Young fresh fellows

Ladies and Gentlemen, it's the Gentlemen

by John O'Neill

Collaborations happen for different reasons. Some, like the Elton John/Bernie Taupin affair, are based on bringing home the bacon even if it means another Disney cartoon. Others are forged out of necessity. What would Brian Wilson's music sound like without Gary Usher, Roger Christain, Tony Asher, et al? Probably less fluid and a lot more Mike Love, but that's a nightmare for another day. The best marriages in music are often the ones that are developed for no other reason than everybody is already chummy. And there's nothing wrong with having some simple fun with your pal. And so it is with the Gentlemen, four rocking dopes with a little extra time on their hands in search of a new kinda kick.

Made up of three-quarters of Boston's indie heavies the Gravel Pit (minus songwriter/singer Jed Parish), and one part New York power-pop lovelies the Figgs, the band began in the back of a van, on a whim. Figgs' singer/guitarist Mike Gent roadied and opened the shows for the Pit on their national tour last year. It was natural that something more would develop after driving endless hours on the back roads east of nowhere and west of nothing. As Gent relayed to the Boston Phoenix's Brett Milano, "We got back from tour and decided to book a show, even though we didn't have any songs written. So we had three days to come up with a set."

Luckily, the band also decided to immortalize their infrequent side gig by heading into Q Division to lay down those very same songs for posterity's sake. The result is Ladies and Gentlemen, an album that eschews the sound of the Figgs and of the Pit (represented by bassist Ed Valauskas, drummer Pete Caldes, and guitarist Lucky Jackson) for a grittier, less-polished stance on rock and roll. Recorded over four days, live in studio, and mixed down in one 22-hour session, the Gentlemen's call to arms owes as much to mighty goofballs like Ted Nugent and Thin Lizzy as it does to the legacy of the Stones and of the Kinks. The boys plow through tongue-in-cheek jokers ("Sour Mash" and the Valauskas-penned "Off with Its Head"), ugly-break-ups numbers (their "You and Your Boyfriend" is the finest ode to romantic cynicism since the Bags heaved the middle finger with "Love Sick Diane"), and general heartache.

Perhaps it's the duel guitars or the fast-and-hard rules of playing live in the studio, but the best part of the album is watching the transformation of three slick faux-'60s popsters and one brilliant power-pop songwriter (the Figgs Low-Fi at Society High was one of the '90s best major-label releases, period) into a down-and-dirty bar band. They're tight but trashy, mix the hooks up nicely with the power riffing, and are just over the top enough to make even the slap-together, sing-songy numbers enjoyable. Best of all, you'd never expect such respectable denizens of the indie-pop landscape to play with such balls-out abandon.

Unfortunately, forever always ends, and the Gentlemen split for hiatus and for studio work (you can catch them at the Lucky Dog this Friday night) with the Gravel Pit in Q Division this week where they're working on the follow-up to their second disc, Silver Gorilla. Meanwhile, the pride of Albany have an EP due out imminently and are slated to release their eighth full-length later this year on Hearbox Records. And while that's a blessing for pop fans, we're just as interested to see what happens to the Gentlemen after the next round of touring is over.

Holy Moly

Check any of your smug "unsung heroes of music" reference books and it's dollars to dimes that you'll find the Holy Modal Rounders jammed in there somewhere between Can and Scott Walker. And while it's great somebody is willing to keep the obscuro-band from fading even further into the recesses of an already uncaring mass, the big differences between the Rounders and many of their so-called under-appreciated contemporaries are a) they were pretty visionary, in the future-of-music sense, b) they were pretty visionary in a retro kinda way, and c) they didn't completely blow. Good-old boys who were dropping acid at the same time they were dropping the needle of the phonograph on the Anthology of American Folk Music, Peter Stampfel and Steve Webber delivered one of the '60s most enjoyable and twisted documents with 1967's Indian War Whoop. Also, their mid-decade work with the Fugs resulted in what many will point to as the first punk album, assuming that punk means poorly played.

While the duo have worked together with longtime collaborator David Reisch on a consistent/occasional basis (1999's Too Much Fun being their first record in 20 years), the band haven't lost any of their joyous spirit. Sing, shout, moan, plink a banjo, or scratch a fiddle across a mic stand -- who knows what kind of quality you'll get from group, but who really cares as long as you have a shit-kicking good time doing it?

So, do yourself a favor and catch the real, live American Institution(alized) group when they pass through Boston next Thursday night at Johnny D's. They split the bill with Wylie and the Wild West, a band who will make you think you just walked into a singing-cowboy movie circa 1940. It's all good stuff and it's good for you, too.

John O'Neill can be reached at johndelrey@yahoo.com.

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