“And This Is Our Music”: Brian Jonestown Massacre Live

photo by Ali Moran

If one assumes that true art begins in unhappiness, than the Brian Jonestown Massacre is the tragic sovereign of revisionist rock.

Although the award-winning 2004 documentary DiG!, which candidly details the escalating beef between BJM and the Portland-based Dandy Warhols, effectively put BJM on the map as notoriously troubled shoegazers, the band has come to represent something greater than mere  junkies-cum- struggling rock stars.

Championed by Alan McGee, toured with Oasis, BJM’s tumultuous 20 plus year revolving door of 40 or so band mates—including Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s Peter Hayes and Sune Rose Wagner, the founding member of The Raveonettes—has led to a romanticized self-destruction, solidifying the band’s place as a cult favorite within the “keep music evil” category.

Only when I hear BJM do I believe that this is the Last Great Rock Band alive. Clearly, I am not alone.

It’s the eve of June 17th and the crowd at Portland’s Crystal Ballroom is holding a collective breath as if undertaking the dangerous voyage to the underworld.

“Expect the unexpected,” is the hushed mantra BJM concertgoers must remember as the band has a famed (if not probable) proclivity for hijacking the unpredictable in the name of Chaos, Anarchy and, well, fuck… who knows. (Throwing lit cigarettes into crowds and kicking drunk audience members in the face? Its happened before.)

Like a bat out of hell, Anton Newcombe, the prodigal mastermind and infamous instigator of such shenanigans, is the first to appear.

As the remaining octet—including comic-relief Joel Gion and beloved Matt Hollywood—follow suite and tune their instruments, the loudest, most unswerving sound comes from offstage: “ANTON, ANTON!” adoring fans scream.

A bashful smirk peeks behind his stringy black hair, but after the lights go down and the music comes up, the smile vanishes and Newcombe gets serious— perhaps a cold, self-refrential homage to BJM’s tenth studio album, “And This Is Our music.”

This chemically imbalanced stage behavior alludes to the cross-pollinated loopy fuzz and raw jamboree that distinguishes BJM’s sound as both melodic retro-pop and ethereal space-rock. Any BJM refusenik would have to admit that at tonight’s show, the band’s synchronicity and adrenaline are as fresh and infectious as ever.

Surprisingly, however, the band overlooks its latest studio album “Who Killed Sgt. Pepper?” and instead opts to play its greatest hits—particularly those songs compiled on  “Tepid Peppermint Wonderland: A Retrospective.”

There are words on love (“Anenome”); words on political strife (“Ballad of Jim Jones”); words on self-proclaimed greatness (“Going to Hell”) and words on the unrelenting insecurities that can drive one mad (“Cabin Fever”). The crowd—notably young and riotous—goes bonkers when the Dandy’s Zia McCabe takes stage for a tongue-and-cheek rendition of “Not If You Were The Last Dandy Warhol On Earth.” Who would’ve thought that songs written a decade ago could still generate such fanfare amongst this youthful cohort—a generation generally more inspired by drum machines and digital samplers and than 8-string guitar riffs and effect pedals?

But If I had any significant revelations while holding my breath, filling my lungs with isolated strains of neo-pyschedlia, it is this: Anton Newcombe doesn’t give two shits who’s listening or what people are saying or why people are listening or why they are not saying anything. Because of this, nothing will ever sound as good as BJM’s apathetic prowess. In short, BJM (cue the music) reminds us to “keep it cool” and “break the rules.” Not bad for a bunch of gifted deadbeats.

This entry was posted on Monday, June 28th, 2010 at 6:18 pm. It is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.