By: Jim Froehlich
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| Beth Gibbons & Rustin Man - Photo courtesy of High Road Touring |
So I'm in my seat waiting for the show to begin when this post-modern chick plops down behind me with her date and starts recreating the movie line scene from "Annie Hall". Apparently, portions of the new Beth Gibbons/Rustin Man CD "Out Of Season" are informed by Michael LeGrand's score from "Les Parapluies De Cherbourg." Not "The Umbrellas Of Cherbourg", mind you, but "Les Parapluies De Cherbourg." Needless to say, between her old-school Pumas, Hoodie and mod Japanese boyfriend, I had blacked out my Hipster Bingo card in short order. Now, I'm actually familiar with the film, "parapluie" being my second favorite French word behind "pamplemousse". I was bewildered, though, by her repeated reference to an already obscure film using it's original title with an idiomatically uncomfortable pronunciation to boot. I mean, I don't go around in public loudly discussing my favorite foreign films ("L'Age D'Or", "La Dolce Vita", "Monsieur, Ou Est Mon Auto?") just to impress strangers who fell asleep during History of Film. But more on that later…
Special mention should be given to (unannounced) opener Alexi Murdoch. Normally, the appearance of a lone figure clutching an acoustic guitar on a bare stage would have me desperately ripping the lining of my suit for the cyanide capsule. For me, acoustic folk had always summoned images of earnest Bible camp counselors, unwashed professional protestors and bread that can only be sliced with explosives. Murdoch, however, charmed a sparse early crowd with a conversational style and simple tunes that evoked John Martyn & Richard Thompson in equal measure.
A genuinely pleasant human being, he is apparently well known in folk circles (which explains why he is unknown to me). Proving that there is always an exception to any rule, his songs were sadly beautiful in the way I imagine Scotland (his birthplace) to be. It's been said that the rope between reverent homage and simple karaoke is all too narrow, but Murdoch straddled that line like a Wallenda. Go see him if he comes back to town.
Beth Gibbons is best known as the voice of mid-90's Bristol samplers Portishead. Emerging from a scene that gave the world Massive Attack, Tricky & Roni Size, Gibbons and her two cohorts created orchestral trip-hop that borrowed liberally from jazz, soul and the spy noir of Graham Greene and Mickey Spillane. Their key motivation (according to the chucklehead behind me) was to "recontextualize" music into entirely new forms. Sampling technology enabled anyone to "appropriate" the work of actual musicians and assemble them in new ways that would "evoke" the essence of the source materials. Kind of like how Puffy "evoked" the essence of "Every Breath You Take."
Portishead imploded at the end of the decade, I guess when they abandoned their hip-hop principles and realized the source material was far superior to any of their noodling. Perhaps the most enduring legacy of the group now is DJ (excuse me, turntablist) Andy Smith's "Document" series, a now 2-CD set of the favorite tracks from his apparently vast collection of obscure soul 45s.
Gibbons, like many British performers who became obsessed with the black urban experience, chose to leave Portishead in search of the real thing. Enter Rustin Man - a/k/a Paul Webb. Webb started his career as bassist for new wave-cum-ambient pioneers Talk Talk and met Gibbons when she auditioned for Webb's early 90's project Orang. Together they produced "Out of Season", a CD that is strangely low-key yet overproduced - does anyone really need to hear an extended French horn solo?
Beth Gibbons & her 5-member band took to their instruments in T-shirts and blue jeans immediately after an inexplicable (but short) video presentation on a scrim at the back of the stage. A spartan stage with minimal lighting emphasized the music's recurring themes of isolation & loneliness and I was glad to see that Gibbons had abandoned some of her glaring affectations for a more natural approach. In the past she had been accused of lurching around the stage like a chain-smoker channeling Billie Holiday during childbirth but her performance at the Fitzgerald was more at ease and intuitive than I had encountered on the CD. Granted, the songs are still dragged from her kicking & screaming but at least she seemed like she was enjoying herself.
Gibbons' combination on CD of British folk & American soul could at times be jarring; Sandy Denny backed by Booker T & the Uptown Horns. Live, though, the music was more organic - sounding at least like they were playing together in the same room. While she benefited from the presence of some truly pro players (including Webb), the biggest complaint I could muster is that they remained too restrained. Seriously, these guys make Low look like Earth, Wind & Fire. During Mardi Gras. I never got the sense of teetering on the edge that I look for in live music; only a respectful proficiency peppered with a pleasant "cheers" by Gibbons at the conclusion of each song. I suppose some people call it "quiet dignity" but I call it "lazy."
Webb's contributions on the CD as a producer and arranger are substantial (including the incongruous instrumental "Rustin Man") but live he remained just another second guitarist house left, occasionally adding subtle loops and samples but mostly keeping to himself. Even on key track "Tom The Model" he displayed nothing more thought provoking than a serious jones for "Meddle"-era Pink Floyd. A suggestion would be to get the poor guy an assistant. At times he strained to reach the sample & guitar pedals laid out before him, a man playing Twister with himself.
But maybe I'm missing the point and the understatement is intended to amplify the space between the notes and ritualize the sense of being cut off, emotionally or physically, from the rest of the world. Maybe it's the same timeless quality that helps me forget Nick Drake died 30 years ago. Or maybe…it's all about IRONY. Portishead was Billie Holiday in a hip-hop context. Beth Gibbons solo is Judy Collins produced by the Neptunes. It's always irony with you young people, isn't it?
Which brings me back to the woman behind me. I swear, if she had referred to Beth Gibbons' voice as her "instrument" one more time, I would have done harm to myself and others. Anyway, any good deconstructionist would tell you the observer, not the author, creates the context. So if she believes "Les Parapluies De Cherbourg" informs Beth Gibbons, then I guess it does. People see what they want to see, like Jesus in a tortilla or Paul Wellstone in a bowl of hummus at The Wedge. As popular music ages & fragments, though, it's finite chord progressions will be continuously reconstituted as new product. Eventually, every song will contain a piece of some dopey French musical from 1965.
Like ABC taught us one rerun summer long ago: "If you haven't seen it, it's new to you."
Location Info:
Fitzgerald Theater
Artist Info: Beth Gibbons
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