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Since 1985, Watt has kept himself busy with an insane amount of bands and projects (ranging from temporary ones, like Crimony, Ciccone Youth and Porno for Pyros, to longer low-key projects like Dos and Banyan, to high-profile gigs with Iggy Pop and the Stooges more recently) and has succeeded in keeping the adventurous spirit and relentless dedication intact. He never did things the easy way and stubbornly sought the most original and pure expression of his ideas, and while not everything led to great results, his contributions and small solo catalogue are a testament to his commitment and an ongoing tribute to D. Boon. While 1995's successful Ball-Hog or Tugboat? attracted many because of the impressive list of collaborators (several of which appeared in We Jam Econo), 1997's Contemplating the Engine Room was an unexpected and personal album that told the story of his father, his friendship with D. Boon and his own evolution. His third album, The Secondman's Middle Stand (2004) goes even further. Much further. It's not only one of the oddest and most idiosyncratic albums Columbia/Sony ever released (as far as I can remember, anyway), but it's also as close to a rock opera or a fully-fledged prog album any punk musician ever got - and the story about how it came to be is even more intriguing. In 2000, Watt suffered a burst abscess in his perineum (use Google to find out the details about that), which almost caused him the loss of his life. Treatment and recovery were long and painful, but they gave Watt interesting material to work with. Roughly following the structure of Dante's Divina Commedia, Watt has himself travel through hell (illness), purgatory (treatment) and paradise (recovery) and you're not spared any details, as you'll end up knowing more about fever, pain, vomit, pissbags and tubings than you ever wanted to. Then there's the music, an awkward mix of rock, jazz, gospel, soul and something I'll conveniently call "avant-garde", which is performed on bass, organ and drums. That's it. With song lengths running from 5-7 minutes (the only exception being the brief convulsion of "Puked to High Heaven"), and structures that defy traditional notions of what a rock song should sound like, it's definitely not an easy listen - demanding, opaque, head-scratching even - but like with many albums that ultimately stand the test of time, it's a grower that simply lives in a universe of its own. While Watt was helped out by Pete Mazich (Hammond B3 organ) and Jerry Trebotic (drums) on the album, he's backed by Raul Morales (drums) and Paul Roessler on organ (Crimony, DC3, 45 Grave, etc) during this "El mar cura todo in Europe too" 2005 tour. Even though I didn't really know what to expect (and quite honestly feared Watt's performance would alienate most listeners, myself included), it turned out to be one of the most unlikely victories I've witnessed in recent times. Watt & Co. tore through The Secondman's Middle Stand it its entirety, with the wordless communication of a jazz outfit, the tightness of a funk band and the energy of, well, The Minutemen. All this wouldn't have been possible if the sound hadn't been this stunning: there was no 6-stringed instrument to be seen, yet the word "ROCK" popped into my head before they were even 20 seconds into "Boilin' Blazes." At first, a large part of the audience seemed at a loss - this had nothing in common with the short & sharp-approach of the minutemen, in fact it almost came off as its antithesis - but as Watt kept on plucking, slamming, caressing and hammering his strings like a possessed maniac and howled, roared and whispered the details of his illness and its complications, symptoms and everything else it involved - it became apparent that the performance was one delivered by skilled performers at the peak of their powers. Morales was a powerhouse drummer, combining all-over-the-place rumbling with odd accents and finesses, while Roessler's organ was a nice counterpart to Watt's eccentric bass playing that seemed to incorporate 60's jazz, 70's funk, 80's punk and a dose of insanity. Not one word wasted and the band jumped, rocked and strutted their way through the perversely bouncy gospel-rock of "Puked to High Heaven," and the schizophrenic "Burstedman," which filled up the gap between The Minutemen, Captain Beefheart and Medeski, Martin & Wood. Baffling. The "purgatory"-part of the set lowered the intensity/volume level a bit, with the playful "Pissbags and Tubing" and fuzzy drone of "Beltsandedman" (perhaps the only moment of the set when thing seemed to settle down a bit for a few uninterrupted minutes), but after that, the band struck back with the stomping "The Angel's Gate", which sounded simply colossal, the childishly optimistic "Pluckin', Pedalin' and Paddlin'" and the gentle "Pelicanman," which finished the set. By that time, the audience howled and roared and yelled and whistled, and Watt - visibly touched by such a response (perhaps also it was the 100th time he played the "opera") - extensively showed his gratitude for the audience's acceptance of such "difficult" music "and "Start your own band!"). The band returned for an encore, which turned up the intensity level again, with an awesome, incendiary cover of Dylan's "It's Alright Ma, I'm Only Bleeding" and The Minutemen's "Corona," but we already knew enough. Of course, a large part of the audience consisted of hardcore Minutemen/Watt-fans, but that unique thing was in the air, as Watt, Morales & Roessler delivered a memorable concert that will resonate for quite a while. And if you're the kind that only reads the conclusions or final paragraphs of reviews, make sure you don't miss this: