By: Ilya Ratner
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Ben Ellman of Galactic - Photo by Ilya Ratner |
I’m not sure if Galactic rode into The Cabooze on a bus or a locomotive. Sure, busses look sleek and streamlined on the highway, but a train is much roomier and probably faster. And when a train smashes through a building, its whistle howling like a frenzied demon in the night, it’s slightly more impressive than a bus parking calmly beside it.
The train may have been in my head, but the cataclysmic explosion inside the Cabooze was as sure as a tornado touching down in Kansas. Galactic’s music was a relentless frenzy, a marvel of musical engineering. I remember when I saw them first it wasn’t quite the same. They had the House Man, a suave vocalist who was always well dressed in vibrant New Orleans inspired suits. His bluesy voice had been Galactic’s charm, but he’s been gone for years, and with him the more subdued and nuanced Galactic disappeared.
But I can’t say that what they’ve evolved into over the past five or six years is bad, just different. Their music is an interstellar assault stuffed fatter with funk than the biggest Thanksgiving turkey. Though drummer Stanton Moore is most recognized in the band, I think the gritty, nasty ruckus that spews from Ben Ellman’s saxophone and harmonica is what makes this quintet so powerful. He blows so hard you feel like you’re inside the tubes of his tenor, and when he plugs in and amplifies his mouth harp you might as well say your prayers, because your head will probably pop off.
Though it’s impossible not to account for one of the most creative drummers out there: Stanton Moore. Alacrity doesn’t even come close to describing Moore’s enthusiasm. He pounds, he floats, he jumps off his seat and pounds even harder, and the beats that emerge are stunning.
Rich Vogel is also a blast to listen to. He sneaks into the madness unnoticeably. I was lost more than once trying to figure out where the weird sounds were coming from, but all I had to do was look at Vogel—the expression on his face explained everything.
Galactic shot out one fierce song after another. Bassist Robert Mercurio and his New York guitarist pal Jeff Raines backed the band well. Mercurio has the prototypical bassman philosophy—hold the rhythm and keep it cool, and Raines follows closely behind. But really, I wouldn’t mind seeing more from the two, especially Raines, who according to the Galactic website “has had a passion for music all his life.”
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Opener Papa Mali - Photo by Ilya Ratner |
Raines was showed up by Papa Mali, who opened for the band and later joined them on stage. One of two guests that night, Mali’s slide guitar and smoky voice turned the music even louder. Impossible, you say!? Perhaps, but I began wondering what happens when a fusion reactor explodes. It wouldn’t have been pretty, but God damn, it sounded great.
The other guest surprised the hell out of me. Apparently Galactic’s next album features their favorite hip-hop artists and one of them is Mr. Lif. He came out twice. The first time I didn’t think it clicked. The sound needed to be refined—not so loud, not so busy. Hip-hop depends on minimalism. The words must stand out. The rhythm the emcee brings to a song is essential. The second time was better, and I’m sure that it will only improve.
I don’t know how long these lunatics played. My buddy saw Moore chugging a Red Bull. By the time they were done I felt like a bowl of soggy cereal. In fact, I’ll stick with the locomotive metaphor, ‘cause even though it may have been supersonic, something sure as hell ran over me.
Location Info:
Cabooze
Artist Info: Galactic, Papa Mali
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