By: Ilya Ratner
You’d think adding a prolific guitar stud to an all-pro band would be smart. You’d think the music would flourish and you’d be amazed. But you’d be wrong. The addition of Scofield into Medeski, Martin, and Wood appeared to be brilliant, but when they came together on stage, it was a travesty. It was as if a Mexican doctor had attached a superfluous limb, and it dangled there awkwardly, getting in the way.
MMW has been on my A-list since high school. Their shows had always been an exploration in compositional limits. Their ability to stretch a groove was stunning and their musicianship was second to none.
MSMW may have been one of the worst and most frustrating spectacles I’ve seen in a while. The “S,” of course, is Scofield, the mutant appendage. Don’t get me wrong, Scofield is a bad ass. The Scofield Band was one of the most inventive fusion bands in the last 15 years. The kind of band you crank in your car. The kind of band you brag about “discovering” to your buddies. But the experiment with MMW appears disastrous, a musical
Perhaps Scofield’s guitar face was the first warning. Slack-jawed, his jowls dangling, he looked like he desperately needed a bran muffin. Or maybe that’s the face he makes when the little voice in his head is asking, “What the hell is this cacophonous gibberish? Play something good will ya!”
Unfortunately, the little voice that must have been yelling outrageously in all the musicians’ heads was ineffectual. The music bounced around erratically, just like the trippin’ pseudo-hippies scattered throughout the audience. Songs dangled endlessly, unresolved. Not in a good way like “Prelude to the afternoon of a Fawn,” or Pink Floyd’s “Welcome to the Machine,” but in an ohh-shit-my-IBS-is-acting-up-again sort of way.
Normally, MMW busts out with amazing solos. On this night, there may have been two, and they were easily overlooked. They seemed out-of-sync, out-of-whack and unimpressive. There was no dynamism and sound stumbled over itself. It was like an irritating, self-indulgent, circus band you saw while hanging out with Hunter Thompson and eating way too much acid. I almost walked out. This was a bad trip.
When I did finally leave, I began wondering what had gone so wrong. Was it the overstuffed floor-space? Was it the fact that most of the audience didn’t seem like they were paying attention? Was it the hippies? No, it was Scofield’s addition into a perfect body. I hope MMW realize their mistake, go back to that surgeon and remove the strange growth. Hell, I’ll do it myself. I’m quite handy with a blowtorch and a chainsaw. And yes, that is a threat.
Location Info:
First Avenue
Artist Info: Medeski, Scofield, Martin and Wood
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