Good Morning, Captain

After nearly four weeks since the show in Louisville, I was excited about the weekend of March 18th-20th. This is the weekend I would see Slint three times, in three days, in two cities. The first of these were the final two of the three shows they would do at Irving Plaza in New York City.

I’ve visited New York City many times and have been to an occasional show, but I had never been to Irving Plaza. Somehow, I had expected it to be… bigger. Not that this is something to lament, for it made for a more intimate experience. Unlike the show at Brown Theatre, it was general admission and one could get as close to the stage as they liked. While this was a definite plus, there was one disadvantage to the venue; the sound was far inferior to that experienced at the Brown. I mean this with regard to volume and clarity. Being a theatre, the Brown was well suited for the projection of sound and the band was able to push the envelope of volume, both in terms of subtlety and torrential wash of distortion without risk of the sound beeing muddled. At Irving Plaza, while it was certainly loud enough to appreciate the nuances of Slint’s dynamic music, the sheer force that could be felt during the crescendo of “Washer” or the closing minutes of “Good Morning, Captain” at the Brown were absent.

On Friday night, a band called PG Six opened the show. They had a sound reminiscent of Neil Young and Crazy Horse in their hey-day, an appropriate choice considering the only song Slint has ever been known to cover was “Cortez the Killer.” While capable, they weren’t a terribly engaging band, either in stage presence or musically. My friend and I sat in the upstairs lounge and talked about the basketball tournament through their set. Slint finally took that stage at approximately 20 after 10.

My friend and I made our way downstairs and found some standing room on the right side. We were underneath the balcony, which unfortuantely provided even worse acoustics. While the songs were still the same as from the Louisville show, they altered the order of the set. They closed with “Rhoda”, instead of “Good Morning, Captain”. Even more surprisingly, they opened with “Good Morning, Captain”. While “Rhoda” was an excellent alternative closer, “Good Morning, Captain” did not produce the same tension in the room as “For Dinner…” had as an opener. With it’s quiet, somber tone, “For Dinner…” moved through a crowd whose anticipation was being gratified. The collective feeling of “Oh my god, I’m seeing Slint” was palpable as the band worked through one of its lesser known instrumentals. By opening with such a recognizable crowd-pleaser as “Good Morning, Captain”, that feeling was lost. It was instant climax without the foreplay.

I was hesitant to bring my camera the first night. Having never been to Irving Plaza, I wasn’t sure how tight their security would be. It became apparent that it was rather lax, so the second night, I dutifully brought along the trusty digital, tucked beneath my jacket. The opening band on Saturday was Tomorrow’s Friend, a co-ed group of 4 chicks and 3 dudes who played a style of music reminiscent of the Pretenders at times, but with more force and mass. With three guitarists, their music was rich and powerful. Of the three opening bands I’ve seen so far, they have been the most enjoyable. During their set, I milled about the venue, trying to determine where the best spot for photographing the show would be. I considered the balcony, but ditched that idea. I wanted to be close. I wasn’t sure what the venues in Boston or Chicago would offer me in the next week and this might be my only chance. At the conclusion of Tomorrow’s Friend’s set, I found myself a nice spot to the left of the stage by the PA stacks.

Slint’s stage presence is purposefully off-center and non-traditional for logisitcal purposes. The precision required through the various shifts in time signature, tempo, tone, and volume necessitates the band members to be able to see each other. Britt Walford’s drum kit sits just to the right of center, accompanied by David Pajo on the far right of the stage, facing left. These two are arguably the band’s core, with Walford its nerve center.

Every reaction from all other instruments are zeroed-in to Walford’s inner metronome, each sound eminating from his trap kit a signal for the rest of the band to perform their part. With Pajo turned toward stage center, he not only can be in time, but provides additional visual cues for the remainder of the quintet, arranged in semi-circular line to the left.

Immediately to the other side of the drums, stands bassist Todd Cook. From his vantage point he is able to lock-in rythmically with Walford and Pajo.

He’s also joined on this side of the stage by the McMahon brothers, Michael and Brian. Michael plays second-guitar (it’s not really fair to call it “rhythm guitar”) for most of the show, freeing Brian to concentrate on vocal duties as they are required.

Brian takes his place on the far left of the stage, with his microphone turned so that he is facing Pajo on the other side. From here, he can see the entire band on some of the more challenging vocal tasks required of the stuff from Tweez.

Other times, Michael will leave the stage and Brian will play the second guitar parts.

This, is the basic stage set-up, with the exception of one song. On “Don, A Man”, Walford comes out from his drums and straps on a guitar, joining Pajo on a set of stools at the front of the stage. Facing each other, they play the two guitar parts while Walford sings the words.

In my review of the Lousiville show, I expressed some disdain for the amount of irreverent chatter and yelling. One reader commented that this was an old, Lousiville tradition. I’ve been to my fair share of shows, in Lousiville and elsewhere. This is by no means some “Louisville tradition”, but a general tradition of the punk and post-punk era of rock and roll, with which I have no qualms. I still maintain that the degree of it encountered in Louisville was bordering on disrespectul and rude. Thankfully, the fans of New York City had a proper balance of respect and whimsical banter during the long, quiet moments between songs as intruments were tuned and swapped-out. Some were predictable (”Play Cortez the Killer!” and “TWEE-ZER FET-ISH!”) and some were amiably irreverent (”Play something good!”). Standing in the dark, waiting for a song to begin, a guy yelled “Thanks for coming to New York. That was real nice of you.” with as much sincerity as is possible in such a situation. The genuine feeling of the statement was met with applause, which after its cessation was countered by Brian McMahon in the dark through his microphone: “Thank you for being here.”

Reviewers have commented on the stoic nature in which Slint approaches their music. If there’s one thing that has bothered a lot of people is the lack of interaction of the band with the crowd in conjunction with the long breaks between each song. I think this has been by-design and I think Michael Alan Goldberg of the Baltimore City Paper said it best when he commented “It became evident as the night progressed that Slint’s mission was not to create peaks and valleys in the set as a whole, or generate a cumulative effect from all 13 songs it played—as one is generally used to at a live show—but rather to present each composition as a standalone, self-contained work of shifting dynamics, time signatures, and textures, and that would have to suffice.” I’m happy to report that the band has become a little looser toward the end of their tour. During “Pat”, with it bouncy, quirky lounge-esque feel, there is a moment when Brian McMahon and Todd Cook have to tune down a string, play another section of the song, then tune back-up the string. The song stops during this moment.

First, Todd strikes his note then tunes the string down, then Brian does the same on his guitar. On Saturday, they both did so with a little flourish… first tuning down too far then bringing it back up a bit. Then they played the next segment of the song as usual. When it came time to tune the string back up, they did it in reverse order, first Brian, then Todd. Brian looked at Todd funny then struck his note again, as if giving Todd the note. Todd attempted the tune-up again then shrugged. Brian walked over and tapped the string on Todd’s bass then turned the key on the neck until it tuned-in. Meanwhile, this was cracking-up Walford and Pajo, not to mention the crowd. It’s the only time I think I’ve seen Pajo smile while on-stage now through the three shows I’ve witnessed. It was fun, and I hope they continue to be a bit more playful. I saw them again last night at the Roxy in Boston. More on that to come as I find time to write about it. I also will be at their final show of the tour in Chicago next Saturday at Park West.