Incest
might not be all that desirable from a genetic standpoint, but it can
be quite stimulating, musically, and Boston bands are loaning members
and trading ideas all over the place. Case in point: this past November
21. To most it's an ordinary frigid Tuesday, for denizens of the musical
demimonde, this is a special night indeed. Hometown heroes the Pixies
are playing two concerts at Citi, and as might be expected the place
is all packed. The first show is for all ages, and despite the antarctic
climate, everybody and his mother is there - literally. Many of the
Pixies' relatives and old friends are in the audience to celebrate their
homecoming and help kick off the Thanksgiving season. No one seems to
be in a bad mood - which is unusual for a spot so close to Fenway Park.
But the real action's across the river in Cambridge, between Harvard
and Central squares at a bar called the Plough and Stars - even
with out dry-ice machines and revolving chandeliers. The Plough is one
of the few remaining holdovers of those hazy, lazy, crazy days of late-
'60's/early 70's Cantabrigian leftism, and granola types mix easily
with students, recent immigrants and those who work in the neighborhood.
There's no common denominator, except the deep pleasure derived from
a properly tepid pint of draft Guinness. Various old posters from the
defunct Boston Tea Party underline the notion that the early 1960's
never really ended, that the "6" is simply about to get turned upside
down. The Tea Party posters indicate a booking policy as familial as
the audience at Citi (Big Mama Thornton with Ten Years After, Howlin'
Wolf with Led Zeppelin), but the Plough encourages eclecticism in its
clientele and its entertainment, which varies from blues to jazz to
folk to rock.
There is a space roughly the size of a queen size double bed at the end
of the narrow room, and here a raggedy band is setting up it's equipment
before a dozen or so inattentive patrons.
They are called the Country Cousins, and they actually are four
cousins (Joe Harvard, Joe Pernice, Bob Pernice, and Mike O'Brien)
who play country music. All are from greater Boston, and all are Italian.
They are led by Joe Harvard ( his real name is Incagnoli) who daylights
as the head honcho of Fort Apache Studios in North Cambridge, a
recording shop that has been preserving the cream of Boston's musical
crop for the past several years.
Back at Citi, the Pixies come on at precisely 8:15 and begin playing "Cactus"
to wild applause. They offer a long set that soon gets the crowd slam
dancing which at first seems odd for a band that relies heavily upon acoustic
guitar. Viewed from above, the hundreds of undulating, apoplectic bodies
conjure up a Dantesque vision of Hell, but clearly few people are thinking
about 14th century Italian literature, and no one seems to be suffering
too much. he music is deafening even in the men's room, which like everything
at Citi is enormous, filled with mirrors, and distressingly clean and
shiny. Despite their grueling tour schedule this year, the band seems
relaxed and happy to play more so than on their last visit to Boston this
summer. They debut a new song, "Words Get Blown Away," and during the
encore, opening band the Zulus join in for a spirited rendition of "Into
the White."
As soon as the song ends, Kim Deal drops her bass and rushes outside.
Relenting to cajoling from her ex-husband John Murphy and several
friends, she hops in a car with them and races across the BU Bridge to
Cambridge and the Plough. They promise to have her back at Citi by midnight
for the second show.
Inside Joe Harvard has been holding forth with all sorts of different
musicians. His band seems to change members, or at least instruments,
after each song, and throughout the evening a substantial number of the
audience of 50 or so contribute to the performance. Various musicians
beside the cousins include Australian band Paul Kelly and the Messengers;
Mazz (from Providence) the bassist in Mente; Greg Mahoney
(Stoughton) the bassist for the Troublemakers and the drummer in Mente;
Chris Murphy (New York), a fiddler from Border Patrol; and Lauren
Danielle (LA) with whom Joe has just returned from several gigs in
London.
There's more: Asa Brebner (ex-Modern Lovers, Chartbusters) Mark
Sandman (Treat Her Right), Greg Kendall (Brothers Kendall),
Dave Bone (Xanna Don't) and of course the anonymous audience members
lured into the spotlight. Sometimes this happens inadvertently. In stark
contrast to the facilities at Citi, the men's room at the Plough is a
tiny closet to the left of the band that can be approached only by walking
through the cluster of performing musicians.
Kim waits out a few of the Country Cousins' numbers, then Joe calls her
up to the stage for her specialty: a cherubic version of Hot Chocolate's
filthy 1975 hit "You Sexy Thing." She has been singing the song with Joe
ever since she heard him perform it at the Plough last spring and told
him she could sing it better. The Pixies met Joe when they were recording
their first LP, Come on Pilgrim, at the Old Fort Apache in 1987). The
song comes off well, despite the prevailing feeling of chaos.
As soon as Kim has finished, she glances at her watch, shrieks, and races
out the door again. After a mad dash across town, her coach arrives at
Citi at the stroke of midnight. Instantly the Pixies go on stage for a
second delirous set, during which guitarist Joey Santiago smashes his
Les paul, hurting his hand slightly (though not so much that he can't
set off a bottle of champagne after the show).
Back at the plough, Joe Harvard is auctioning off the prize of the night:
an ice-cream scoop from his "sainted mother"(" the sacred vessel from
whose loins I sprang") to the audience member who can guess who wrote
"Gentle on My Mind." The prize goes to an attractive young lady who guesses
Glen Campbell, but then a fierce debate ensues as another woman in a tight
mini-skirt and Doctor Zhivago fur hat shrilly complains that Campbell
only performed the song. Joe presides over the dispute with the wisdom
of Solomon: he pretends he can't hear anything and continues his set which
is becoming most un-country (though the cousins occasionally play snippets
of "Dueling Banjos" to emphasize the imbred theme ). Covers include the
Commodores' "Brick House," War's "Low Rider" and AC/DC's "You Shook Me
All Night Long". Nearby a middle-aged Chinese man in a traditional red
smock-and trouser outfit stares at the proceedings with a maniacal grin.
No one even notices him.
{NOTE:
Ted Widmer, who wrote this article, was a member of the band Mente at
the time -- a group that arose out of our rock and roll candlepin bowling
league, which bowled -- and drank -- in the alleys under the Middle East
Restaurant [those alleys were gutted to make room for the big downstairs
room at the M. East]. From Mente, a band dedicated to musical amateurism
at it's finest [I got kicked out for playing drums "too good",
even though I had never been a drummer], Ted went on to the Clamdiggers
and eventually the Upper Crust, before splitting for Washington, DC, to
work as main Foreign Policy speechwriter for President Bill Clinton! The
"cajoling" mentioned by Kim's ex John [my chief rival and friendly
nemesis in the rock 'n roll bowling league] was because Kim had often
dropped by the Plough to sit in with me, and had even done a full set
of specially chosen, rehearsal-free one-chord tunes on a few occassions.
The gist of John's haranguing was "oh, I see, now that your band
is all big and famous you're too cool to do the Monday gigs at the Plough
anymore". Kim, ever the sporting type, gleefully took the bait. Thanks,
John. PS: Recently, a documentary crew interviewing Kim in LA asked
about the Plough shows, and that incident in particular. Her response
was somewhere between "I don't remember" and "I may have
dropped by once or something as a favor or whatever". Where's John
Murphy when I need him?)
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