I overheard “This is our generation’s Spinal Tap” from a middle-aged jean-jacketed man say to his friend as the Brian Jonestown Massacre were about to take the stage. “You don’t come here for the music, you come here for the vibes,” said a similarly dressed man. Surely, I thought, these must be gross exaggerations. I mean, I’d seen Dig!, the 2004 rockumentary focused on the San Francisco band and their fierce rivalry with Portland’s Dandy Warhols. I’d watched videos online of band members fist fighting onstage. My good friend even mentioned to me that when he saw them in San Diego a few years back, the band bickered and yelled at each other throughout the show. But really, how bad could it be? Maybe a return to home was just what frontman Anton Newcombe and friends needed to put on a great show.
The eight-piece band casually shuffled onstage, their wide-brimmed hats glowing red in the light. After everyone fiddled with their instruments for a few minutes, Newcombe spoke with a wry smile – “hometown jam” – and the crowd erupted into whoops and hollers. The band began warming up with some nondescript chords until Newcombe interrupted with a “f*** this s***!” From behind the stage, a cake with lit candles appeared to float towards loyal tambourine player Joel Gion at center stage. Newcombe, detached and aloof, led the crowd in singing “Happy Birthday” to Gion, the longest-standing member of the band aside from Newcombe himself and proud owner of some wicked sideburns. Gion shook his tambourine over the candles to put them out, and the band began playing “Whoever You Are” from their 1997 album Give It Back! Newcombe’s wailing voice floated over the groovy instrumentals and held the crowd transfixed… that is, until he stopped the song halfway through to complain at length about the venue’s sound engineering. He did not mince words.
BJM abandoned the opening track and launched instead into the jangly “Vacuum Boots,” one of my favorite tracks from their third studio album Take It from the Man! The band leapt into the song with full force, guitars chiming and drums thumping. Plumes of weed smoke drifted from the crowd towards the ceiling. Newcombe, almost imperceptible in a long poncho, sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed feathered hat, sang with a slurred, lethargic drawl that weighed the song down.
The show never really got off the ground, suffering from painfully long lulls between each song where everyone would leisurely tune their guitars and whisper to each other. The whole thing felt like I’d accidentally wandered into my uncle’s band practice. Every so often, Newcombe would drift into between-song rambles, at one point gesturing to the band and saying “we’ve got some old friends here… I don’t know how they do it, but they’re still here.” I don’t know either – Gion and guitar player Ricky Maymi have been playing with the band since its genesis, despite its tumultuous history and Newcombe’s crazed temperament.
A highlight of the show was the band’s performance of “Anenome,” a fan favorite off Their Satanic Majesties’ Second Request. The crowd swayed instantly, recognizing the song’s opening chords. Newcombe’s hypnotically murmuring voice hovered over the syrupy groove. The spell cast on the room abruptly broke when Anton prematurely stopped the song to once more harangue the sound engineers for turning up the volume, yelling “I can’t f******* deal… I f******* told you fifty million times.” Funnily enough, about twenty minutes earlier, he had drunkenly stated that “nobody bugs me… I’m the only guy in the world that can say that nobody bugs me.” After another long tirade, the band restarted the song, but by this time, droves of people started leaving the show.
Many tracks that had a punchier sound on the studio recordings lacked a certain juice when performed live. The band had been touring nonstop for twelve weeks straight, which certainly seemed to contribute to the lethargic energy of the night. The show droned on, with most songs blending into each other. Newcombe’s final prank involved playing a guitar intro to “Super-Sonic” for ten minutes straight, much to the chagrin of the crowd and the band itself, who stood helplessly and stared at Newcombe. Keyboard player Emil Nikolaisen dramatically gave Newcombe the finger and mimed finger guns at himself. “I’m too loud because you wouldn’t shut up,” proclaimed Newcombe angrily (to the crowd? the band? the sound engineers? the recipient was unclear) as he continued strumming the same few chords at eardrum-shattering volume. After what felt like an eternity, the band finally launched into the song, but I had to leave to catch the bus before its conclusion.
It speaks to a person’s talent when they can get piss-drunk on stage, yell at people, go on long rambling tirades, and still sell out shows for decades. The Brian Jonestown Massacre has some kind of magical immunity because of the mythology built around them as a band. What those guys at the start of the show said is true – you don’t go to a BJM show for the music, you go for the spectacle.
Review by Gaby Smith
Photo credit Thomas-Girar
