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| Marc Ribot and The Hub at North Six:3/8/03 |
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Author: Keith Scott
Posted on: Thursday, March 13, 2003
I’m not really sure whether or not Marc Ribot plays jazz. What I am sure of is that, when you boil it down, I don’t really care. Ribot is possessed of a savage, singular guitar voice, one he has applied to a variety of styles and projects, ranging from the cutting-edge work of saxophonist John Zorn to the sultry Cuban arrangements of his own Los Cubanos Prostizos to sideman duty with household names Tom Waits and Elvis Costello. His hipster credentials are impeccable, the result being that major music-press organs seem to have permanently attached the descriptor “downtown guitar hero” to his name. So it was a nice twist to tweak that stock phrase last Saturday night and catch the Marc Ribot trio at Northsix in Brooklyn’s Williamsburg. Northsix is a welcome respite from the claustrophobia and money hemorrhages so common at Manhattan venues. The drinks are affordable ($3 Pabst Blue Ribbon, anybody?), the bathrooms aren’t frightening, and the performance area is roomy.
The Hub warmed the room up with just the sort of set you’d expect from a band opening for Ribot. This saxophone - bass - drum trio plays an angular, accomplished, and self-consciously challenging brand of music. Their complex arrangements interweave scattershot lounge grooves with bouts of musical violence.
Drummer Sean Noonan (decked out in a complete Boston Celtics uniform) played a kit which included an electric pad in lieu of toms or a kettle drum, and The Hub does give the impression of a band that doesn’t have time to futz around with toms -- it’s all snare drum, all the time. While the instrumentation mirrors that of the underappreciated, defunct trio Morphine, the sound here is more akin to the class room wonder drug, Ritalin. This impression is bolstered by the mannerisms of group’s musical lynchpin, hyperactive bassist Tim Dahl, and the style of Noonan, who plays the drums like a man having a seizure. Sometimes lost in this attack is the delicious phrasing of saxophonist Dan Magay, whose tone and appearence suggest that he’s spent time at the John Zorn Academy of Atonality and Personal Dress. Whether or not The Hub is your cup of tea, it’s encouraging to see such unique, genre-defying music finding a stage.
Ribot arrived on stage in his perpetual outfit of jeans, white t-shirt, and leather jacket. His trio (which he selflessly refers to as the Young Philadelphians) is rounded out by the drummer Calvin Weston and bassist Jamaaladeen Tacuma, whose sharp suit and furry hat may well have been purchased at Dolemite’s yard sale. Tacuma is a colorful, prolific bassist who’s playing style is best described as “free funk.” Both musicians have done time with free jazz giant Ornette Coleman, and Weston’s association with Ribot goes back more than a decade, to their shared work in The Lounge Lizards. He’s also garnered notice through his collaboration with Billy Martin of Medeski, Martin, and Wood.
As for Ribot’s playing, it is unmistakable and honest. A sit-down player, he wrestles with his guitar like Joseph with the lion, practically strangling the music out of it. Throughout the set, Ribot alternated between the luscious, lyric tone of his hollow-body guitar and the gritty, quick-and-dirty sound of the solid body.
Set highlights included the second tune, a country-western demolition featuring some outstanding grooves from bassist Tacuma, who settled into a sort of post-modern funk. Next was a Hendrixy blues breakdown with a twangy edge. In contrast to the members of The Hub, who were in constant eye contact with one another, Ribot’s trio communicates in a nearly telepathic manner, simultaneously listening to each other and branching out into wild improvisations, assured that they won’t leave their bandmates behind.
Ribot wasn’t the only one to experiment with far-ranging tones, as Tacuma flirted with a warped bass tone that brought a science-fiction edge to the flamenco-flavored coda of the third tune. He also contributed a Herculean bass solo later in the set, full of addictive riffs and suggesting a perpetual funk-motion machine.
Someone walking into the set cold might have a hard time describing the style of the music, as the trio borrowed and exploited a number of idioms, from bluesy riffs to a rocked-out epiphany in the fourth song that even jam-band fans would have appreciated. But while this is no music for jazz purists, the void of ego in the performance, the sincerity of the playing, and the emphasis on improvisation and difficult musical choices place the sound closer to the jazz camp than any other.
That said, the set’s final, and perhaps most rousing song was a cover of the Led Zeppelin blues “Since I Been Loving You.” Ribot never gives it less than his all, but his playing was especially adamant here. Sweat dripping down his nose, he wrenched notes from all over the fret board in athletic bouts. His playing doesn’t just have teeth, it has ugly yellow fangs with carrion stuck between them. I can’t think of a guitar player who I more admire.
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