Concert review: The Brian Jonestown Massacre at The Orange Peel
Anton Newcombe, the brains behind The Brian Jonestown Massacre, is not one to shy away from voicing his opinions. During his band’s May 9 set at The Orange Peel, the frontman vocalized his disregard for encores, Fender equipment, and overbearing house lights. Between these frankly beguiling rants lay the whole reason why he continues to put up with such irritants: the man loves music.
In a setlist that spanned almost three decades of material, the current touring lineup of Newcombe, guitarists Hákon Aðalsteinsson and Enrique Maymi, bassist Hallberg Daði Hallbergsson, drummer Uri Rennert, percussionist Joel Gion, and keyboardist/guitarist Ryan Carlson locked into an airtight groove that buoyed the almost oppressive haze of dissonant feedback and dreamy melodies. The entire crowd felt as if it was in a collective sway as Newcombe, stationed at his go-to position at the far side of the stage, managed to keep his voice above the searing wall of sound.
BJM is known to draw upon a variety of influences, from psychedelia to folk to goth, that keep its output somewhat unpredictable from album to album. The band’s latest release, the forthcoming Fire Doesn’t Grow on Trees (out June 24), sees Newcombe create a perfect amalgamation of his group’s dream-pop beginnings with the British Invasion leanings that made them indie household names in the late 1990s. Whether intentional or not, the individuals who turned up this past Monday seemed to reflect those roots aesthetically, with a fair amount of denim and flannel commingling amongst a congregation of hippies and alt kids.
The stage was bathed in red light, which, when paired with the relative darkness of the floor, presented an almost menacing image that both complemented and contrasted the mood of the music. This ebb and flow was crystallized as Newcombe expressed his frustration at faulty equipment that caused the band some technical difficulties throughout the evening, and gave instructions to his bandmates that sounded straight out of soundcheck.
One could think this type of warts-and-all presentation would lead to a dip in performance quality, but bands don’t endure as long as BJM has without a healthy dose of professionalism. Each song was held down exquisitely by the rhythm section of Daði and Rennert, allowing for the aforementioned barrage of noise to find a suitable nesting ground once any given explosion of noise had done its duty. And Gion, ever the consummate performer, donned a pair of fisheye goggles and dove after his tambourine if it ever escaped his grasp, creating a small commotion from the audience as he lay on the floor next to his downed mic stand.
This strange harmony fully coalesced as the group entered the final stretch of the night, highlighted by two-year-old singles “the mother of all fuckers” and “abandon ship,” the latter of which closed out the show and gave the group an avenue for one last kiss-off to concert conventions. As the band guided the song to its apex and conclusion, the individual members exited the stage one by one, sans instruments. There was no curtain call, and certainly no encore as the feedback was left to linger and overwhelm.
The anxious feelings conjured in these final moments created an odd sense of anticipation for the noise to cease, and as the techs switched off the last of the gear, there was almost a sigh of relief on my part. Feeling ponderous and slightly dazed, all I had left was a wash of memories and a light ringing in my ears as evidence of a truly defiant band that refuses to stand still and go with the motions.
(Photo by Niko Gonzalez)
