played two shows on New Year's Eve, with this first set neatly sidestepping the hysteria of midnight, but nevertheless still swollen with celebratory anticipation. Even though the Winery had to be punctually cleared for the second show, these veteran Los Angeles rockers still managed to plough through a substantial 90-minute set. They don't often play in such an intimate venue, and quips were made about disturbing diners with guitar grinding dance provocations. This element was particularly prominent when the band delivered its more hardcore Spanish-language numbers, all engorged with multi-guitar distortion, making it a trial to stay seated as the wine flowed forth freely.
They made a confident statement by opening up with "Tin Can Trust," the title track of their new album, but this fresh material was by no means set to dominate the evening's songbook. If the south-of-the-border psychedelic Chicano shufflers represented some of the night's peaks, the polar tendency for mellow North American jangly-rock balladry illustrated their weakest state. Fortunately, the largest ratio of material grew out of a more aggressive manifestation of hardened US rock, invariably dominated by tallster David Hidalgo's seething guitar solos. This being the first time that I've witnessed Los Lobos, it wasn't so obvious that Hidalgo was going to be the dominant guitar soloist. Maybe this is a recent development. Meanwhile, Steve Berlin's organ and saxophone layering provided crucial embellishment. As the audience began to reach fever pitch, arming themselves for heading off to some inevitable midnight party, Los Lobos dropped in a pair of climactic Grateful Dead tunes, markedly longer than their own works. Doubtless, the 'round midnight set that followed was to reach an even greater pitch of hysteria.
The Detroit Cobras The Bell House January 1, 2011
The still-youthful Detroit Cobras are dedicated to the preservation of a retro songbook, even if those works become rucked up by a punkish delivery. And even if the core duo of singer Rachel Nagy and guitarist Mary Ramirez have been together for 16 years. They specialize in classic (though often obscurist) soul, garage, rock 'n' roll and pop ditties from the vinyl vaults of yesteryear.
Nagy's presence was all-commanding, though casual. She managed to preserve the intimate, unguarded communication talents of a novice, while still sharply hitting the phrasing points with power and gutsy assurance. It was a valuable combination. The only drawback was that a cumulative exposure during the set tended to reveal a lack of sonic variety in the short, trouncing numbers. Nevertheless, the Cobras had their peaks, and these returned periodically, throughout the night.
Bonobo Nublu January 1, 2011
In search of high contrast, it was back to Manhattan for a DJ set by England's Bonobo. Alphabet City's Nublu is the best (and most down home/individualistic) dance club in NYC, reveling in a nature that can, on a quiet Monday night, welcome hardcore free jazz improvisation or, for its peak Saturday session (as here) throb the joint out with a semi-undercover DJ set by Bonobo. The last time he was in town, mere months ago, he pretty much filled The Bowery Ballroom with his full band configuration. Dancing was not so easy at Nublu, due to a pile-up of sweaty bodies (even in the post-snow dump landscape). A fortunately won barfly position ensured a first-hand view of Bonobo's deckery sleight. How to describe his sounds? Organic bass-humping funk naturalism, perchance? The night was long, and the more local Nickodemus (from Brooklyn) continued the established mood with a more globally-orientated slant.
's month-long Sunday night residency at the Bowery Poetry Club, which also just happens to be the most likely haunt for this manic NYC combo when delivering its one-off gigs. Led by the exuberant-to-say-the-least Stefan Zeniuk
, who favors tenor saxophone amongst his potential reed panoply, Gato Loco was fortunately present in its expanded big band formation. The small combo version is well worth checking out; specializing in low-end bass obsession, but the fat cat manifestation enables full psychedelic Latin hurtling, bejeweled with crazed solos and dashingly complex ensemble themes.
Zeniuk decided to introduce most of the pieces in a Chinese restaurant fashion, holding up numbered sheets rather than fully titled prompts. Except for the sign saying "Soma," which was the name of the feline who had the misfortune to suffocate itself inside pet master Joe Exley's tuba. Surely Soma's corpse would have been blown to the far side of the room, if it had remained in place until show time.