Do Not Throw Shit

Brian Jonestown Massacre
Thursday, 8/18/05
Vanguard, Tinseltown, USA

On his website Anton Newcombe says the following of his new songs:

“Sara and I believe this to be the most important work of our lives, and to a greater extent, our time. This is not some mamby-pamby-pop-culture-vomit, regurgitating or emulating something else. These are whispers from the underworld and tears of joy from heaven. These are anthems for all time.”

Regret to inform I heard neither whispers nor tears Thursday eve. You were louder than fuck. I had to cram napkins in my ears. That might not have been a bad thing if the songs were in any way captivating.

Whether he likes it or not, Newcombe is the breakaway star of DIG!, the Sundance Grand Jury-winning documentary presumably responsible for the sold-out dates on his current tour. People turn out in droves eagerly anticipating Newcombe’s drunken egomaniacal antics, which he delivers in spades. It is unfortunate these same people (myself included) also expect to have their minds shattered by music bold enough to complement the sheer onstage ass-hattery for which they’ve subjected themselves. When they end up getting a set of songs the Charlatans UK might have delivered in 1990 with added 20-minute four-chord spaceout jams tacked half-assedly to the endings, their minds remain stolidy unshattered. Add lengthy talking, amp fiddling and incessant bickering between songs, the ejection of a “shit-throwing” fan by bouncers, a sour, spite-tinged Dandy Warhols cover and the show’s history. Next stop, San Fran.

In the troubled genius genre there is perhaps only one road show that may be more tedious this year: Brian Wilson. Wilson!! I caught him recently, crazed look in his eye, wiping his nose, sitting on the throne like King Toad at the breakfast table with a voice and demeanor equivalent to Nick Nolte, shouting triumphantly that Paul McCartney’s favorite song is God Only Knows. The Army of Wilson maintains “Brian’s a big Teddy Bear, gotta love him” while the backing band and tape pulls the weight of the concert, hoping beyond hope to mask the Nolte-esque warblings of their crazed leader as much as possible.

Good Lordy! Suddenly I’m intensely riled up for the Wilson show @ the Hollywood Bowl.

Thursday’s Newcombe Transcript:

“Thank you all so fucking much for being so fucking patient. No, seriously. Seriously. We’re just going to have a fucking good time and just. Chill. Chill. We’re just going to chill the fuck out and rock and then leave in an orderly fashion.”

“I’m going to fucking whip it out right now you ready for it?”

“No, seriously.”

“We have toured all over the fucking place. Sixty shows, we have fucking been everywhere. Not like Oasis when they come, well except for this current tour where they’re trying to save their careers, but… usually when they tour the states they play eight shows. We’ve played sixty. We’ve been to all the fucking cities.”

“You were going way too fucking slow in that last song, because that’s not how you play the drums in that song.”

“You can get right the fuck off stage.”

“Do not fucking throw shit. No. No throwing shit. Do not. Hey what the fuck you fucking fucker yeah get out here. Bouncers! Yeah you want to fucking throw shit?”

“Do not fucking throw shit. No. No throwing shit. Do not. Do not fucking throw shit. No. No throwing shit. Do not.”

“Do not fucking throw shit. No. No throwing shit. Do not.”

“No, seriously though. Seriously.”

“No seriously though thank you so fucking much for coming out and being chill. Seriously.”

“Seriously.”

“Do not fucking fucking throw sh—-VROOOOOOOOOM*

*my car, leaving
 
 
Photos by Audree