After having been called one of the most exciting experimental guitarists of her generation, it could be assumed that out musician Kaki King's SRO show at Lincoln Hall on Feb. 11 would have the solemnity of the coronation of a pope. The idea of her "in recital" is something that fans have come to anticipate with bated breath, but what went down near the intersection of Lincoln and Fullerton avenues was far from what any sane person could expect.
The first tip off was that this was, ironically, a seated show, something that I have not seen in this space before. The second was the opener Celine Neon, a local trio fronted by vocalists Emily Nejad and Maggie Kubley with beats and music provided by Will Kubley. If this staid, decidedly middle-class and slightly sleepy audience expected some low-key weepy solo acoustic set by a lone figure singing of heartbreak and reeking of jasmine incense, the people got a violent shock. What was served up were two voluptuous ( and proud of it, I might add ), blunt women who tore through a firestorm of hard-edged disco/soul delivered with an emphasis on sparkly sass and feminine fury. ( Think of Labelle ripping through "Messin' With My Mind" and you get the picture. ) To say that this audience was in a state of buzzed euphoria after that opening set is putting it mildly, and it was clear that those chairs had been set up as a detriment to the wild-ass shaking that certainly would have ensued if they had not been there.
When King got onstage to sit in front of her mounted custom-made white Ovation Adamas 1581-KK signature six-string guitar wearing white on white, it was anyone's guess what would come next. King—in collaboration with digital artists Glowing Pictures—then performed her new CD, The Neck Is a Bridge to the Body ( Velour Records ), while computer-generated/filmed imagery swirled around her with an unobtrusive elegance. At once mesmerizing and enchanting, the music itself was lyrical, elegant, lustrous, complex, dark and ethereal while fusing jazz, symphonic melodicism and pop into a seamless whole. That King's performance was wordless ( she did not speak for the entirety of the performance ) hardly made it disengaging, but had the opposite effect. Whereas an artist like Laurie Anderson has used projected imagery, spoken words and music to convey a pointed thought, King let her fingers do the singing.
With images that suggested the vastness of the universe, creation, evolution and death, this immersive multimedia production actually delivered what Stanley Kubrick seemed to aim for in the last 20 minutes of 2001; A Space Odyssey, but without the chilly distance. Better still was the focus on the guitar itself as a template that disintegrated words and intellectual definitions, translating thoughts, emotions and fleeting dreams into sounds that engaged the subconscious. ( The thought did not escape me that this show would go over very well in the Middle East, where the thought of an accomplished female artiste who just happens to be white and is happily married to a woman with a child would be particularly liberating. )
When King faced her cheering audience at the close of the show, she did not attempt to "explain" this new work, or even her intentions ( although she did drop some unintentional clues by speaking of becoming a first-time parent ). I am glad she didn't, since "explanation" was not the point and would detract from what I or anyone else who was cheering along with me took from the show.
On the other hand, it's pretty hard to figure out what local band Melk Belly was intending with its full-length debut Pennsylvania ( Automatic Records )—and that's just fine with me.
Hailing from Pilsen—where the wild things roam—this seemingly pleasant and articulate bunch makes music that sound like four psychotic personalities colliding with the impact of a supernova in deep space. The idea of this band seems not to be to create a cohesive whole but to present itself as some sort of wayward Frankenstein-like mess; it's sloppily stitched together with loose threads hanging every which way and given life—thanks to a jolt from a rusty car battery and jumper cables—to twitch, shimmy and shake like some damn thing from the "outer limits." Amidst all the "noise rock," though, is a certain wit and humor and the music is just as friendly, witty and goofy as this quartet appears in person.
The clearest example of this structured mayhem is the epic "Theme from Blar III," which never clarifies what "Blar" is or references parts I or II. The track kicks off with a melodious den of wobbly guitar figures courtesy of Red Deli Cious and Brat Vintner ( a.k.a Mr. and Mrs. Bart Winters ); then, Liam Winter's nimble/low-end bass kicks in with a positively brutal drum assault from James Wetzel. All of it is served up in such a sloppy fashion that it can be hard to hear the touch of 1960s era Ennio Morricone chording through the song or to fully embrace Deli Cious' zombiefied vocals that make her sound like a mechanized baby doll trapped in an audio loop. With all that witty madness going on, it is pretty clear that that "sloppiness" is actually intentional. Melk Belly really, really seems to be into making bama-lama with goo dripping from the seams.
"Blar III" is a weird and funny mess. However, the key to the song—as well as the punch line to it and this band—is only apparent after you've heard it twice: This is music made to be taken at face value as an experience. The only way to appreciate it ( and them ) is to think of being engulfed by a friendly tidal wave or being in the middle of one of the massive attacks at the heart of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, but without the body-shredding effects. Melk Belly really just wants to be your friend ... no, really.
"Doomspringa" has the same feel, but it rolls out with a breakneck propulsion that makes it loopy and dangerous with a touch of goofiness. The recording reminded me of mid-period Giorgio Moroder and '70s French pop but with a hearty helping of South Side Chicago grime poured on top. The new digital single, "A Case of the Krampus," is like sonic quicksand. This newer track sounds just as otherworldly as all of Pennsylvania with the Winters Brothers creating a knarly, nimble fingered, pirouette of meaty guitar chords, Wetzel ( who really does seem like a very sweet-natured man from Kansas ) going tribal on the skins, and Deli Cious wailing like a fairy princess caught in the tumble dry.
I listed Pennsylvania as the number-one album that I listened to last year and I won't back down from that—the damn thing still confounds me. Like King's new record, I won't dare ask "what it all means" or if it is "ART" because I don't want to know. I'm having too much fun taking them on the level they present.
Heads up: Celine Neon's release party for its CD debut will be at Subterranean, 2011 W. North Ave., on Wed., March 4; tickets are $8. Brit crooner George Ezra's headlining show at The Metro, 3733 N. Clark St., on Monday, March 30, is already sold out. Lastly, if anyone wants to ask Melk Belly what the "Krampus" is, the band's next show will be at The Empty Bottle, 1035 N. Western Ave., on Sunday, April 5.
