Firstly, an unexpected twist. On arriving at the larger Half Moon Theatre, we're bemused to find the shutters down and the lights off. Momentary panic ensues until we see an arrow directing us down the street to the corner and the bijou, but ace Black Box auditorium. Phew!
But then twists, turns and unexpected switchbacks are KELLY JOE PHELPS' speciality, as we found out at a smaller intimate soiree with the unassuming Canadian last year at the same city's Lobby Bar.
That show demonstrated what an incredibly gifted lap steel guitarist Phelps is, but tonight he's off at a new tangent, being joined by crack rhythm section Scott Amendola (drums, percussion, electronic gadgets) and acoustic bassist Keith Lowe, both retained from the new "Slingshot Professionals" album. With Amendola's kit lined up side-on to the audience, Lowe occupying the middle ground and Phelps seated to the right, the trio are afforded that all-important eye-contact factor throughout and are soon lost in the ebbing'n'flowing brush strokes they rigorously apply to the jazz/ blues/folk/experimentation canvas.
Like last year's triumph, we're presented with an hour-long set, with a trio of encores icing the cake. Only 11 songs are actually performed in all, but they're lengthy, gripping workouts with all the musicians driving forward, edging back and giving their all as team players.
They build up a crescendo and gradually slip into the new album's haunting "Jericho" for starters. Even though the more compact trio format eschews the fiddle, accordion and keyboards adorning the album, Amendola and Lowe's dexterity more than compensates. During this first song alone, Amendola's switching between hand-beaten congas, brushes and rattlesnake-y shakers and his perma-grinning presence is massively engaging during the performance. As for the animated Lowe, hell - the last time I found myself applauding a stand-up bass solo was when I saw Bulgarian troupe Ivo Papasov's Wedding Orchestra in 1990.
But for all the lads' dynamic contributions, its' still very much Kelly's show. Last time we saw him, he was pretty reticent: with eyes closed and concentrating, muttering the odd aside to the crowd. Tonight, however, he's minus his trademark woolly hat, cracks jokes, refers to Scott and Keith as "my mates" and (I think) has even had a shave! Though the lights are misleading. Whatever - the way he stomps his feet, grimaces off mic and lets the music bleed from him is captivating.
|
The invention never lets up. There are direct, almost Cajun things like "Window Grin"; blues-y, John Lee Hooker -style episodes like "Slingshot Professionals" and tender confessionals like the gentle, resigned "Waiting For Marty." Throughout, Phelps remains in control, no matter how far out they go. Even though tonight he plays a straighter finger pickin' style rather than the lap steel, his utter mastery of the blues and its' many faces is formidable.
They do go off-road a couple of times, like when they take on the lengthy, moodswingin' "Gold Tooth", but even here - when the tune threatens to sneak out the back door like a thief in the night - the band's intuition intervenes and reins it in just in time. Indeed, "Gold Tooth" even finds Amendola collapsing with mirth as he plays what appears to be a kid's Nintendo game in time with Phelps' gritty picking. Brilliant.
There's no kidding around when they play the subtle "Cardboard Box Of Batteries", though,and by the time they return - initially minus Scott, who's been caught short(!) - to build up the stormy, almost rock'n'roll of the final untitled encore, we're virtually floating in delirium.
Kelly Joe Phelps's sweetly scuffed'n'bluesy Americana may be a little too idiosyncratic and cerebral for the new breed who think the new blues explosion ends at Jack White's socks. However, the depth, precision and ramshackle truisms contained in Phelps' wonderful songs ensures that in such a rapturously-received small theatre atmosphere it really doesn't get better than this.
|
