Though flush with the vine-ripened energy and skronky invention of post-punk and no wave’s late 1970s, this synergistic live bill of Philadelphia, female-fronted (or co-fronted) bands at Johnny Brenda’s benefitted greatly from another moment in pop time: namely 1969.
The version of 1969 for Mesh—a jagged, jangling quartet whose release of its debut album, No Fun At All, was the centerpiece of this night’s celebration and sell-out crowd—focused on the trebly, clang and chatter of its guitarists in tandem with those of both the Grateful Dead and the Velvet Underground and those icons’ nervous conversation between their six-string and 12-string electric guitars.
With the Velvets, that meant Lou Reed’s icy, high-pitched, pick-twang jangle’s evolution from “ostrich guitar” on VU’s 1967 debut to the twitchy Fender Electric XII that, with shrilly, piercing second guitarist Sterling Morrison, gave the band’s self-titled third album in 1969 a gentler, yet no-less-jarring edge. The same thing occurred—12-string acoustic guitar-wise, yet no less unnervingly—between Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir on Aoxomoxoa, the Dead’s third album, also released in 1969.
Are Mesh’s Allison Durham (12-string guitar, vocals) and Sims Hardin (guitar, vocals) secret Grateful Underground or Velvet Dead aficionados?
What occurred from my vantage point on Friday night was that their sparklingly melodic songcraft and cool, shaggy-dog harmonies/sing-song-y leads were happily rattled by the sharp, strident, clarion co-mingling of their differently stringed guitars. So then, yes. Whether Mesh was going after the sonic swoop-and-tangle and buoyant girl/boy vocal of “Hold On To,” the serrated in-sync psychedelia of “5D” or the big, angular harm-o-melodicism of “Quit My Job” and “Quick Sand” (sung as decidedly separate words by the vocal pair, just like “Hold On To”), the effect was like having Wire ramming the butt-end of its spiky industry into that curt-whining, high-wire Reed/Garcia vibe.
By the way, you can’t maintain that literally high wiry balancing act unless your bottom end is equally inventive; thank Mesh’s Tom Riese (bass) and Steve Darling (drums) for that neat trick.
Equally interesting when it came to the softly expressive Durham and the jovially huskier Hardin is how Mesh’s vocalists mixed goofball, esoteric lyricism (“Potatohead”) with the action-reactionary politicism of songs such as “Violent Peasant” and “Weapon Of Peace,” all while maintaining real and abiding contagion. With all that combined, Mesh was one handsomely amazing ensemble that the Johnny Brenda’s mass absolutely adored.
On the continued politicized tip (from what I made out from the way Sonam Parikh’s sung-spoken dramatic voice was wound into the foursome’s mix), Eraser seemed fond of blending existentialist rants with socially conscious cat-calling. Rock on to that. Together with Parikh’s blippy, knob-spinning synthesizer work, tangy twanging guitarist Pier Harrison and the pile-driving rhythm section of galloping drummer Juliette Rando and powerhouse bassist Kat Bean—live and on recent debut LP, Hideout—Eraser teetered on the axis of a brand of rhythmic, twisting avant-pop made famous by Plastics and Kleenex.
But lyrically, Parikh’s tone—even the playfully confrontational manner in which she jumped into the audience, mock-mosh-ingly—was tied into her fellow feminine poli-sci heroes of 1969 such as Hazel Dickens, Yoko Ono and Malvina Reynolds with lyrics dedicated to shooting her oppressors and songs such as “Trey,” dedicated to the questionable suicide of black student Trey Reed and his Mississippi home’s history of racist lynching.
Continuing on with a powerhouse in-your-face, swallowing-bass sound, we’ll end where this night began, with cluttered, free-rockist opening act Taurus Judge.
With the Thing Rolled Up EP under its belt, the muscularly spiky trio of bassist Cydney Berlinger, guitarist Ian Norris and drummer Josh Merkin—now with recently added, drone-favoring guitarist Nikhil Wadhwa—pulsated through humongous, swooping soundscapes with occasionally whispered vocals. Taurus Judge managed to merge equal doses rubbery ragga and kinetic prog (imagine if Mogwai was sexy) with the furious elegance of King Crimson’s debut album (yes, 1969) without actually sounding, historically, like any other trio or quartet before them. Another neat trick, that, in an evening full of them.
—A.D. Amorosi
