(Photo: Katy Lane)
Under the light gels, Brian Jonestown Massacre were a blue confederacy. As frontman Anton Newcombe positioned himself to the far left, his seven bandmates rolled up their shirtsleeves. Faced perpendicular, perhaps Newcombe could (like a stageplay schoolmarm or Stephin Merritt) better keep an eye on them all. As everyone readied, quasi-hypeman and backing vocalist Joel Gion took the stage next to newly-reinstated BJM alum Matt Hollywood and a grinning Collin Hegna, on guitar and bass respectively.
“Stairway to the Best Party in the Universe” was put into effect first, and Aufheben album mate “Seven Kinds of Wonderful” followed. Both songs’ darkly-laden drone is perhaps a better fit today in the era of Black Angels and Crocodiles than previously. On each track, the band sounded remarkably tight. Gion took bridge vocals and all four guitars whined distinctly yet complementarily for {Strung Out in Heaven}’s Matt Hollywood-sung “Got My Eye On You.”
The thin psych wail, organ riff and poppy snap of “Anemone” (from 1996’s Their Satanic Majesties’ Second Request) was powerfully rendered, bass line and tambourine set against contrary guitar. “This Is Why You Love Me,” a jangly piece of Byrds pop, was turned opaque by the flux of instruments. And their take on the sneaking surf rock of Methodrone’s crunchy “Wisdom” hinted at a unification stronger than in any (of the many) previous incarnations of the group.
“Not If You Were the Last Dandy On Earth” made an appearance, getting the crowd roiling, as did the angular “Shortwave.” Take It From The Man!’s “Dawn” was given a synth-heavy, danceable beat, its soft organ crawl and piercing guitar line almost mesmerizing. Extended out from its original two minutes, it took on a throbbing, infectious resonance in the ragged squalls of feedback beating the front rows and gracefully fell apart.
Joyously chilled-out cymbal rides led into the repetitive guitar lines of And This Is Our Music’s “Prozac vs. Heroin,” noticeably more restrained than other efforts. A late-coming “Oh Lord” resurrected the audience from a short, hazy slumber, and featured one of only two major Hollywood solos (impressively full, brutish cavalcades) that evening. The serpentine “Straight Up And Down” rumbled over itself, guitar high overhead in plodding and decadent lines, devolving into an extended jam, Gion on shakers, after reaching terminal velocity and dissolving.
Overall their set was a sonic proclamation of a loose unity, even while the opening peals of it were scaled and sized too much for even the massive Wonder Ballroom. Drummer Dan Allaire kept great time, watching Newcombe intently. Newcombe, hair all but concealing his face, dutifully kept everyone in line and on time (a feat when you’ve got eight people onstage). He even delivered excellent turns at the guitar when he wasn’t singing.
The crowd’s median age mirrored the aging lords of psych onstage, musty voices and creaking bodies coloring the Wonder Ballroom microclimate. Before and after Brian Jonestown Massacre’s set there were loads of gently balding men all about, loudly explaining the band’s lasting appeal to bemused companions. In point of fact, the audience was perhaps the show’s most noticeable drawback. Largely they seemed more enthusiastic about defending cred (one concertgoer offering to me, without any prompting at all, the year she first saw BJM live) than appreciating the band; several slurred half-belligerent questions at me on sight of my notebook alone. A particularly charming conversation starter was, “How old are you?” Coming from someone other than the person who checks IDs at the door, it’s sufficient indication a band’s fans are kind of aggro.
But the band itself was focused and in tune that evening. There were shadows of their former dysfunction, but they were colored by a grizzled, graying sheen of humor. “I’m 44 fucking years old, I’m tired of taking orders,” Newcombe deadpanned after a request was shouted from the crowd. (They even did the less skeezy thing and all but ignored an audience member flashing her breasts at them atop someone’s shoulders.) And every turn throughout the show was injected with a committed intensity.
To further provide a sense of the band’s manic energy even into maturity, Brian Jonestown Massacre are, less than three weeks after their show in Portland and the conclusion of a short tour of the western U.S., paddling around somewhere in Australia ahead of a June tour of Europe. In any case, Newcombe and the band don’t show any sign of letting up. They’ll keep going, and it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. That’s Brian Jonestown Massacre’s primary appeal.
