Page 29 - the NOISE February 2014

attendee knows sound tackles just one of the five senses, and half the essence of a live performance. The visual half came through in full stride once the band started to groove. The stage’s empty backdrop flashed from green to red, to purple to yellow, laying a solid foundation for the real light show.
Mr. Scully addressed the movers as “the big dogs,” accurately describing them as “the ones that do the kind of laser projections” that dart around the room, with support from the rigged heavy-weights, mercilessly swiping the closest solid object in every di- rection, sparing not even your eyes once they pin point the disco ball and send the venue into hyperdrive. But that’s the beauty of mov- ers, and the pinnacle of a show’s visual per- sonality. Perhaps another few multi-colored disco balls and the place would turn into an overwhelming vortex, which would be per- fect the next time Dr. Dog rolls through.
The recent revamping of the Orpheum may go unnoticed to many — due to the gradualism of the changes — but the invest- ment indicates the theater plans to continue offering Northern Arizona the highest caliber of entertainment it can draw. The bar will continue to rise as long as the venue’s pro- duction capabilities do, which shouldn’t be a problem as long as they send those like Yela- wolf to venues willing to tolerate nonsense.
Mike Pinto
singer/guitarist, who I got to chatting with before the show. I relayed to him the above story and he responded by giving me a copy of his latest record, Truthful Lies.
Pinto’s Facebook credits his music as a “unique take on Roots, Vintage Rock, Reggae, Ska and Classic Surf,” which, within the first 5 seconds of the opening track, he musi-
cally assures is pretty spot on. “Tornado” kick starts the album with a pre-storm calm that escalates to whirling and whooping once the horns and vocals join the initial skin-led- riff. It is a fitting opener in that respect.
The vintage rock aspect of Pinto is easily showcased in the release’s ninth track, “White Lies.” From the get go, it stands out on an al- bum predominantly boasting reggae infused ska-surf. The simple two-chord progression accentuates a skin regiment that is perhaps the closest to a standard beat Truthful Lies of- fers. But despite this redeeming performance, the release lacks the flair and spunk to stick it in the heads and hearts of its audience.
After listening through the album’s 13 tracks multiple times, both fluidly and indi- vidually — sober and drunk, it was difficult to conclude anything but what I had hoped not to: it will likely be overshadowed by a pleth- ora of music more versatile and enthusiastic.
The talent is clearly there. Likewise, the inclusion of a horn section redeems some damage done by the monotony. But when all is said and done, it just downright fails to impress, which might have something to do with the length of the release. Thirteen tracks seem a tad excessive when it could’ve been condensed to no more than eight. Most mu- sicians will take a bundle of songs into the studio for the pick-and-choose process. Un- fortunately, Truthful Lies comes across as an album that simply threw them all on just be- cause they were written.
As critical as these words are, I’d still rec- ommend Pinto’s latest to anyone with a strong ear for any of the five genres listed on his Facebook. It doesn’t offer many surprises, and sticks to a strict curriculum, but it’s still good music if one is seeking something to groove to. Me? I want my face melted.
— Tom Blanton
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— Tom Blanton
Mike Pinto
Truthful Lies
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A few years ago, on a whiskey soaked af- ternoon in my dorm, a neighbor had been blasting some groovy music through his open door. The offbeat progressions and bouncing melodies had thoroughly enticed my drunken ears, so I followed them to the source. When I awoke the next morning I found my iPod still on, repeatedly playing a diverse mix of the music from my neighbor’s room — Mike Pinto’s music. But it became ap- parent the tunes weren’t something I found as beautifully engaging while sober, and the musician’s name soon became muddled in with the hundreds of others in my library.
Then, this past December, Black Uhuru came through Flagstaff with Pinto as their opener. The gig reintroduced me to the
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