Thursday, March 3
Shawn Mullins
Natasha’s; 112 Esplanade. 8:00.
There’s a great deal of fun to be had with Google’s search suggestions, those phrases that pop up as you type your query into the search box. Evidently the suggestions reflect the most popular searches associated with whatever topic you’re exploring. For instance, it’s well known in certain circles that typing “Lars Ulrich is” summons a variety of entertaining expressions, including “Lars Ulrich is a douchebag,” “Lars Ulrich is a terrible drummer,” and “Lars Ulrich is a tool.” Good times.
Sometimes, however, the fun turns mean, such as when you type “Shawn Mullins one.” You only get the one suggestion in this case, and it’s “Shawn Mullins one hit wonder.”
Which isn’t really fair. Yeah, you couldn’t get away from “Lullaby” back in ’98, but the fact that that song exploded doesn’t mean the rest of them suck. In fact, they’re actually pretty good. Really, really good, in many cases. Plus the absence of sustained commercial success means he hasn’t turned into an insufferable prick like his pal John Mayer. Should be a good show.
Casey Abrams & Mick Reed
Cosmic Charlie’s; 388 Woodland. 9:00.
No, it’s not the guy currently on American Idol, and if there’s any justice in the world, that bearded doofus will be booted straight off and back into the oblivion from whence he came.
This Casey Abrams–the real Casey Abrams–is a master of the pop-folk idiom, in the same vein as James Taylor and Simon & Garfunkel. He’s touring with Mick Reed this time around, who sounds like a New England version of Robert Earl Keen. Together, they sound like…well, I have no idea what they sound like together, but whatever it is, it’ll surely be better than American Idol.
Friday, March 4
The Payback
Cheapside; 131 Cheapside. 9:00.
I know a guy whose taste in music is the opposite of mine. He loves the Stones; I say the Faces were the better band. I’ve always despised hair metal; he adores Def Leppard. He can’t stand pristine studio production; I say Steely Dan made the greatest records of the last 40 years.
Yet the Venn diagram of our musical likes and dislikes intersects at one point: James Brown. Because James Brown was the shit, and that’s undeniable truth.
Since James is no longer with us, we have to settle for the next best thing. For a few years the next best thing was D’Angelo, but since Mr. Archer has yet to emerge from his self-imposed, drug-fueled exile (get it together, brother!), we can’t drink from that well anymore either.
Lucky, then, Lexington has The Payback to feed our need. No, it ain’t quite the real thing, but it’s everything you deserve. And you deserve a lot, you sexy thing.
Sunday, March 6
Prince Rama
Cosmic Charlie’s; 388 Woodland. 9:00.
I gotta be honest: I can’t stand this music. But I like WRFL, and since they’re sponsoring the gig, I’ll recommend you give it a shot.
It’s psychedelic trance stuff, and if you still fool with hallucinogens, this show will probably be world-shattering. If not, it might be world-shattering anyway. I mean, I just listened to about 30 seconds of one of their tracks, stone sober, and now I have the gnawing compulsion to decorate my navel and experience lucid dreaming.
So should you go see Prince Rama? Well, in the words of John Bender: I don’t know. Give it a shot.
Tuesday, March 8
As I Lay Dying with Winds of Plague, After the Burial, & Society’s Plague
Buster’s; 899 Manchester St. 7:30.
Ah, metalcore. A couple of nights ago I ran into a fellow metalhead I know, and I asked him, “so, you thinking about going to see As I Lay Dying at Buster’s?”
“Erm…maybe,” he replied.
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, maybe I’ll see you there.”
And that’s the problem with metalcore, inasmuch as you do or do not acknowledge it as a legitimate sub-genre of metal. It isn’t that As I Lay Dying, or any of the other second-wave metalcore bands are bad at what they do; to the contrary, they play as fast and as heavy as anyone. But you listen, and at the end of it you wonder if you’re heard much of substance. All the double-kick work, guitar arpeggios, and full-throated growling seem to amount to something less than what it should. It’s like, I banged my head, but I’m not sure I wasn’t kind of bored.
The real treat at Buster’s might be local opener Society’s Plague, who work the same side of the street as the older bands on the bill, but possess enough of an experimental bent and facility with their instruments to break out of the confines of their category. Get a copy of their full-length debut release, called The Human, The Canvas, and make your own judgement.
Friday, March 11
Dead Kenny G’s
Cosmic Charlie’s; 388 Woodland. 9:00.
Hippies know Skerik from Critters Buggin. Alt-rock types know Skerik from Mad Season. Tweakers know Skerik from various Les Claypool projects. Jazz heads know Skerik from Bobby Previte’s records. New Orleans cats know Skerik from his work with Stanton Moore. Now you can know Skerik too.
500 Miles to Memphis
Green Lantern; 497 W. Third. 9:00.
According to Mapquest, Cincin-nati is actually 488 miles from Memphis, if you take I-40 most of the way, and even shorter (but slower) if you take the Western KY parkway. This of course does not diminish this band’s musical achievement, but is perhaps a testament to the enduring appeal of rounding. After all, would you go see a band called 488 Miles to Memphis? No. But if you dig “cowpunk,” as they call it, then close enough will be just fine.
–Buck Edwards
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