Butthole Surfers/Rev. Horton Heat/The Toadies/Starfish
Convention Hall, Asbury Park, NJ
More so than any show I've been to in recent memory, this concert was not focused so much on the songs as it was on the performances. Most of the time when you go to a show, you're primarily motivated by an interest in one or many of the artist's songs.
post continues....
Concerts by jam-bands like the Grateful Dead or most blues musicians, on the other hand, are more performance oriented. You go to see the performance of the entire show more than simply to hear that song in a live setting. That's why Deadheads could stomach going to umpty-ump shows by the same band.
This evening headlined by the Butthole Surfers at Convention Hall turned out--surprisingly--to be more of a performance show. Although certainly many concertgoers were motivated to go by some individual songs (notably the several popular singles by The Toadies or the Butthole's current hit "Pepper"), the real story was the sheer intensity of the Rev. Horton Heat's rockabilly playing and the psychedelic/Prozac fascination of the Butthole Surfers.
The biggest problem of the night was the shockingly bad sound in Convention Hall, both in volume and quality. The reverberated ambient sound seemed louder than the actual amplified music (due partially to the emptiness of the Hall, no doubt). The result was a muddy shambles.
And the volume was way too loud as well. While it would be hyperbole to suggest that season concert veterans were openly weeping at the ear pain, I think it would be fair to say that the beverage window at Convention Hall did a brisk business in earplugs at a dollar a pop.
Apart from the sound, another drawback to Convention Hall is that it smells like my grandparent's basement--a mixture of ancient dust and mothballs.
As to the music, The Butthole Surfers are an odd band. They record interesting albums, the occasional compelling song, but their shows are sloppy, unpleasant, and utterly fascinating. It's like rubbernecking at a road accident. Not that the Butthole's are untalented musicians, they just seem to be in a whole other world. Frontman Gibby Haynes seemed to pay more attention to his electronic sound equipment than the audience. Guitarist Paul Leary occasionally looked around Convention Hall as if he forgot where he was.
Gibby, who sometimes looks like a prozacked-out cousin of Charles Manson, really loved his electronic sampling gizmo. At one point he said he could play with it forever, and he probably could. He belched into the microphone, then electronically speeded up the sound a repeated chirp. He made maniacal laughing and fed that into his toy. It seemed fun for him, but it didn't do much for the rest of us back on Planet Earth.
But the band's playing was still (even despite the bad sound of the room) interesting to listen to. The band also enhanced their show with visuals; three film projectors put images on a screen behind them, ranging from crash test footage and closeups of bugs, to school health films and medical diagrams. They even had a brief clip of cult TV series The Prisoner and some wildly distorted scenes from the 1985 movie The Breakfast Club. It was a trippy experience.
The Butthole Surfers brought a bunch of fellow Texans with them on tour, and the package was a mixed lot.
The Toadies put on a radically different show than the Buttholes. More raucous than hypnotic, these guys from Fort Worth played a more straightforward set. Mixing radio faves like "Possum Kingdom," "I Come From the Water" (featuring a guest lap steel guitar player), and "Away" with album cuts like "Backslider," "I Burn," "Mister Love," and "Quitter," The Toadies ratcheted up the hardness level of their music for the live setting. Everything was a little bit harder and louder than the album counterparts. The set had its moments, but overall it was a touch repetitious--even though vocalist Todd Lewis tried to liven things up, like when he wondered aloud, "Who's over at the Stone Pony tonight?" or when he prefaced a drum break in the middle of a song by announcing "This is the drum solo part of the evening!"
By far the best moment of the entire night came during the set of psychobilly (e.g., "psycho" + "rockabilly") maven Rev. Horton Heat. Halfway through the Reverend's set, upright bass player Jimbo Wallace leaned his bass over on its side in the middle of a song--while still playing--and frontman Jim "Reverend" Heath stepped up onto the side of the bass and stood atop it, delivering a wickedly good solo on his hollow-body Gretsch guitar high above his bandmate.
The Reverend Horton Heat plays music that's a fifth of rockabilly grooves, a fifth of punk sensibility, a fifth of lounge kitsch, and a fifth of gin (I know that's only four-fifths, but I'm pretty sure there's some more gin in there somewhere). Their music showcases some incredible rock 'n' roll playing--fast, dirty, and extremely fun. Some of the best included "Slow" and the title cut from their current record It's Martini Time, and the wild, twangy rave-up "Marijuana" plus "400 Bucks" (from the album The Full Custom Gospel Sounds of the Reverend Horton Heat).
The Reverend is also quite a showman in addition to being a good player. He strode out on stage wearing a black formal jacket, white shirt, and black tie--with his close-cropped hair, he looked every bit like a 50's rock 'n' roller. And prior to playing "It's Martini Time," he drawled, "I can tell by looking at you there's a lot of country and western fans out there." I'm sure that after the Reverend's set, he had a few more fans.
Kicking off the festivities was an Austin band called Starfish, a heavy trio which was not very well-received by the crowd. Although they didn't make much of an impression at all, it's hard to judge an unfamiliar band like this one in such a harsh acoustic environment.
The night at Convention Hall was a grab bag from the Lone Star state, and although it was somewhat sparsely attended (the room was only about a fifth full), there was enough of interest--although unfortunately enough not of interest--for anyone.
external fan review
More so than any show I've been to in recent memory, this concert was not focused so much on the songs as it was on the performances. Most of the time when you go to a show, you're primarily motivated by an interest in one or many of the artist's songs.
post continues....
Concerts by jam-bands like the Grateful Dead or most blues musicians, on the other hand, are more performance oriented. You go to see the performance of the entire show more than simply to hear that song in a live setting. That's why Deadheads could stomach going to umpty-ump shows by the same band.
This evening headlined by the Butthole Surfers at Convention Hall turned out--surprisingly--to be more of a performance show. Although certainly many concertgoers were motivated to go by some individual songs (notably the several popular singles by The Toadies or the Butthole's current hit "Pepper"), the real story was the sheer intensity of the Rev. Horton Heat's rockabilly playing and the psychedelic/Prozac fascination of the Butthole Surfers.
The biggest problem of the night was the shockingly bad sound in Convention Hall, both in volume and quality. The reverberated ambient sound seemed louder than the actual amplified music (due partially to the emptiness of the Hall, no doubt). The result was a muddy shambles.
And the volume was way too loud as well. While it would be hyperbole to suggest that season concert veterans were openly weeping at the ear pain, I think it would be fair to say that the beverage window at Convention Hall did a brisk business in earplugs at a dollar a pop.
Apart from the sound, another drawback to Convention Hall is that it smells like my grandparent's basement--a mixture of ancient dust and mothballs.
As to the music, The Butthole Surfers are an odd band. They record interesting albums, the occasional compelling song, but their shows are sloppy, unpleasant, and utterly fascinating. It's like rubbernecking at a road accident. Not that the Butthole's are untalented musicians, they just seem to be in a whole other world. Frontman Gibby Haynes seemed to pay more attention to his electronic sound equipment than the audience. Guitarist Paul Leary occasionally looked around Convention Hall as if he forgot where he was.
Gibby, who sometimes looks like a prozacked-out cousin of Charles Manson, really loved his electronic sampling gizmo. At one point he said he could play with it forever, and he probably could. He belched into the microphone, then electronically speeded up the sound a repeated chirp. He made maniacal laughing and fed that into his toy. It seemed fun for him, but it didn't do much for the rest of us back on Planet Earth.
But the band's playing was still (even despite the bad sound of the room) interesting to listen to. The band also enhanced their show with visuals; three film projectors put images on a screen behind them, ranging from crash test footage and closeups of bugs, to school health films and medical diagrams. They even had a brief clip of cult TV series The Prisoner and some wildly distorted scenes from the 1985 movie The Breakfast Club. It was a trippy experience.
The Butthole Surfers brought a bunch of fellow Texans with them on tour, and the package was a mixed lot.
The Toadies put on a radically different show than the Buttholes. More raucous than hypnotic, these guys from Fort Worth played a more straightforward set. Mixing radio faves like "Possum Kingdom," "I Come From the Water" (featuring a guest lap steel guitar player), and "Away" with album cuts like "Backslider," "I Burn," "Mister Love," and "Quitter," The Toadies ratcheted up the hardness level of their music for the live setting. Everything was a little bit harder and louder than the album counterparts. The set had its moments, but overall it was a touch repetitious--even though vocalist Todd Lewis tried to liven things up, like when he wondered aloud, "Who's over at the Stone Pony tonight?" or when he prefaced a drum break in the middle of a song by announcing "This is the drum solo part of the evening!"
By far the best moment of the entire night came during the set of psychobilly (e.g., "psycho" + "rockabilly") maven Rev. Horton Heat. Halfway through the Reverend's set, upright bass player Jimbo Wallace leaned his bass over on its side in the middle of a song--while still playing--and frontman Jim "Reverend" Heath stepped up onto the side of the bass and stood atop it, delivering a wickedly good solo on his hollow-body Gretsch guitar high above his bandmate.
The Reverend Horton Heat plays music that's a fifth of rockabilly grooves, a fifth of punk sensibility, a fifth of lounge kitsch, and a fifth of gin (I know that's only four-fifths, but I'm pretty sure there's some more gin in there somewhere). Their music showcases some incredible rock 'n' roll playing--fast, dirty, and extremely fun. Some of the best included "Slow" and the title cut from their current record It's Martini Time, and the wild, twangy rave-up "Marijuana" plus "400 Bucks" (from the album The Full Custom Gospel Sounds of the Reverend Horton Heat).
The Reverend is also quite a showman in addition to being a good player. He strode out on stage wearing a black formal jacket, white shirt, and black tie--with his close-cropped hair, he looked every bit like a 50's rock 'n' roller. And prior to playing "It's Martini Time," he drawled, "I can tell by looking at you there's a lot of country and western fans out there." I'm sure that after the Reverend's set, he had a few more fans.
Kicking off the festivities was an Austin band called Starfish, a heavy trio which was not very well-received by the crowd. Although they didn't make much of an impression at all, it's hard to judge an unfamiliar band like this one in such a harsh acoustic environment.
The night at Convention Hall was a grab bag from the Lone Star state, and although it was somewhat sparsely attended (the room was only about a fifth full), there was enough of interest--although unfortunately enough not of interest--for anyone.
external fan review
Labels: Asbury Park, Butthole Surfers, Convention Hall, NJ, Rev. Horton Heat, Starfish, Toadies
