Live Review: Nick Oliveri / Brant Bjork

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Nick Oliveri (USA)

Brant Bjork & the Bros (USA)

04/29/04 - Sojo Leuven (B)

Even though Brant Bjork and his band had already played at one of the Sojo’s “stoner sessions”, this night was gonna be even more exceptional. The question whether Kyuss invented stoner or not is something people still obsess over, but it’s a fact that they were without question one of the best and important bands the genre ever spawned (who’s gonna deny that?)… and when you get two of the original members giving their all in good ole, drowsy Belgium, at a venue where stoner and related genres have always been important, you know it’s a kind of special occasion. Anyway, after Homme recently ousted Nick Oliveri from the Queens of the Stone Age, Bjork picked him up to do a series of gigs throughout the US and finally also Europe. Even though he’s quite illustrious because of his ‘unconventional’ stage antics and intense attitude, Oliveri’s short set would prove him to be more than capable of doing dissimilar stuff as well. The crowd already cheered when he’d barely stepped on stage (bare-chested, wearing sneakers, cigarette dangling from mouth), but in the next 40 minutes or so, he proved that there’s essentially not that much of a difference between the guy with the acoustic guitar and the screaming maniac standing in front of a stack of amplifiers. Nick Oliveri isn’t the world’s most optimistic guy, as most of his lyrics are obsessed with death and other cheery stuff, but he succeeded in creating a easy-going intimacy (he has that in common with his friend Mark Lanegan), despite the fact he occasionally came off as a possessed folkie trying to ward off his demons. Among the songs he played: “So High, So Low” and “I Want You to Die”, after which he launched into a superb version of the Queens’ dark “Gonna Leave You.” Other Mondo-songs he did were “The Day I Die” and “Detroit,” a tribute to his grandfather. With only an acoustic guitar “Another Love Song” sounded different than the garage-styled version on Songs for the Deaf, but it was fine nevertheless. However, the best was kept until the end, when Nick delivered an intense and threatening version of Roky Erickson’s sinister “Bloody Hammer,” after which he closed his set with “Auto Pilot,” joined by Brant Bjork on bass and Mike Peffer (of the Bros) on drums. Even though it’s kinda weird to see the guy doing stuff like that, he gave a good performance, showing there is life after the Queens, and it needn’t be less rewarding.

Those who were present during the previous Sojo-gig by Brant Bjork & the Bros (October 25th 2003) already told me I’d missed a great show and was gonna be in for something special, but boy, I wouldn’t have dared to think I was gonna get something THIS GOOD. Bjork’s probably more identified with his tenure in Kyuss (whom he left at age 19, as already one of the most influential drummers of the ‘90’s) and Fu Manchu than anything else, but he’s carved out his own niche as well in the meantime, participating in diverse projects/bands (Mondo Generator, Desert Sessions, power trio Che with Alfredo Hernandez and Unida’s Dave Dinsmore) and making his own albums. He’s released three solo albums so far (Jalamanta in 1999, Brant Bjork & the Operators in 2002, and Keep Your Cool last year), and fortunately he does not try to reconstruct the ‘formula’ of his previous bands. Granted, there’s still the laidback pothead desert vibe (but that’s where he grew up), but instead of the bludgeoning, throbbing neo-Sabbath blasts of Kyuss, you get a funky blend of soul, rock, psych, with the vibe of reggae, jazzy accents and straightforward hard rock riffs added for good measure. By themselves, these influences are rather unsurprising (who has come up with something entirely new the past decades?), but the guy has already created a unique blend of those ingredients that is as compelling, hypnotic and groovy as any of his previous bands. It works excellent on record, it works brilliantly on stage. Brant Bjork had already announced that the mob was gonna be in for something special, the gig being the last leg of the European tour (though they’ll be back this summer), but I bet few people expected a 140-minute groove-fest that caused a collective weight loss of at least 750 pounds. From the extended intro “Lazy Bones” onwards, it became clear that the audience (about 150 lucky guys and girls) was in for a sweaty night, as the band seemed capable of turning each groove into a ludicrously sexy charmer. After the opening, the band kicked off with the huge riff of “Automatic Fantastic,” which really turned the crowd wild (and that’s five minutes into the set). It immediately became obvious that Bjork had assembled one hell of a band, a unit that communicated in a hypnotic musical language that only the best ones out there are capable of. I already knew he was an accomplished guitar player (he didn’t touch the drums), but his colleagues were equally fascinating to watch: bass player Dylan Roche looked like a member of the Bad Brains Mk. 1 with the coolness of 5 pounds of deep-frozen shrimps and delivered the best foundation Bjork could hope for; drummer Mike Peffer can handle anything in between jazzy accents, funky swing and thunderous drum assaults; while brand new member and guitar player ‘Cortez’ proved to be the perfect match for Bjork. It’s not that easy to describe the band’s sound, but maybe you should try to imagine something like a cocktail of Hendrix (great guitar licks and sound), Sly Stone (unstoppable grooves), Thin Lizzy (simple, yet effective riffs and great interplay), Kyuss, and a psych jamming band. Also, as became clear during the trippy “Cobra Jab,” Bjork’s live sound is much more massive on stage than on record. Kudos should also go to the sound guy, who gave the band one of the best sounds that I ever heard, anywhere.

Anyway, the band delivered one riff monster after the other, switching from one trance-like groove to the next, until they almost became one with the fluid mass the audience had become. “Low Desert Punk,” another highlight off of Jalamanta was turned into a relentless sonic blast, while “Too Many Chiefs… Not Enough Indians” with its smooth vocals was the perfect introduction to the irresistible funk-blues of “I Miss My Chick,” which boasts the best repeated groove since, yeah since when? It went on like that: fiery solos, booming drum parts, riffs that made people dance, sing along, drink, sweat, bang their heads and party hard. The hilarious “Monkey Boy” was turned into a fucked-up 20-minute jam when Nick suddenly jumped on stage to sing and bop with the band. It was followed by “Johnny Called,” also from Keep You Cool, which received the ‘classic moment’-tag when Bjork dedicated it to John Garcia, a member in the audience yelled “WHO THE FUCK IS JOHN GARCIA?” and the singer replied in a deadpan way with “One of the best rock singers of your generation!” The groove machine then tore through “My Ghettoblaster,” and “Rock-n-Rol’e,” reaching another thrilling highlight when “Hydraulicks” from the Che-album transformed into Kyuss’ “Gardenia” with Nick returning to roar those familiar lines “Smell my shit eating grin on the skin of my world, SIX HUNDRED SIXTY SIX MILES PER HOUR!” It was at this moment, when the band completely transcended itself and awesome interplay became a natural thing that I once again realized that there’s basically nothing (oh well, maybe one of two things, you know them) that beats live music when all the circumstances are right. The smoke of cigarettes, pot and beer, sticky backs and pearls of sweat on foreheads, a crowd that like one entity responds to what’s delivered on stage. It can be a blast, and it was last Thursday. It had already been awesome, but of course there came an encore (well, two): first “Cheap Wine,” probably the most accessible, pop-styled song Bjork has ever recorded, and next an extended jam (“Sounds of Liberation”) with long spoken word-parts by Bjork, who dedicated it to Dave Weindorf and Monster Magnet’s inspiring Spine of God, telling about Kyuss’ genesis and what it meant to him. The second encore was another 15-minute workout (“Sun Brother”?) that got about everybody in a trance they only came out of well after the concert had finished. I had a short chat with Bjork before the show and he seemed so cool and carefree that I wondered whether he was gonna be able of pulling off a truly mind-blowing set, but he did, that broad smile of him never leaving his face. Backed by a terrific band, occasionally helped out by a soul brother, and propelled by an audience that must’ve had goose bumps despite the heat, Brant Bjork was the ultimate example of the powers of rock ‘n’ roll. ‘FANTASTIC’ is the only word that matters.

Brant Bjork & the Bros (USA)

04/20/05
Den Hemel, Zichem

The Anti-Hurry

Since it's almost as if Brant & Co. consider Belgium their second home base (how many gigs is that during the past year and a half? 5? 6?), it wouldn't surprise me if jokes about the band start popping up one of these days. "Hey man, it's loud but laidback, looks like 1969 Santana and when it comes around people start smiling and partyin' hard? It's not Sesame Street, nor the Republicans' Convention…" (and then the other guy is supposed to shrug his shoulders and utter a "You tell me, dude") If the conditions are right, each place where Brant & the Bros play a show is turned into a gathering of stonerheads, potheads and retro-rock fans, and a small, crowded venue like Den Hemel is exactly what is required, making the show a nice runner-up for the devastating showcase at the Sojo a year ago. This time around, the band also seemed dead set on delivering the goods: with 25 (!) concert dates in 26 days (and the second one of the series being an appearance at the already legendary Roadburn-festival in Holland) you might expect them to hit the brakes more often, to take it easy once in a while by playing shorter sets, but Wednesday April 20th was not one of those days. As usual, the band started off with the combination of "Lazy Bones" and "Automatic Fantastic," which was already enough to set the groove. Simple riffs, a funky rhythm section and a charismatic front man who exudes pré-Altamont hippie optimism, yet manages to avoid trite observations or slogans. That's a good thing, as there have been more than enough bands recently that have too many obvious bones to pick. Brant & the Bros show you that it's also okay to have fun once in a while, to let loose, to get carried away by the hypnotic pulse of the repetitive music that evokes early hard-rock (Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love" popped up, as did several grooves that could've been inspired by Thin Lizzy's classic sound), a late 60's/early 70's Bay Area-vibe and a distant desert thunder. The sound was excellent and the band seemed to have a good time. How else could it be, since they played another 150-minute set? This might be awfully long if you're used to concise pop songs or short outbursts of aggression, but you know the deal, maaaaan. Brant & the Bros… they take their time to develop a groove, even if it takes them fifteen minutes. Most of the songs they played sounded familiar and were taken from Jalamanta ("Low Desert Punk" being one of the highlights, as usual), Brant Bjork & the Operators ("Joey's Radio," the catchy "My Ghettoblaster" and a terrific version of "Cheap Wine," which might be my favorite pick of the night) and Keep Your Cool (most noticeably a 20+ minute version of "Hey, Monkey Boy" that kicked off - well, perhaps 'kick' isn't the right word for a song that seems the 'anti-hurry' - the extended encore (this band's encores are longer than most bands' sets)). Brant also introduced a few new songs that will wind up on his first album that was recorded with a full backing band (the previous ones were basically solo efforts with a few people helping a hand here and there), and those sounded quite similar to the other stuff, which suggests that the organic live-feel will be present on the actual album. This show wasn't on par with the memorable feast of last year - a gig that even the band members consider one of their very best - but the playing was as good as ever. Dylan Roche on bass is still as solid as a 15 ton heavy monolith frying in the Arizona sun, Cortez plays a funkier guitar than any man's entitled to since Hendrix died, and drummer Michael Peffer still gets an impressive flow out of minimalist contributions that stir up a trance or - occasionally - get the energy meter a bit higher. And all the while, there's Brant Bjork, desert rock guru and charming all-round motherfucker par excellence, guiding band and audience through the haze. With style and grace, a smile on his face. This band's days aren't over yet.

(By the way, did anyone else notice that Brant sounds like Lou Reed's younger West-coast brother when you close your eyes and listen?)

Read album reviews of similar or related artists: Mark Lanegan - Queens of the Stone Age - Brant Bjork

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