Issue 46 / July 2014

with THE MAGIC BAND rather acrimoniously,
tonight they seem determined to do justice to
their one-time leader.
Dismissing the idea of a support act in
favour of playing a longer show, The Magic
Band emerge to a packed crowd in Eric's amidst
thunderous applause. Unlike some depressing,
money-grabbing ventures from other bands of
the same period, in which there are no original
members save for a roadie who once played
maracas on a hidden track, The Magic Band
feature two members from what could be
referred to as the 'classic' line-up: John French
on lead vocals and Rockette Mortan on bass.
Their knowledge of and passion for the material,
combined with the precision of the other,
younger members, means the performance is
both technically astute and enthusiastic.
As expected the songs are long, complex and
intricate; an exhilarating cacophony of blues,
psychedelic rock and experimental jazz which
is almost bewilderingly held together by the
five musicians. At times the music is so delirious
that it seems to defy the notion of orchestration,
but when guitarist Denny Whalley matches one
of French's saxophone solos note-for-note with
his voice, the sheer delicacy in composition
becomes clear. Though it was Beefheart who
took all the credit for songwriting, it is well
known that his band composed a lot of the
music, and the delight they take in performing
it seems to be testament to that fact.
Nobody could ever call this easy listening
and, though I love experimental music as much
as anyone else, after an hour my concentration
begins to wane. Though this probably doesn't
apply to the rest of the audience, it is a welcome
gesture when French declares there will be a 20-
minute interlude so that fans can meet the band.
These fans, it must be said, are a diverse bunch,
ranging from those who may well have seen the
original band back in the day to younger ones
wanting to catch a glimpse of a legendary act.
After the brief respite, and with signed vinyl
in hand, the crowd once again swell around the
small stage. The second half of the show is even
more enthralling than the first, with plenty of
bizarre time signatures and off-kilter bass solos
to match French's committed display. Jumping
between drums, sax and frontman duty, it is
startling to witness how well he manages all
three, and he has the Beefheart vocal delivery
pretty much nailed, whilst adding his own
unique inflections.
Occasionally whilst watching the
performance you have to remind yourself that
this is not a tribute act, but a band consciously
trying to expand on the output of a musical
icon. Seemingly, to everyone present tonight, it
is an observation that needs little re-affirming
and, as the band leave the stage, it feels that
we have not simply ridden a nostalgic wave but
have experienced something that can push on
into the future.
Alastair Dunn
EZRA FURMAN AND
THE BOYFRIENDS
Happyness
HD Concerts @ East Village Arts Club
Towards the end of his set, EZRA FURMAN
offers his take on the city, pondering the effect of
“living in the shadows of giants” before declaring
“regardless of what you think of them, here’s one
for the motherfuckers who don’t like my dress”
and launching into a boisterous Tell ‘Em All To Go
To Hell. It’s one of many inspired anecdotes that
capture Furman’s schizophrenic stage presence,
which lurches from one extreme to the next. You
can wonder what has influenced this; you can
even look for a meaning in his bold flowery dress
and leather jacket combo. But it’s probably just
because he wants to.
HAPPYNESS’s take on the college rock sound
has all the key character traits – dual vocalists,
half-arsed banter in-between songs – but beneath
the slacker haze of the Pavement-esque indie
rock, there is a dry, sinister heart lurking beneath.
Titles of tracks like Great Minds Think Alike, All
Brains Taste The Same speak for themselves,
equally intriguing and unsettling. Happiness
for these Londoners is embracing your own
distinctive melodic flair and pounding it into the
audience’s consciousness, as guitarist/vocalist
Benji Compston does on Whole New Shape with
some frenetic hammer-on picking.
The ferocious I Wanna Destroy Myself
opens
EZRA FURMAN AND THE BOYFRIENDS’ set at
breakneck speed, as it does last year’s critically
acclaimed album Day Of The Dog. In contrast to
the crowd’s cautious stance before, everyone
surges forward for the headliners, and it’s not
hard to see why. Meek but endearing to look at,
Furman is a truly enigmatic frontman. He doesn’t
just embody the tone of each song, he pushes
himself to the limit of the track’s emotions; a
lustful gaze before Bad Man transforms into a
stark, hollow stare, rasping each lyric.
The ecstatic reception Furman receives only
propels him forward, revelling in the role of
entertainer. He uses this energy to power his
engine while his associates try to keep up. The
variety in his great, bubbling pot keeps the
set fresh and invigorating; American Soil is a
formidably sludgy number, a delightful contrast
to the uplifting sing-along melody of My Zero. The
Boyfriends bow out on the optimistic Anything
Can Happen, the rousing punch from the blast
of guitars after the quiet tinkering of piano keys
feeling as familiar as an old friend.
For a solo encore, Furman performs an acoustic
version of The Harpoons’ track Wild Feeling; a
slow contemplative number that showcases his
ability to tap into the inner consciousness. Alone,
he is suddenly vulnerable; an appropriate angle
for the theme of alienation within the song. It’s
fitting he finishes this way. Whatever moniker he
performs under, his persona is so distinctively