Back in 2010 I was interviewing Paul Finn of Chapel Hill’s excellent indie label Odessa Records and he was decrying that a band he recorded wasn’t getting airplay. They were an r&b meets spoken word meets indie rocker bunch and Finn was right, they were completely different and fundamentally different and really great. But they were named Shit Horse. The name buried them. And Chuck Cleaver, singer and guitarist with last nights entertainment went from the terribly named Ass Pony to the worse named Wussy. And it kills the band, it stymies their audience grab because:
1 – The name makes them sound like they’re third on the bill at the fifth annual The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart reunion tour
and
2 – Wussy’s songs take time to sink in -why make melody based alt rock that takes time to sink in?, and the name makes you think it will never happen so you don’t try as hard as you might.
At the Studio At Webster Hall last night (from Cake Shop to the Studio and back to the Studio in ten years: the second law of thermodynamics in action), the penultimate song of the evening was Ringo Starr’s “Photograph” where they got all of Harrison’s lick and then some; Wussy have been known to perform covers, New Order’s “Ceremony” for one, but “Photograph” is a Beatles meet glam rock lost love ballad, a toughie and made tougher by Wussy’s decision to skewer the bridge. They had no reason to, it was hard enough if they left it to stand alone, and they didn’t pull it off, and that’s their problem, the songs can skewer their own pop and melodic sensibilities. It takes too much work.
This is especially difficult on record and especially forgivable on stage. In a terrific 65 minute set, Wussy made their point and then some, every problem I’ve just mentioned becomes entirely irrelevant as uncoupled Lisa Walker and Chuck lead the band for a scintillating performance; both forthcoming and inclusive and smart, they played for us, invited us to form our own band, managed to be chatty without killing the momentum and found that place where X met Sonic Youth. In one fell swoop, they made sense of their existence.
Both of the opening bands were pretty good . JSanti are a fine blues rock band who go for the deep feel, a touch of Bono on the vocal, and get to it often enough, after one particularly powerful song the entire audience erupted in cheers. Sam Haiman Band are a really good blues rock ensemble, both young and old fashioned, they’ve been together barely a year but have released a fine EP SHB, with one great song, “Darker Side Of Town” . They played it last night like a youthful E Street Band. 45 minutes was too long and they need to work on their stage patter but I liked em a lot.
“You probably play guitar because you’re in New York City and all that,” Walker claimed “But if you don’t, all you need is two chords. That’s all we play ever. Do it now, be a musician, tonight.” Walker looks like a cross between a young Tina Weymouth and a middle aged Kim Gordon, she is like your teenage crush after weed comes to visit, dirty blonde hair and leggings she exudes a Mid-Western (the band is from Cincinnati) cool even as she sneers at it. The DIY trope is a classic UK punk concept, though a reading of Viv Albertine (the Slits guitarists) autobiography shows how maximal minimalism can be, particularly when you are doing melodic drone rock where two chords can be de rigeur.
Trading vocals, sometimes lines, sometimes harmonizing, at first Chuck and Lisa feel like a marriage of convenience, like Paul and John on “Two Of Us”, but after awhile they seem to be more backing each other up and then it evolves again. It is like everything is moving under your feet. It’s slippery and intense and also welcoming. If Walker looks adjectively blonde (she has claimed to have slight autism -which sounds like a polite way of saying go fuck yourself, as Chuck found out the hard way), Chuck looks like a cross between Steve Earle and an indigent Santa Claus, the scruffiness of the overweight yet a guitar makes everything look right. By the third song in the set, when he starts asserting himself, the band seems to mesh into walls of guitar sounds, Mark Messerly on bass and John Erhardt on pedal steel have been with the band for the ten years of its existence and though Joe Klug on drums is a newcomer, the band has the tightness of a touring band.
During the too short set, the lead singers had the closeness of friendly divorcees, a duo who have managed to get through it, and while they claim to an ease in the mechanics, the songs on stage build and build, they go upwards and the voices come together and when you actually catch the words, they have axiomatic self-awareness printed all over them. “The pillow on your side is practically brand new but it can’t offer comfort to me until it smells of you… You’re everywhere” sounds more like a heart cry and “I’m not the monster that I once was” is a stand alone hope and prayer.
The sets weakest moments, a drone rocker waiting on Record Shop Day to be released, wasn’t that bad, and their best songs, the simply heart stopping beauty of “Beautiful” were more than that. The two voices up front battle and sooth, hold together and split apart. Not musically but emotionally they are like another famous couple:Imagine if Richard and Linda Thompson had remained friends, but even that isn’t quite it because Linda sang either backup or lead and they are like curls of voices wrapped together, they seem to prod each other and come together and stay apart: by the end of “Airborne” Walker is singing nonsense syllables and Cleaver is singing the hook, as the song meshes death and love and takes it straight through the roof. I went back and listened to the recorded version when I got home, it wasn’t as good as live but at least I could hear it now. I am not sure why they don’t thrill me on record the way they do in person. I really enjoy watching the band, I love looking at Walker play guitar and I love Chuck’s shlubby intensity, he is really great. terrific emotional voice which can take any position Walker wants him to, and on stage they are such equals, they’re like Mates Of State of something, or the Civil Wars maybe. Like an Alt Rock Civil Wars.
The Studio was packed with a mix of twenty somethings and their parents, the liberal urban East Village hipster aesthetic denying what it is embracing, people were singing along and dancing along; the attention was rapt and complete, and, trust me, in this day and age you’re lucky if you can hear a band through the talking. The connection goes back to Walker’s admonishment to us to form a band, the band have two trails they follow, rock and roll and romance, and they merge and they divest and merge again. There is something missing on record but there is nothing missing on stage and once you’ve seen em live the songs make more sense even if it is walls of rock guitars layered and droned where the melodies are embedded deeply but it is like you are fighting with the songs to get them out. The songs are like pearls in a shell, you have to pry them open but then they are very valuable.
My Village Voice editor Robert Christgau has raved about Wussy often and based upon his opinion I gave Attica! a long listen and it still didn’t quite click. If you are having that problem, see Wussy live. On stage the songs break free into glorious, tight, melodic jams. Walker and Cleaver are a joy to watch, a frontline also featuring Masserly, the three are a resistance is futile wall, or maybe a door. Walker is going to the dentist next week. Good luck, kid.
Grade: A
