USA) - 10/05/2004
Jennie Stearns (USA) / Johnny Dowd Band (USA)
04/13/04
Botanique, Brussels
Jennie Stearns set list: Shades of Blue / ??? / ??? / ???
/ Garden of Delight / Shipwreck / You save Me
Johnny Dowd set list: Worried Mind / Ft. Worth, Texas / A
Picture from Life’s Other Side / Papa, Oh, Papa / ??? (instrumental)
/ Old Man’s War, Young Man’s Fast (Big Wave) / Dear John Letter
/ Easter Sunday / Garden of Delight / No Woman’s Flesh But Hers / ???
(instrumental) / I Got My Hand in God’s Back Pocket (?) / Wedding Dress
// Encore: Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream / God Created Woman
I’d never heard or seen Jennie Stearns before yesterday night, but it was a pleasure to see her open for Dowd. Even though I almost felt embarrassed by the smallness of the audience (about 30 people when she started, about 80 when Dowd came onto the stage – and this in a venue that can probably hold 500 people), she appreciated the attention of the few with a charming shyness. You wouldn’t exactly expect this kind of artist to tour with Dowd, I guess the fact that both live in the same town (Ithaca, upstate New York) has got something to do with it. “Shades of Blue” immediately introduced us stylishly to her brand of wistful Americana. She has a voice that reminded a bit of Lucinda Williams’, with a breathy vibrato that fitted her fragile songs perfectly. Instead of being an artist of the grand gesture, Stearns resides in the corner of singer-songwriters like Katleen Edwards and Gillian Welch, female artists capable of creating a commanding intimacy, even on a stage that was way too big. After four songs (most of them waltzes, which she said she was fond of), she even tackled “Garden of Delight,” off of Dowd’s latest album, and rendered it almost unrecognisable (replacing the original’s bite with a muted, but equally sinister that benefited lines such as “Nothing’s real, until you kill it”). Whereas the musical arrangements were kept bare-boned during the first five songs, during which she was accompanied by Mike Stark on organ and played guitar herself, she was joined by the Johnny Dowd Band (Starl, drummer Willie B and Dowd himself) for the two remaining songs, “Shipwreck” (another one from Dowd’s Cemetery Shoes) and closing song “You Save Me,” which probably would’ve been nicer if delivered with the minimalist approach of the opening songs. All in all, her short set was satisfying, even though it didn’t prepare for what came next.
Dowd and band sucked pretty big time. No, wait, let me rephrase that: they were quite entertaining, but so are the Grammies. The Grammies were never this messy, though. Whereas the previous tow times I saw Dowd perform were also characterised by a “I couldn’t care less”-atmosphere, they were still invigorating performances that got their strength from spontaneity, improvisation, contrasts (especially between Dowd and Kim Sherwood-Caso) and guitar madness. These elements were also present this time around, but they only stressed that the set was lacking in direction and discipline department. As is often the case with drunk gigs, the show started off pretty well and gradually descended into a morass of self-indulgence (something which you can forgive Dowd – he’s such a charming bastard, plus he said it was his birthday, which I didn’t believe for a second) and incoherence. During “Worried Mind,” the song wasn’t yet what it should be, Willie B’s moog pedals and Stark’s organ playing being way too prominent, but it seemed to suggest that they’d be able to pull it off without Sherwood-Case, whose lethally flat vocals always lent the song an extra, unsettling dimension. “Ft. Worth, Texas” was treated as a classic rock song, with big riffs, before the King of twisted Americana started his deconstruction with looped, distorted vocals and demented playing. The near-chaos was taken to an even higher level with “A Picture from Life’s Other Side,” which (get this) started with a side show/merry-go-round ambiance, transformed itself into a ZZ Top-styled boogie, a wankfest on guitar (cool!), dissolved into “Strangers in the Night,” before ending with another side show waltz. At this point, Dowd had taken his shtick to almost comedy-levels, but it soon turned out he’d perhaps gone too far.
“Papa, Oh, Papa,” an early minimalist drone, was followed by a rather slight organ/drums-instrumental, before Fowd launched into “Old Man’s War, Young Man’s Fight,” a warped, nearly unrecognizable perversion of Temporary Shelter’s space-surf song “Big Wave.” Things went back to ‘normal’ (everything’s relative when talking about this guy) with “Dear John Letter” and “Easter Sunday” which confirmed why they’re not my favorite song on his latest album. Dowd’s own take on “Garden of Delight,” with Jennie Stearns sharing vocals, was something of a (brief) resurrection, but from then on, things went only downhill. “No Woman’s Flesh,” once one of the scariest dirges imaginable took on nearly cartoon-ish proportions, a second instrumental seemed invented to sober up (that didn’t work) and the piece of poetry Dowd next recited (“I Got My Hand in God’s Back Pocket” if I understood it correctly) seemed totally random, certainly because it was followed by a rambling, off-key version of “Wedding Dress.” There was some polite clapping (not even coming close to the delirious howling after the two previous shows), and an encore, which proved to be the final drop. It took Dowd three minutes to call his musicians back on stage, and when they’d finally arrived, they weren’t beaming with happiness either (those sideway glances were telling, boys!). Further selling himself as a protest singer, he announced he was gonna do a song by Johnny Cash (“one of the all-time greats, if not the greatest”), before delivering a ramshackle version of Ed McCurdy’s “Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream” and ended with “God Created Woman,” which he called “God Met a Woman.” Oh well, nothing is lost, the first time I saw him still resides somewhere in my Top 10 Concert Experiences, but it’s kinda disappointing when an artists who always seemed so good at messing around with chaos, wickedness, coincidence and improvisation lets the music of chance take over and lead him to a failed attempt at experimentation. I still love my Johnny Dowd, though. I must be a good Christian boy or something.
Maxon Blewitt (B) / Johnny Dowd (USA)
10/05/2004
CC Spinoy, Mechelen
The Shadow of a Dowd: walking the line between conceptual art and rock & roll.
Wolf Eriksson. Is that a name that exudes rock 'n' roll or what? Anyway, Eriksson is the leader of newly found band Maxon Blewitt, which he formed with his sister and three other veterans of the local scenes. In a previous life, Eriksson was a member of Zita Swoon (an off-shoot of dEUS), one of the most eclectic and respected Belgian pop/rock bands and if the concert was any indication, Maxon Blewitt might have a similarly exciting future ahead of them. It's not that the set was particularly revolutionary or bursting at the seams with a new discourse for rock music, but most of it offered a refreshing blend of craftsmanship and talent. Hovering between classic pop/rock and the kitschier tendencies of bands like Zita Swoon, nonsensical Dutch unit Stuurbaard Bakkebaard and - at their most experimental - a light-weight Evil Superstars, the band delivered a bunch of songs that were smartly constructed, displayed a thorough knowledge of rock history, as well as detours to roots-land and the occasional hint of casio-pop - think Grandaddy, and think Sparklehorse, especially in songs as "Stupid Cupid." Elsewhere, the band displayed a lazy vibe I haven't heard that successfully since a played a G. Love or Calexico album the last time, and for one or two songs they even managed to come off as a less spastic (but more substantial) Blues Explosion. Highlights? I'm not sure, since I hadn't heard the album yet (it has been out for only a few weeks), but I do remember a ridiculously poppy and memorable song called "We've Got Our Lives to Celebrate," the hypnotic vibe of "Stupid Cupid," and a few funny-titled ditties such as "The Devil Pays the Rent," "Koffie & Konfetti" and a bare-boned "Harry Wants to Work on the Farm" (yes, I had to check these titles on their website). Eriksson was the star of the concert, singing well and proving he can play a mean guitar, but the support on bass, guitar (his sister, who doubled on keys), bleebs and drums was equally capable. That's all I can say for now. They delivered a fine show and definitely aroused my interest. Good stuff!
Johnny Dowd, he don't make purdy music. I once declared that Dowd is a portraitist of spiritual decay and while that may have been somewhat of an hyperbole, he's definitely something of an anti-optimist (as an artist - he may be the jolliest man to work with for all I know), as song structures, themes and sound are mutilated in order to convey Dowd's acidic message. Throughout five studio albums and a compilation, Dowd always seemed like a guy getting cracked up by the Bible's seediest stories, by fatalistic tales about religion and blasphemy, marriage and adultery, love and jealousy, all wrapped up in a bastardised roots music that occasionally sounds as dysfunctional and deranged as most of the characters he introduces and situations he describes. He certainly doesn't make music for the masses - as if he cares about that - but that needn't imply his output isn't worthwhile, as each of his albums offer glimpses into his wholly unique universe, where country and lo-fi, horror and beauty, innocence and perversion, dissonance and, uh, more dissonance co-exist and sometimes meet each other in brilliant juxtapositions. This was the fourth time I saw Dowd and I knew in advance I'd better not have any expectations at all. The first two concerts I attended were quite similar, although the first one was definitely one for the books, a downright feast of madmen having the night of their lives. Then, earlier this year, Dowd chose a very different direction, one that could've been anticipated because of the slightly shifted orientation of his latest two albums, experimental releases like Down in the Valley (only for sale at live shows) and genre-bending festivals and programs. I don't think my disappointment about the previous show had anything to do with the particular line-up (drums, guitar, organ) or the absence of Kim Sherwood-Caso. It was probably one of those night were things just didn't make sense - not to me at least. Half an hour after the Maxon Blewitt-show, Dowd and sidekick Brian Wilson (I have no idea whether that's his real name or not) started setting up their gear and indeed… we were in for something new again. Both men sat on chairs and played guitars, using a whole array of effect pedals and pre-recorded drum parts. However, this wasn't the classic guitar interplay, as Wilson's perversely distorted sound had more in common with his usual Moog-pedals than a guitar sound. Deep growling tones - Black Sabbath at their murkiest attempting folk-blues - providing the foundation over which Dowd could deliver his laments and incisive and often droning guitar playing. Things got off a bit slow and not very convincingly (and some people did leave before Dowd had even started properly), but the initial confusion was soon channelled into something successful. Most noticeable was the addition of projections, four short movies. Bearing titles such as Marriage, Escape, Existence and Death Comes Knocking, they weren't your average snapshots of city life or arty stills. Instead, you'd see family snapshots, wedding photos, children staring shyly into the lens, men carrying women, or video footage of a few decades old, also showing playing children, family dinners and other cosy gatherings. The entire set would focus on family relations, marriage, parenthood and their downsides divorce, estrangement and other familiar themes (ironically, these movies were made and projected by Kat Dalton, who's been Ms. Dowd for more than three decades) and Dowd would pick songs from his entire recording output and fit 'em with the visuals: bare-boned songs were even further stripped down to accompany the equally sober films: "Hell or High Water" (from Temporary Shelter), "Easter Sunday" (from Cemetery Shoes), "Papa Oh Papa" (from Wrong Side of Memphis), "King of Emptiness" (from The Pawnbroker's Wife), they all became chapters in Dowd's domestic play. Whereas the visual part of the show in itself would've conjured up reactions of recognition, identification (we all have those old movies and photo/memory books stacked somewhere, gathering dust) and maybe even endearment, Dowd's contrasting stories of decline and sins lent the whole of the performance an entirely different - bitter - dimension, just like the way in which movies like Blue Velvet, Happiness and American Beauty shattered the illusion of suburban perfection and family happiness (yes, I know they also deal with other subject matter, but please, gimme a break), hinting at serenity and happiness and then tearing it down cruelly or gradually rendering it unrecognisable. The most striking example was the projection of a photo of a man, standing on some pavement in front of a car, as if he wanted to show how proud he was to have achieved what he had, and then the photo gradually becoming less and less focused, until the man was no longer identifiable and became a grotesque parody of an identity crisis, a blur that could have been anything and anyone. As I said, it started off quite confusing, but as the show progressed, the performances intensified, the opposition projection/music became a forceful unity until it finally reached a culmination in the guise of a deconstructed "Johnny B. Goode," during which Dowd even handed his guitar to a guy in the front row. The encore - a rendition of protest song "Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream," a poem called "Up a Rat's Ass" and closing song called "Praise God" - had no relation to the set, but somehow managed to bring some kind of relief ("That maniac in Washington managed to ruin my love for one of the most beautiful words in the English language… BUSH!") after the nearly depressing set. Dowd isn't about to become soft. As he ages, his love for cutting edge music and contrasts seems to grow bolder and bolder, but as long as the results are as intriguing as most of last week's performance, I'll keep coming back for more… if he promises to churn out some delirious rock 'n' roll as well once in a while, that is. Nice one, John!
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