The Good Life & Clem Snide
Mercury Lounge, New York (December 10, 2000)
»
|
The Good Life
Mercury Lounge, New York
December 10, 2000 |
This was not because the band was playing poorly -- actually quite the opposite was true -- but rather because virtually every song in the set felt like Tim Kasher had cut out his heart and fed it to you through your ears. Granted, this is a sound that some of audience members were accustomed to from Kasher's other project, Cursive. But this is a sonic aesthetic that becomes far more immediate and real when watching the youthful singer/songwriter/guitarist exorcise the songs from his body.
The Good Life's line up (consisting of two guitars, accordion, keyboards, and drums) opened the set with the eerie, off-kilter "The Moon Red Handed." The song, like every one which followed in the 45-minute set, flowered into a celebration of desperation. Though Kasher announced his voice was on the fritz, it filled the walls of the Mercury Lounge with a straining emotionalism on songs like "Your Birthday Present."
Musical endeavors such as this left audience members asking if there was Valium being sold along with the band's t-shirts and CDs. The request for depression-relieving drugs was not made sarcastically but as a reaction to the mesmerizing purity, the honesty of the music through which melancholy images were being conveyed. Near the end of the set, Kasher apologized for physically rocking out in an intense moment of the music, claiming that sometimes energy runs through his body and he needs to let it go. Standing in the crowd, I just wanted to cry out, "it's okay, we like it when you rock out," but I was too busy stuffing more of his heart into my ears.
If writer/director Wes Anderson was a rock band, he would be Clem Snide. Not only does Clem Snide's lead singer/guitarist Eef Barzelay bear a striking physical resemblance to the Rushmore creator, but the band's quirky, ageless yet very much of the age, funny yet overwhelmingly honest sonic engagements mirror Anderson's cinematic endeavors.
With the unusual lineup of guitar, cello, drums and the greatest rock'n'roll instrument ever, the stand-up bass, Clem Snide crafts sonic backdrops that could be from a bar band in the '60s or the '70s just as much as the year 2000. That is, if you leave aside the unusual and creative pop culture references like Cory Feldman in "Junkie Jews" and the song "Nick Drake Tape."
The band's affable onstage demeanor and Barzelay"s twang-affected voice's fearless delivery of lines like, "Your beautiful African friend/ Next to him, I look so white/ So white that you turn away," combined with the sometimes sparse, sometimes lush sonic backdrop to create a thoroughly enjoyable, and at times purely brilliant live musical performance. As the set proper ended with one of the catchiest songs of all time, "I Love the Unknown," the closing imagery of Anderson's Bottle Rocket, in which Dignan, though in jail still dreams of a life with some "allure" came rushing over me. Indeed, if Wes Anderson was a rock band, he would be Clem Snide. And there is no greater compliment I can bestow upon a band.
A.K. GOLD | A.K. Gold lives in Washington, D.C., where she slaves away for a non-profit organization and constantly compares everything to New York City or Chicago. She's earned her "cred" as a college radio and pre-1960 country music DJ, committed indie label street teamer, sporadic zinemaker/contributor, retired mail-order filler and occasional freelance writer. From time to time, she publishes Anecdotal Evidence, a per zine that will some day be considered for the National Book Award, or possibly not. If you want to buy a copy, or desire to write to her for some other reason, email criticgirl@hotmail.com.