Page 35 - the NOISE August 2014

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One notices a different onstage Dylan when he has a killer band behind him. If Levon Helm, Mickey Jones, Jim Keltner, or Chalo Quintana is smacking that snare and kicking that bass drum at his back, Dylan is transformed. His legs jiggle, his arms flail, his squeaky honk becomes a full-throated yelp, he slashes at his guitar strings, he pulls off rock star cheese that would appear ridiculous on anyone else his age. The music truly moves him.
This was the Dylan who appeared on nationwide television on March 22, 1984.
Although the band had rehearsed “Jokerman,” Bob still man- aged to throw a wrench into the gears, albeit accidentally.
The song’s five verses and choruses were trimmed to three for the broadcast, with another at the end for a harmonica solo. After the third chorus, Dylan unstraps his guitar and grabs his harp. He blows a couple of notes then realizes it’s in the wrong key. He strides off camera to tell his guitar tech, while Holiday and Quintana exchange “What’s going on?” looks.
The group keeps playing the verse chords while the tech searches frantically behind them. Dylan walks over to Holiday and tells him what’s up while Quintana strains to hear the words over his drums.
As the band hits the chorus, Bob still doesn’t have his harp. He stands with his back to the audience, looks at the tech and throws his hands up in a “WELL?” gesture. Just in time, the har- monica is found and Dylan turns to face the camera. Quintana misses a drum cue but keeps the beat steady. Everything is cool. Bob hasn’t given the signal yet so they head into an extra verse.
Dylan plays his harmonica solo while shuffling in place. He even LOOKS like his skinny 1965 counterpart. During the fi- nal chorus, Bob breathes steam and soot and furnace exhaust through his harp, leaning into the notes. He signals the band and the song is finally over. On the last chord he strikes a Jesus Christ pose with mic in one fist and harmonica in the other.
The studio audience bellows its approval. The tension in the room is gone and the group relaxes. Quintana stands up be- hind his kit. He and Marsico and Holiday look at each other in relief. They had pulled it off.
Letterman appears again with outstretched palm, which his obviously satisfied guest grips and holds steady. Dave asks if they had fun and Dylan replies yes. Letterman quips: “Is there any chance you guys could be here every Thursday night?” and for the first time all evening, Bob grins broadly. He laughs a little and nods. “YEAH!” * * *
The South American gigs never materialized. The Late Night appearance remains the only record of this lineup’s existence. Both Chalo Quintana and Tony Marsico would join Bob Dylan’s touring band briefly in the mid-1990s. JJ Holiday would go on to play and record with Hubert Sumlin, Furry Lewis, and other blues giants.
Later in 1984, Dylan embarked on a high profile European tour backed by a British group led by former Stone Mick Taylor. This was followed by stints with Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers and The Grateful Dead. He participated in the “We Are The World” charity single. His 1980s studio releases were of varying qual- ity; high points included 1989’s Oh Mercy (produced by Daniel Lanois) and the first of two Traveling Wilburys albums.
In 1985, Columbia issued Biograph, a five LP collection of greatest hits and unreleased treasures, the first “box set” of its kind. Around 1988, Dylan began the Never Ending Tour, play- ing in any small town that had a venue and spending more time on the road than ever before.
Emboldened and inspired by their experience with a legend, Tony Marsico and Chalo Quintana returned to The Plugz and decided to go for the gold. The group changed their name to Cruzados and nudged their sound toward mainstream rock. They signed to a major label, made slick videos, appeared in the movie Road House, and toured with Fleetwood Mac & INXS.
A “next big thing” hype was built around them with testi- monials from John Fogerty, David Byrne, Billy Joel, and Dylan himself. Despite all this, Cruzados failed to connect with the MTV audience. After two LPs on Arista, they broke up.
Tito Larriva formed Tito And Tarantula in 1992 and released five albums. He acted in Pee-Wee’s Playhouse and films such as True Stories, Born In East LA, Once Upon A Time In Mexico, From Dusk Till Dawn, and Machete. Tony Marsico played bass for Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Matthew Sweet. Chalo Quintana drummed for Bob Dylan, Izzy Stradlin and Social Distortion. In 2007, Larriva, Quintana, and original bassist Barry McBride played a single reunion show in Los Angeles as The Plugz.
| Tony BallZ does not smell of teen spirit.
music@thenoise.us
GUIDED BY VOICES / BOBBY BARE JR. CRESCENT BALLROOM, PHOENIX, 6/15/14
BY TONY BALLZ
T
Bro and I do not own vehicles so we hopped aboard the shuttle on a bright sunny Sunday afternoon, excited at the se- rious drinkin’ and rockin’ soon to commence. As usual, I zonked out by Munds Park and woke up around Black Canyon City. I managed not to drool on my Bill Hicks t-shirt.
We arrived at the airport and stepped into the oppressive Phoenix heat. I felt a vague urge to hibernate during the day and stay up all night on schwag speed. We took the sky train to the Light Rail, which was well-maintained and convenient but only because it was 7PM and our destination was literally one block from the Van Buren station.
Several of my Valley friends have waxed poetic regarding the wonders of Phoenix’s timid foray into public transporta- tion: “I just hopped right on and it dropped me a mile from my house! Isn’t that awesome?”
No, it’s not. The Light Rail might qualify for awesome if this was 1964. For a metropolis in 2014 with 4.3 million residents, it’s pa- thetic. Other US cities have buses and trains that take you any-
where you want, anytime. Here in good ol’ Arizonee the whole damn system shuts down from midnight til 6AM. Why? Because you kids should be home asleep, that’s why.
The Crescent Ballroom may be the best venue in the Val- ley right now. Despite the name, it’s an intimate space with great sound that can accomodate a large crowd. The Crescent boasts two bars with moderately priced drinks, two sets of re- strooms, cheap Mexican food in front and a happening calen- dar of events. Thumbs up, Gene!
As the sun set, we sat on the patio and consumed beers and shots and tacos while enjoying the Downtown Phoenix Ag- ing Hipster Parade. I discovered one of Bro’s shameful secrets: he’s a beaner who hates cilantro. May God have mercy on your eternal soul, Bro.
We saw a woman with a GBV tattoo and got excited. Our vague hopes of finding two available ladies (of any age) who were rabid fans of drunk power pop performed by men in their 50s were dashed when we remembered where we were.
Opener Bobby Bare Jr. carries some heavy DNA. He was nominated for a Grammy at age 8 and grew up next door to Tammy Wynette and George Jones. He received songwriting tips from family friend Shel Silverstein. His daddy is a country music icon with over 50 years of chart hits, including the im- mortal “Drop Kick Me Jesus (Through The Goal Posts Of Life).”
Bobby Jr’s music is hopped up soulful cowpunk with sardon- ic lyrics and an occasional horn or two. His live band, helmed by a black dreadlocked drummer with kooky sunglasses, was stomping, a great warmup for the main event.
For the unenlightened, Guided By Voices is a rock band from Dayton, Ohio that has intermittently existed since 1983. The man behind the curtain is 56-year-old Robert Ellsworth Pollard Jr: former 4th grade English teacher and mild mannered family man by day, beer chuggin’, mike twirlin’, high kickin’, rock and roll golden god by night.
Guided By Voices were unwitting pioneers of the mid-1990s Lo-Fi genre, proof that great music can be made on even the crappiest equipment. Their breakthrough LPs Bee Thousand (1994) and Alien Lanes (1995) were recorded in garages on 4-track cassette machines. Their influences draw directly from
1965-66 era Who, Kinks, Stones, Small Faces, Pretty Things, etc. The band’s discography is ridiculous. Robert Pollard claims
to have written nearly 3000 songs, of which 1800 or so are offi-
here isn’t much happening in this whitebread sh*tkicker
cially registered with BMI. Since the reactivation of GBV’s clas- sic lineup in January 2012, they have put out six albums and four of Pollard solo (each with 18-20 tracks), a lone EP, and 23 singles, most with non-LP B-sides. They run their own record label, obviously.
Unlike Lo-Fi peers Pavement and Sebadoh, GBV’s reputa- tion rests on their energetic sloppy alcohol-fueled marathon live shows and the Phoenix gig sure delivered, although the band seemed relatively sober. Toward the beginning of the set, Pollard uncapped an ice cold handle of tequila, took a few gulps, and surrendered the rest to the audience. I had trouble deciding which songs to miss for a bathroom run. I would be mid-pee and hear them start a real good one and curse my weak bladder.
And holy crap, they played “Motor Away” and “Game Of Pricks” and “Echos Myron” and “Teenage FBI” and “Tractor Rape Chain” and “A Good Flying Bird” and “Gold Star For Robot Boy” and “Exit Flagger” and “A Salty Salute” and “Wished I Was A Gi- ant” and “Awful Bliss” and “14 Cheerleader Coldfront” and “The Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory” and “Cut-Out Witch” and “I Am A Scientist” ... about 40 tunes in all. Goddamn!
From a high like that there was nowhere to go but down, and down we went. Bro got into an argument with a bartend- er and they all glared as we inhaled our post-show nachos. We had to catch the earliest shuttle home since Bro worked in the morning, so back to the airport we did go. Of course it was past midnight, no train or bus, so a cab was our only option.
Sky Harbor to Crescent Ballroom via Light Rail = $4 (2 tickets) Crescent Ballroom to Sky Harbor via taxi = $24 + tip F*ck you, Phoenix.
Sky Harbor Airport is probably the only public spot in the Valley where two drunken lunatics like us could wander around at 2AM without getting arrested. I highly recommend it. We didn’t go sliding down the luggage ramps or anything, we just had the complete run of Terminal 4 without one sign of Airport Security. It kind of felt like The Langoliers.
We did manage to smoke a bowl outside in the departures area. I dimly recall yelling “GBV!” through the empty tunnel while eating leftover nachos. Somewhere in here we discov- ered the Starbucks open and I got a tasty iced chai. Then we went back outside and smoked another bowl.
It was fun until the booze wore off, then it sucked. We still had hours to kill, so Bro crashed on the floor while I slumped in a chair like a sack of spuds. When 7AM rolled around we found they had overbooked the shuttle, so eleven of us crammed into a vehicle designed for eight.
Sweating and hung over, I was wide awake the whole ride up. The Korean tourist to my right kept falling asleep on my shoulder while Bro lost his lunch in a plastic bag directly be- hind me. After finally disembarking, I rode my bike homeward into some of the worst gale-force winds I’d ever experienced in Flagstaff.
I got home, drank about a half gallon of water and fell in bed. I said a quick prayer to Jah for Bro and the workday ahead of him. Luckily I was unemployed and had no such responsibilities.
Maybe I should get a car.
| Tony BallZ knows his railroad spikes.
music@thenoise.us
state that makes me want to leave my comfortable womb up here in Cowtown. Guided By Voices playing in Phoenix on a Sunday night did the trick.
thenoise.us • the NOISE arts & news • AUGUST 2014 • 35