Squeeze gets the audience to their feet during "Pulling Mussels (from the Shell)" at the Count Basie Theatre in Red Bank. (Photo by Jeff Seesselberg)

What does a somewhat-recently reunited band with a pretty good live album on their hands do after several live tours and a prime spot on the bill at the Coachella Music Festival? It’s not a question you’d typically find yourself asking, so you have to give it up to U.K. pop/rock legends Squeeze for not answering the question traditionally at last night’s show at the Count Basie Theatre in Red Bank, NJ.

If you’ve been to a Squeeze concert since Chris Difford and Glenn Tilbrook reunited in 2007, you know the scene: a packed audience of pre-Generation X record collectors (with the odd, eager young fan) and slightly graying couples who pogo to “Pulling Mussels (from the Shell)” just as fervently as they did in 1980. Starry-eyed guys clutch their vinyl copies of East Side Story and girls drink beer while nestling into their partners’ shoulders lovingly. It’s a peculiar but ultimately happy scene befitting one of the more chronically underrated bands of the MTV generation.

Glenn Tilbrook of Squeeze: criminally underrated guitarist, man of intriguing facial hair. (Photo by Jeff Seesselberg)

And while that kind of a scene has, in the past, lent itself to a pleasant show running through the band’s greatest semi-hits (“Tempted,” “Black Coffee in Bed,” “Cool for Cats”), the continuously energetic band, set to start recording their first new album in nearly 15 years next month, seems just as interested in pulling surprises from their 22-song bag of tricks. The typical greatest hits were relegated to the tail end of the show, and were preceded by a diverse, often surprising offering of early album cuts and B-sides. Tunes like “In Quintessence” and “Heaven” from East Side Story, “Tough Love” from 1987′s Babylon and On and late-’80s B-side “Who’s That” – a tune Tilbrook introduced as one he’d like to hear Aretha Franklin sing – were as well-rehearsed as “Up the Junction,” “Hourglass” and “Another Nail in My Heart.”

Just as importantly, it’s a delight to see a band that’s earned their keep with old song after old song still enjoying themselves. The grin never left Tilbrook’s newly-bearded face as he engaged in guitar solos, postured with Difford and bassist John Bentley and took to the keyboards for encore number “Up the Junction.” Bespectacled lyricist Difford lent his distinctive lead vocals to “Cool for Cats” and “Heaven,” from East Side Story. The band’s newer members, keyboardist Stephen Large and drummer Simon Hanson, were in top form, with Hanson slamming snares and dramatically tossing stick after stick mid-set.

Opening act The English Beat – consisting of original member Dave Wakeling and a cast of unnamed sidemen – provided a solid if short seven song set, including hits “Mirror in the Bathroom” and “Save It for Later” plus covers of The Staple Singers’ “I’ll Take You There” and “Tenderness,” the catchy single from Wakeling’s post-Beat band General Public. Local band River City Extension also provided a spirited set to kick the night off, with Tilbrook sitting in on guitar during the set’s closer.

Squeeze are playing Carnegie Hall in Munhall, PA tonight, April 26; a sold out show in Rams Head in Baltimore on Friday, April 27 and the Roseland Ballroom in New York City on Saturday, April 28.

Set Lists: Squeeze with The English Beat, Count Basie Theatre, Red Bank, NJ – 4/25/2012

The English Beat

I’ll Take You There (Staple Singers cover)
I Confess
The Tears of a Clown (The Miracles cover)
Tenderness (General Public cover)
Ranking Full Stop
Mirror in the Bathroom
Save It for Later

Squeeze

Take Me I’m Yours
If I Didn’t Love You
Tough Love
In Quintessence
Revue
Model
Who’s That
Is That Love
Points of View
Melody Motel
Heaven
Bang Bang
Cool for Cats
Up the Junction
Another Nail in My Heart
Goodbye Girl
Annie Get Your Gun
Hourglass
Pulling Mussels (from the Shell)
———————-
Slap and Tickle
Tempted
Black Coffee in Bed

The Squeeze brain trust, Chris Difford and Glenn Tilbrook, with keyboardist Stephen Large. (Photo by Jeff Seesselberg)

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Most people even a little familiar with indie rock know the story of Jeff Mangum. As the man behind Neutral Milk Hotel, one of the ‘90s more brilliant and original bands, Mangum is beloved by many but known by few. That’s because they disbanded after releasing only two full-length albums, one of which was the critically adored In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, and then he essentially retreated from the public eye. Notorious for being a recluse with a severe distaste for touring, apart from a few one-off solo appearances Mangum only recently reintroduced Neutral Milk Hotel to the world. His announcement of a rather extensive tour, playing dates everywhere from the massive stages of Coachella to small, dimly lit venues across the nation and a few across the pond took a lot of people (well, at least me) by surprise and had a lot of us jumping on tickets. On Tuesday night, he played his second show at Oakland’s Fox Theater (his third consecutive night in the Bay Area) and filled the towering concert hall to its apex with his powerful, stripped down songs and phenomenally preserved voice.

Though Mangum’s voice has always been incredibly distinctive—nasally, rich, and fluid—the music on the Neutral Milk Hotel albums is so robust with instrumentation and incredibly crafted arrangements that his voice is but one of many elements that make up the sound. So hearing these songs stripped down to their root, sans the theremin and horns and organ and accordion and drums that define the studio tracks, made for a very different, very poignant musical experience. His songs and lyrics have such depth to them, thematically and poetically, that his lone presence on the stage cast in a warm golden light was more than enough to make everyone in the room flush with satisfaction. The entirety of the audience was rapt and brimming with adulation for this guy most of us have wanted to see for so long, who’ve listened to his music endlessly, making a personal connection to his craft in the absence of the live experience. On a few tracks, some tasteful horns were brought in, the musicians standing alongside Mangum on stage in a simple sequence, buffing and projecting the tunes beyond the vocals and spare guitar. For music that’s so impactful, these threadbare renditions were still so rich and satisfying.

And it serves his music well, to hear it like this. Mangum did chat with us a little bit, his charming stage presence somewhat of a surprise to me since I expected so little (not a peep) in terms of banter. He was clearly on this night, and feeling the crowd, though he could have played with his back to us with a whisper or croak of a voice, and his set still would have translated to a powerful experience. You know there is a real artistic genius at play when the music just is, resonating all by itself, stripped of all theatrics and all expectations. Truly a bare and moving performance by one of our generation’s best.

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The Polyphonic Spree have only released three full-length studio albums in the 12 years since their inception, but I don’t think that relatively limited output has in any way impeded their exposure as a band. For the Polyphonic Spree, it’s all about the live show. A (to date) 16-piece group from Dallas, they aren’t often on the road. It’s hard for me to even wrap my head around the sheer logistics of touring with that many people. Where do they sleep? How do they pay for it? How many cars are in the caravan? These questions and others went through my mind on Tuesday night when they played San Francisco’s Great American Music Hall, but before too long I stopped wondering and just sat back and let the symphonic psychedelic noise hit me in the face.

These guys and gals, all 16 of them, are loud. And theatrical. Well before they even struck a note, they began to flood the stage with smoke, thickly wafting above the big red curtain they stretched from end-to-end to block the audience’s eyes from their set-up. Soon enough (well, actually not soon enough, the set break between opener, experimental one-man New Fumes, seemed to take forever), band leader Tim DeLaughter cut a heart shape into the curtain, the opening through which we saw a mimicking red heart on his long white robe. A little cutesy? Yes. A bit too whimsical? Yes. The first song was all in your face enthusiasm, with the whole band yelling at us and each other the repetitive words to “Section 14: 2000 Places” from their 2004 album Together We’re Heavy. (You gotta be good, you gotta be strong / You gotta be 2000 places at once.) But soon enough, even in my cynical Tuesday night state, I couldn’t deny the outright bliss DeLaughter and his disciples were projecting from the stage.

The ecstasy in the room was fired by not only the band but also the company I was keeping, the anonymous show-goers among me. There were more than a few people, mostly dudes, in the audience who were hanging onto their words and shouting along with arms raised like rapturous born again members of a fanciful lost religion. And there’s something fascinating, if not infectious, about watching a band perform to fans who are absolutely going batshit over what they’re serving up, which musically I sort of liken to a cross between the Flaming Lips, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes, and a Baptist choir. They did a cover of “We’re Not Going to Take It” and “Pinball Wizard” that were pretty excellent, and that effectively marked the moment when I could feel myself converting. (I mean, it’s the Who delivered by a somewhat insane 16-person indie rock gospel choir, all in long white robes, blasted well past normal decibel levels at a bunch of flailing weirdos. How can that not be at least somewhat awesome?)

So soon enough, I came around to the spectacle that is the Polyphonic Spree. Bouncing around maddeningly and utterly in love with the act of performing a concert for us, the band (which included a five-piece all-girl backup choir, a xylophone player, a flutist, sax player, guitarist, and a bassist and cellist perched atop either side of the group flanking them from above like psychedelic celestial beings) brought a maniacal, undeniable enthusiasm to that room. It was kinda nutty. Are they high? In a cult? Simply pretending? Is it real?

But who really cares? Even with the crazy dude behind me whistling and muttering like a god loving hippie on PCP, I didn’t get annoyed or distracted by him. Rather, he was part of the experience, as a member of the congregation just as essential to the show as the musicians were. When DeLaughter lifted his hands, his parishioners lifted them in response, a visible display of that undeniable transfer of ecstatic energy. By the end of the show, I didn’t fucking care about the band’s catalog or the fact that I probably wouldn’t listen to them at home. I was a convert to the religious fervor they were delivering on stage. If they hit your town and you have never seen them, I encourage you to follow the herd and check out where the noise is coming from.  Whether you love or loathe this kind of thing, the Polyphonic Spree is an experience to behold.

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Beats Antique pulled out some special treats for their sold-out show at Oakland’s Fox Theater this past weekend. The glitz, glamour, and expansive performance could be credited in part to the fact that it was a hometown gig kicking off an extensive national tour, but the extra niceties were probably more due to the filming of their first-ever live DVD. Whatever the impetus for the powerhouse production, the opulence of the Fox Theater coupled with the sensational stage show, replete with a dozen dancers and special guests, made for a live music spectacle that was utterly captivating in its reach.

Immediately upon getting to the venue just as the band struck up their first song, I knew my height (5’3) was going to be a liability if I didn’t find a spot where I could actually see the stage pronto. I was getting so agitated trying to peer over all the heads in front of me on my tiptoes in the hopes of catching a glimpse that I could barely pay attention to the music and kept sloshing my drink all over myself. Finally I collected myself, physically and mentally, enough to make my way down to where the crowd opened up a bit and the heads cleared enough for me to steal an unobstructed view of the decadence that was unfolding on the stage. From there, I was treated to a performance that fused together dub-step and belly dancing, Balkan strings and glitch, horns and gypsy accordion, churned out by an ensemble cast of musicians and dancers for two-and-a-half hours beneath the grand high ceilings of the Bay Area’s most majestic music venue.

Beats Antique is the brainchild of producers David Satori and Tommy Cappel, who formed the project in 2007 and began to collaborate with belly dancer and producer Zoe Jakes, and the three work with a cast of supplemental musicians and dancers to bring their live show to its dizzying full potential. Beats Antique is also known to take their music to the laptop and DJ without the full assembly behind them. But it’s these fleshed-out shows that propel Beats Antique beyond the static scope of many of their contemporaries to transcend the limitations of mere one-dimensional music and performance art.

Sure, Beats Antique has developed their own hybrid of sounds and styles, making theirs a distinct flavor of music, but beyond the disparate ingredients that make up their sound what is perhaps most notable is how charged their performances are. They imbue their concerts with a production value that is intensely nuanced and well-delivered; it must have taken them weeks (if not months) of rehearsals to nail down this particular live show. Each song had completely different instrumentation, from string quartets to horn ensembles to drum successions (to those as distantly ethnic as tambur and glockenspiel) and they matched nearly every song with its own choreographed dance and costuming. Beyond the sensational and seductive belly dancing that accompanied more than a few of the tracks, they also brought a spectacular blend of cabaret, circus, and carnivalesque visual elements to the performance: Among them giant animal masks and dripping jeweled headpieces and surrealist folklore imaginings, raiments of expression and color and depth, each expressly selected and tailored to the fusion of sound it was meant to theatrically represent.

The high mark of Friday’s show (as mentioned, captured for posterity on DVD) is a testament to how far this group is willing to go to make an impact on their audiences. Moving beyond mere performance, Beats Antique marries distinct pieces of the wonder that can be found in music, art, and mystical foreign cultures and brings it all to the stage. So put on your comfy dancing shoes and find a spot where you can see… your eyes and ears are in for a treat.

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The Lumineers are among the latest and greatest of the new generation of rootsy folk-rock bands that have kept Americana fresh and captivating through the years. Like those musical contemporaries whose sound they evoke—think the Avett Brothers, Delta Spirit, the Cave Singers, Blitzen Trapper—the Lumineers churn out an intoxicating blend of Heartland rock and folk with a touch of gospel. The result has already started to take audiences by storm, and they’ll continue to exponentially amass fans over the next few months, as the band has hit the road in support of their soon to be released self-titled debut full-length (due next Tuesday in fact), and is selling out most venues along the way. Among them was San Francisco’s Café Du Nord this past Saturday night.

The band comes from Denver (by way of New York City) and is at its core a trio (joined by two supplemental live musicians), and their poignant songwriting and charismatic onstage presence are the right ingredients to stir the musical landscape and resonate in waves. I was sent a track, “Hey Ho”, by a friend a few weeks ago (well, an old boyfriend actually) and it was immediately set on repeat, inciting a few sniffles from me as I played it over and over. (If you’ve heard the song you understand the impact of listening in the context of an old flame.) Their set on Saturday was a seamless continuation of the snag they had already caught in my heart.

The supporting band, Y La Bamba, made for an interesting, if rather disjointed, opening, as they are an act led by a enthralling female singer who sings a fragmented brand of folk over somewhat discordant melodies. I have enjoyed their studio music, but wasn’t so much gripped by their onstage set, yet their ability to craft arty experimental folk is certainly not to be discounted, and in a different context (in my case, through headphones) their unique hybrid shines.

When the Lumineers came on around 11:30pm, they sucked all the energy from the deep, long venue and directed it up to the stage. They played a rousing set of the songs on their debut, which veered from foot-stomping to melancholic. Indeed, the impetus for the creation of the band was born in tragedy, as the brother and best friend of two of the members (drummer Jeremiah Fraites and bandleader Wesley Schultz, respectively) died of a drug overdose at 19. A musical eulogy bleeds through the songs, but not in an overly sentimental or dour way… simply in a manner that speaks to the loss of love and life and the subsequent creative fuel that it can at times inspire.

Paying homage to their troubadour roots, the band ended with a cover of Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues”, bringing a vital new energy to a song that’s been played thousands of times before. When the band came back for an encore, they set up in the middle of the room and stripped it all the way back down for us to take part in with them, serenading us side-by-side, tenderly evoking the origins of song in its barest form. Short on spectacle yet brimming with a cathartic honesty and fervor, the Lumineers’ live show is a testament to the burgeoning spring season of music that is now upon us.  These guys are ones to watch.

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I was seven years old when the Del Fuegos were at their peak, so it’s safe to say I have nothing previous upon which to base their Wednesday night show at the Historic Turner Hall Ballroom in Milwaukee. What I did see is a band that looks like they never stopped playing together — if there was any rust, it was shaken off in the shows prior to Milwaukee.

The Del Fuegos haven’t done a formal tour in more than 20 years, but you never would have guessed it by listening — they were in sync from start to finish. The rhythm section of Tom Lloyd and Woody Giessmann is about about tight as it gets. Lloyd broke one of his bass strings within the first five song, but that gaffe only allowed the crowd to be treated to an impromptu version of the often-covered “You Can’t Judge a Book by the Cover.”

If there is still tension between brothers Warren and Dan Zanes, you’d be hard pressed to see it. They had friendly banter throughout the show, including a discussion about who has the more “family” ready record: Dan’s Grammy-winning efforts, or Warren’s most recent record, I Want to Move Out in the Daylight, which was inspired by his recent divorce.

Whether the song was an oldie like “Hand in Hand” or “Shame” or a newer track like “Friday Night” (off their new EP, Silver Star), the grooves were infectious. Despite frontman Dan Zanes’ attempt to get the crowd dancing, very few obliged. Most were content to sit back and applaud at the appropriate times. It’s frustrating to see a band give so much energy and effort, but only get a milquetoast response from the audience. The Del Fuegos deserved better. Dan Zanes has said “It always felt to us that the gig never happened if people didn’t dance.” I wonder if the 10 people dancing last night made the show happen.

It’s a shame there wasn’t more of Milwaukee to see it. I should spend this review talking about how fantastic the Del Fuegos set was, but the crowd deserves a talking to. Milwaukee had an opportunity to see a spectacular set by the influential ’80s rockers, yet the crowd was maybe 100-125 people. Even when they busted out their biggest hit, “Don’t Run Wild,” most in the crowd didn’t budge from their seats.

Although they all have day jobs they love, for purely selfish reasons, I hope this isn’t the last time the Del Fuegos take to the stage.

A picture of the setlist is below.

Here are the notes I took during the concert:

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I didn’t even know who the Jayhawks were in the ‘80s and most of the ‘90s, arguably the band’s defining years. I was a small town kid on the east coast and didn’t dig too deep beyond what my dad put on mixed tapes for me and what circulated through the halls of my middle school, much less be even the least bit acquainted with anything of importance happening in independent Americana music. It was after high school—geez, maybe even college—that I finally discovered the Jayhawks and came to understand the importance of the Minneapolis scene they helped spearhead and define. (Our Band Could Be Your Life is responsible for providing me with much of my initial comprehensive education of the “American indie underground.”) Not that the Jayhawks were among the artists chronicled and chaptered in that book. Though a flagship band of the Minnesota scene, the Jayhawks never really rose to notoriety like their Midwestern contemporaries Hüsker Dü or the Replacements or even Uncle Tupelo. But though they may have made less of an obvious calculable impact, they certainly made a deep enough imprint on America’s musical consciousness to warrant back-to-back shows at the almighty Fillmore this past weekend.

I was actually surprised to see them billed for two nights; neither show sold out. But there were plenty of people in attendance on Saturday night. I unfortunately missed the opener, banjo badass Abigail Washburn, so the anticipation had already collectively mounted when I finally got to the venue during the Jayhawks’ first song.

Disclaimer: I am not very well acclimated with the depth of the band’s catalog. I am quite familiar with their music and their sound, and spent some significant time (retrospectively) with their earlier albums, including 1986’s self-titled debut and ‘92′s breakout record Hollywood Town Hall, and I sang the praises of Mark Olson and Gary Louris’ wistful reunion record Ready for the Flood with likeminded musical friends. But I had not listened to the Jayhawks’ newest album, last year’s Mockingbird Time, until the day before the show, and they played more than a few songs that I did not at all recognize. I am not as invested in the Jayhawks’ catalog as I should be, and that’s my loss. But it was liberating to take in a set, from a band with nearly 30 years on them, without any preconceptions of what to expect.

Ultimately, the Jayhawks are an important band and one that I wished to support and pay my respects to. Did their music sound a bit bland and adult contemporary to my ears? Yes. Did I expect a more rockin’ set? Yes. Did I expect the vast majority of the audience to be over the age of 50? I guess I hadn’t really thought about it, but it was definitely a veteran crowd in attendance that night. Does that matter? Of course not. It just made the bar free and clear every time I went to refill.

But the earnestness in the performer’s set and the sincerity of the crowd’s response made the show worthy of any music lover’s time and money. For the second half of the show, I hung in the back and picked out the lone souls in the audience really getting down, lost and enamored in the fact that they did know every song by the band. I only wished I had that knowledge—and therefore love—to impart on a concert hall full of people. The band sounded fantastic, their musical prowess and professionalism shining through on every track. Karen Grotberg, on keyboards and with a voice of honey, brought a fitting gracefulness to their songs, and the vocal harmonies of Olson and Louris are simply gorgeous, one of the crowning trademarks of the Jayhawks’ music. Though it’s easy and usually natural to equate a band with their glory years, those earlier days of building blocks and raw novelty, to hear the Jayhawks seasoned, at peace and playing together decades after their inception, brings apt and heartening evidence to the truth that America has delivered to the world its own musical treasures.

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The Pimps of Joytime lit up Divisadero Street in San Francisco this past weekend, playing back-to-back sold-out shows at the pristine sounding Independent and giving all the patrons in attendance serious cause to dance. The Pimps of Joytime were joined by local stalwart Eric McFadden, who lent his much acclaimed guitar prowess to the group throughout the night. McFadden has sat in with everyone from George Clinton to Eric Burdon and the Animals, and though the Pimps are led by multi-instrumentalist Brian J, McFadden’s presence was certainly a driving force to their live set, his contribution rounding out the band’s signature funk with a darker rock edge.

On Saturday night, the Brooklyn based ensemble opened with “San Francisco Bound”, an appropriate (and auspicious) track that paved the way for a long set of rock infused funk and soul music. And all throughout, the people could not stop dancing. It’s rather rare to see a live band incite a packed room to move tirelessly to the music all night, but the Pimps brought a level of energy to the venue that was palpable and the crowd fed off it, resulting in the sort of giddy excitement that one can only find on a Saturday night at a sold-out club with a really engaged audience and spirited live band.

Perhaps it was the addition of McFadden, with whom the band does not regularly play, but they were a little loose around the edges, a little less than tight and spot-on, but that imperfection did not detract at all from the infectious vibe of the show. Even if you aren’t a fan of all funk music (I, for one, get bored by the groups that rely too heavily on horns), the Pimps’ musical concoction serves as a testament to the vital musical movement of New Orleans, but theirs is also flavored by Latin, Afrobeat, salsa, and pop and redressed with an urban sophistication. The Brooklyn soul scene is a dynamo in the music world these days, with the Daptone label and artists like Sharon Jones and the Budos Band lighting up stages worldwide, and New York’s Pimps of Joytime are a reminder of how commanding music can be when it’s driven by the right blend of old school soul and led with an animated new vision. Even through the boozy haze that saturated the audience all night (as evidenced by the heavily frequented bar), the Pimps of Joytime’s charismatic live show was immensely memorable to the San Franciscans in attendance that night, and I’ll speak for all of us when I say our collective breath is bated until they come back and bring us more.

And it is only fitting that I now tip my hat to Soul Train impresario Don Cornelius, to whom the world sadly bid adieu this morning. Without him and the legacy he paved, the sounds of soul and funk would be much quieter, and much less colorful too.

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Earlier this week, I saw Iggy Pop and the Stooges perform live at the Warfield to an audience of about 2,000 people. The band was supposed to swing through San Francisco in September, but their tour was postponed when Iggy broke his foot. And as soon as he bounded out onto the stage, shirtless of course, his compact wiry frame and deranged expression giving truth and life to this rock icon who sneered before us, it became all so obvious why a broken foot befell Iggy those few months ago: At 64 years old, the dude is still a fucking insane performer.

That he is a captivating wild man was certainly no surprise to anyone, myself included. But I had never really understood the extent of his persona until seeing him live and in the flesh for the first time. And once given the opportunity to breathe him in, it is immediately apparent that this reigning godfather of punk is not going quietly into the night. In his weathered and wizened state, he has lost none of his edge; few musical performances are as inspiring as watching him unravel on stage.

And let’s not forget the band, of course. The Stooges are still a formidable outfit. Iggy and drummer Scott Asheton (brother to original guitarist Ron, who sadly departed in 2009) are the only original members still standing, and are today supplemented by another punk icon, Mike Watt, on bass and James Williamson on guitar, who first joined the band in 1970. Tenor saxophonist Steve MacKay, who played on the Stooges’ epic second album Fun House,  feeds an element of jazz into the beast, rounding out the mix. These musicians provide a transformative instrumental narrative for Pop, and together they channel those early days of burgeoning revolution into the band’s Michigan bred music. The Stooges offer a powerful musical platform for Iggy, who then offers himself powerfully to the crowd. (Two lackeys close at hand offered assistance to Iggy when his mic cord looked in danger of strangling him or when he plunged into the pit, which happened often.) And as mesmerizing and quintessential a performer as he is, Iggy is eager to share the spotlight. He urged audience members up on stage with him very early in the show and clearly feeds off the musicians playing behind him; the gratitude for the company he keeps is palpable.

At times, Iggy would lift his head up and offer his mug to the crowd, and it was then that we could see how ecstatic he was to be performing for us, a new generation of fans filled and satiated by his charisma, by his drama. And he didn’t want to quit, seemingly not wanting the encore to end, coming back for more and more, throwing himself into the pit again and again. The physicality of his performance was unbelievable; it’s quite clear how he got that physique. Speaking of physique, Iggy unbuckled his pants late in the show, the entirety of his groin in clear view, and though we collectively waited for his pants to fall down as he continued to strut around the stage, somehow he kept them up just enough and we did not, in fact, get an Iggy Pop full frontal. Magic in its own right.

As triumphant as these gestures were, and as much as the Stooges nailed the performance, I found it hard not to consider Iggy’s age and wonder if we could ever expect to see him in a state of such ecstatic standing again. There was something otherworldly about what he was unleashing, an unfiltered rawness from another time, another age, and to say that he met my expectations, this living legend who changed the landscape of music, would be underestimating the impact of the performance.

Forty years into a career, Iggy Pop and the Stooges are still a consummate band, forever and always beyond the precipice of ordinary rock ‘n’ roll.

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The funk tends to bring the fun, and Saturday night’s installment of San Francisco’s 10th annual Funk Festival lured the city’s dance party people out to help Afrolicious and the Budos Band transform the Mezzanine into a full-on soul celebration. With a cold rain falling outside, deterring seemingly no one from making the pilgrimage downtown for the show, the venue became a hot musical haven, the night beginning with local DJ Motion Potion (ne Robbie Kowal, co-founder of the festival) spinning tunes amid projections of Soul Train on the wall behind him. Soul Train is truly one of the best television programs ever, the precedent it set for generations of soul lovers to get down in their best outfits, runway style, never far removed (at least in spirit) from any contemporary display of soul or funk music.

Afrolicious played support and broke up Motion Potion’s set with a long string of tracks, jamming the stage with members from their local musical collective. Afrolicious is known for their weekly residency at the Elbo Room, playing music in the ever-evolving genre of “Afro-Disco-Funk-Dub-Electro-Soul-Latin-Brazilian” as their facebook page succinctly states it. They had at least ten musicians performing with them, inciting most everyone in the room to stretch out and dance to their brand of high spirited “afrolicious” funk (sorry, couldn’t help it), until it became rather unmanageable to move around as the venue reached capacity and people flowed in for what must have eventually been a sold out-show. Exceptionally fun and ecstatic live set. Highly recommended.

Headliners the Budos Band are fast becoming one of the most talked about jazz-funk groups of today, in part because they are signed to the venerable Brooklyn based Daptone label, the home of, among other musical heavyweights, Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings. The Budos Band are actually from neighboring Staten Island, and that New York City bred sophistication and brashness is certainly present in their music, an eclectic mix of instrumental jazz, funk, and afro-beat. (Get that? No vocals.) They’ve been playing frequently around the country since the emergence of their first self-titled album in 2005 and have been enjoying a steady ascension to notoriety in jazz and funk circles over the past five years. Their music is much more jazz oriented and horn heavy than that of Afrolicious, darker and more experimentally driven too, making them a bit more challenging to flail around and dance to, but there is so much virtuosic intricacy in their compositions, and such a dynamic energy among the members of the band, that you could sit back and not move a muscle throughout their set and it’d still make for an incredibly entertaining show.

All in all, a fine showing of fantastic live music, and one of the most fun nights I’ve had on the town in recent memory.

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