Frith in NYC-mini review

[rll@mtunk.att.com (r.lemar)]

Yes indeedy, the inimitable F.Frith showed up at Tin Pan Alley's avant
music series this last Sunday night.  [Longer ago than that by now.
-- |>oug ] It was a special evening in several ways. First of all,
they have been scheduling the really big names on Sunday night, to
keep the y-pp--s away, and the poseurs (that is, late Sunday night).
It also helps keep crowds down in general in a place that is best
described as '30 people, filled, no more space, SRO, go home and rent
the videotape'. Secondly, the selection of music in the series has
been wonderfulLY varied, all selected along the theme of
harmonic/chromatic disruption.  Also, the series has no cover charge,
which is only appropriate at a (doctrinaire) Marxist bar. And the
stage backdrop is a big scrawled postmodern rendition of Koch feeding
CHEESE to a rat, presumably Trump & Helmsley & Co., with the violent
word 'UNINDICTED' in colorful red; perfect for confrontational music.
At stage left, there is humor-of-human-movement at all times because
thats where the woman's john is, and the waiting line is (seriously)
about 1 foot from the performers. Hell of a way for the owner, Maggie,
to treat her sisters...

Anyway, as they say in novel-writing correspondence school, the
characterization/stage has been set. Now for the ACTION!!!

Jim Staley was on trombone. He moves it a lot, whether or not there
are sounds emanating. He also has a museum-like collection of mutes,
which he inserts/de-inserts with the manic motions of an anal
obsessive. Little to be said of his contribution, I think, just
because, well I don't know, um, uh, I just didn't receive any
spiritual enlightenment from it.

The drummer was highly competent, and I've even forgotten his name in
a simply ironic comment on the remembrance of band members vs their
roles. (You know, one NEVER remembers the bass players name, of course
unless he plays upright or 6 string or some other novel variant of the
instrument; similarly the drummer is often forgotten; I predict in the
future all the Casio/Yamaha toy-keyboard players will also be
forgotten) (I can prove that last statement. Who is in Pianosaurus?
Huh, huh???)

Finally, Frith. Fatalistically, flamethrower fusillades filled
fiendishly fully; fat funky flourishes flushed feverishly; fractional
fragrance fountains; fugitive fretted fricasse; fearless faultless
feats; and I give up, this is mother- FFFFFFucking hard to keep up. He
did the newest 'in' thing, bouncing fingers off the strings and
fret-ed areas of his guitar (Les Paul, from the looks) rather than
strumming. It was actually quite nice, and sounded rather like the
angels in heaven playing harps. Definitely farther outre than anything
I've heard of his on record. As with Staley, very little spiritual
awakening, except when with no warning he let out an extended scream
with breath control like Rahsaan. At that moment creation itself
seemed to make sense; I could imagine ... OH SHIT HERE COMES MY BOSS