Jive talk

Wormtown's 12-legged groove machine say "funk you"

by John O'Neill

It was obvious that Matt LeBoeuf was back in business when a foil-wrapped disc, nestled between two slices of wheat bread and stuck in a zip-lock sandwich bag, arrived on the desk at HQ. After all, we'd already witnessed this type of peculiar (and welcomed) marketing with his former outfits First and Last (gummy worms) and the Cream Team (a five-foot-long inflatable shark), so we figured this must be the Jive CD we'd been promised the week before. And, though there wasn't much to eat (we did briefly consider toasting the bread), there sure was plenty to chew on with the disc, Night of the Living Funk. Loaded with a slinky vibe, heavy percussive bounce, and tongue-inserted-firmly-in-cheek tone, the disc sounded like a crazy laboratory experiment that escaped and landed somewhere between a graft of Haircut 100 doing the P-Funk All-Stars, the Talking Heads trying out James Brown, and Bryan Ferry trying to groove on jam bands. Unique and brimming with moxie, Jive are a band continually on the move. By the time the disc (which was recorded live at the Lucky Dog this past June) comes up in conversation, however, the group are more interested in talking about still-uncharted waters.

"[The disc] is a good representation, but we've gotten a lot better since then," says LeBoeuf, who handles bass and shares vocals with guitarist Tim Winchester. "We just want to keep moving and keep improving as musicians. We don't want to stand still and say `let's stay here.'"

Since forming a little shy of two years ago, Jive have slowly and steadily transformed themselves from a part-time basement goof-around into one of the area's best-kept secrets. Working out of their adopted base camp at the Above Club every-other Wednesday night (they play there this Saturday and on Thanksgiving Eve) the six-piece ensemble have become one of Worcester's better progressive outfits, mixing a keen ear for pop with the elements of funk and improvisation. But unlike the majority of bands who lean on improv, Jive keep it all quick, tight, and way too toothy to get wrapped up in the jam-band banner. Though they have the chops down, the idea of abusing that privilege isn't too appealing. Night of the Living Funk is a fine example of how open space can work as part of the song; and in the less-is-more vein, sometimes a few well-placed notes can say more than extended wanking.

"You always want to have the technical ability, but you don't want to use it unless you have to," LeBoeuf explains of the Jive jam plan. "It's like karate. You don't walk down the street and kick people in the face. I can't remember the last time I even listened to a song with a 30-second run. There's a time and a place for everything. The song is the most important thing."

Originally a four-piece (with guitarist Scott Szymczak and drummer Chris Laravee), Jive didn't begin to hit their stride till the addition of percussionist Brad Simmons and keyboard player Mike Warren. Gigging out more, the band quickly grew into their current sound, which, Laravee says, "isn't as cheesy. It was for fun at first. Since Mike and Brad [joined], the band took off. Everybody brings something to the band. I hear something different in everyone. Mike is phenomenal. Technically, he's the most talented. Tim's sense of melody is excellent. Matt is the idea master. We wouldn't finish anything if he didn't push!"

Most of the songs in Jive's set list were built from screwing-off sessions at the rehearsal space. An initial riff takes shape, and each person hunkers down to build their respective part until the song is either finished or tossed out altogether. LeBoeuf reckons, "it's 45 minutes to an hour work [per song]. One out of every seven songs will take an entire evening. Out of that maybe three out of 10 we work on, [the rest] just go away."

All the songs are imminently danceable, and the lyrics run from having some deeper meaning ("Everytime"), or may be about absolutely nothing ("Hamburger Bun" "Grande Culo"), to being about something deeper that still means absolutely nothing (their tribute to wrestler Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka). The band are locked into providing a good time one way or another. All you have to do is allow yourself to cut loose, and the vibe is easy to catch. They just ask that you open your mind and shake your ass.

"Sometimes you can trade a room of five people who are really into what you do for a packed room of people who don't care," says Laravee. "The last [few] gigs it was like, `We can put on a great rock show.' There's good musicianship and it's starting to get wild [up on stage]. We don't just watch our feet."

"It was dumb luck how we ended up like this," adds LeBoeuf. "The most important thing is that we have so much fun. We have a great time! It's like a team. Everyone's got a role, and everyone complements each other well. I love it."