PRIMM PARADOX
The incessant honking of my alarm clock and thin layer of crust around my eyelashes reminded me this May morning that I must have done something wild and fun last night, but what was it? Ah, yes, a fine pair of hours passed at WilLee's, attending the CD release of local musician Andy Primm's new disc,
Mercenary
.
Primm, his band Amazing Larry and several special guests performed most of the songs off the CD, to a crowd of high school friends, local musicians, curious-types, moms and dads, a couple babies and a pregnant lady.
Primm and Amazing
Larry are good at a lot of things, but one thing that stands out is their love of music. It's palpable, as they rock out unironically, devil-horns-may-care style, with pursed guitar solo lips, closed eyes, odd sparkly pants and whammy bars.
Amazing Larry usually specializes in cover songs-Journey, Bon Jovi, Prince, A-Ha and the like-and for most folks an Amazing Larry show is always a blast in a flashback kind of way. At least once during one of their shows (the band plays Monday nights at El Paseo and Wednesdays at WilLee's) you'll hear someone utter "Dude, I loved this song in high school." For those in the audience, it's often a smirky affair, however, one in which we all must prove we couldn't just adore "Don't Stop Believin'" on its own merits, that we of course are rocking out to these songs in a purely ironic way, much the same as donning a T-shirt adorned with a cheesy slogan like "Virginia is for Lovers."
But Amazing Larry as a band doesn't appear to feel the same way. Their rock star leg kicks and Primm's able falsetto, their matching sunglasses and flying V guitars are what they are. This is a band
that would be more comfortable attending a Whitesnake concert than, say, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs or some other hipster critics' favorite.
At least, I think. It's difficult, based on Amazing Larry's stage presence, cover song choices and smattering of originals, to tell where they're coming from. Just when you're convinced they're coming from a genuine place, you look twice and think, "This can't be for real." Not in a judgemental sense, but in the sense that in this age of layers and meta-meaning and implied quotation marks, nobody means it that much. There's gotta be an in-joke in there somewhere, right?
That's the beauty of Amazing Larry-you just don't know, so you're relegated to having a good time without overthinking how you're having a good time until after the good time is over, when you find yourself thinking,
Who are these people?
Which is the way it should be. "Don't Stop Believin'" is a great song, plain and simple, and so are many of Primm's song, notably the poppy-as-hell "Molly Ringwald" and "Stacy, Stacy, Stay," but also the ones that push the boundaries of rock and bleed into a sort of jazz-pop funky bass kind of thing, seeming to come out of left field. How the cheesy ballads and perfect pop songs and '70s FM mid-tempo tunes can all come from the same person is a perplexing and odd question, but in the end the answer doesn't matter. Best just to grin and sing along.
NEW SWIG, OLD SWIG
The type of good vibes and rocking mojo found at WilLee's Sunday was notably absent when I ventured over to Swig last Thursday night. Granted, I was there a touch on the early side, but, except for a group of drunken, blathering writerly types out on the patio, the spot was…quiet.
Swig seems to be going through some transitional pains, which is a shame, because the new powers that be over there have made some wise choices and appear good-hearted about what they're attempting. In fact, a certain bit of the quietness was good-one problem the "old" Swig had was an over-pumped sound system blasting tinny techno and causing minor ear damage, making any attempt at conversation brutally frustrating. Maybe it was a good way to keep people drinking. This go-around, the soundtrack to my actual conversation was at a tasteful volume. It's not that loud is bad, it's just that trying to fill up an empty room with trebly, hyper beats-which the old club used to do-is annoying and, well, embarrassing. In that death hour, when post-work revelers head home tipsily to their sober husbands and wives but club-goers are still at home sorting through which Armani Exchange shirt to wear, best to keep the volume low as the sushi and conversations flow until the place fills up again.
That said, get your asses over to Swig. This is a fine nightspot, but it is challenged by its own positive aspects: When it's packed, the unusual layout and different rooms make for dynamic movement and energy, but when attendance is light, they appear superfluous and a little silly. But we've all been there when it's been standing-room only, so we all know Swig's potential. And if another club closes in this town, we'll only have ourselves to blame.
