The Automatik

House of Blues
November 21, 2003

I’m one of those people who have never owned a Spiritualized or Spacemen 3 album. I couldn’t even name one of either band’s songs. I’ll give you a minute to rouse yourself from a shocked stupor.

Feeling better? Jeanne called me Friday afternoon and offered to take me to this show. It seemed like a good idea. Arriving a bit late, we missed a bit of The Soledad Brothers’ set, which was rather impressive. They are what I thought The White Stripes would sound like before I actually heard them. And unlike their Detroit brethren, they have a terrific drummer.

Their sound is mostly dirty blues, but with a surprising amount of early T. Rex boogie. What I like most about them, and what I feel is their edge over their competition, is the incredible sax playing by Oliver Henry. I am not a fan of the saxophone. It makes me think of soft-core porn soundtracks, Foreigner, and Bill Clinton. I never liked Morphine, either. But in the Soledad Brothers’ songs, it’s sexy and raw and even eclipsed the guitar playing.

These lads definitely have “the look,” and not the one that Roxette used to sing about. Their dusty jeans and disheveled hair flesh out the aura created by their intense mastery of vintage instruments.

After their set, Jeanne and I went to look at the merch table and she bought a CD while we chatted with Jesse, their road manager. I stupidly blurted out, “Ooh, you’ll have to copy that for me.” Yes, I am a big insensitive idiot. If I had had $15 I would have certainly bought a CD for myself and I still intend to do so. If I hadn’t been so embarrassed by my big mouth, I would have apologized before the end of the night.

Jeanne complimented drummer Ben on his cool hairdo. He admitted that he needed a trim. “I’m a hairdresser!” she exclaimed. He asked if she would mind doing the honors, but she confessed she didn’t have her shears with her. “That’s okay,” he said, “I’ve got some in my bag.” We scampered upstairs where she quickly proved that her reputation as a renowned stylist was well deserved. In return, she got a nifty Soledad Brothers’ t-shirt.

I recount the above not to boast but to explain why there is little to no mention of Spiritualized in this review. I was barely even paying attention. Once upstairs, I ran into a friend who works there and I filled her in on the events of the past year and a half, because it’s been that long since I saw her.

It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy and appreciate Spiritualized’s music; it was the pacing that left me cold: a droning stupor of a song was alternated with a wall of noise and this formula progressed with little alteration. Maybe I didn’t get it because I wasn’t on drugs or because I wasn’t familiar with their music and was expecting something else, but I think their songs would have been better served by arranging the set list differently, perhaps starting slow and building in intensity, then a d�tente, and finally, a thrilling climax. The Soledad Brothers, however, were fantastic and I will see them live the next chance I get. Oh, and I’ll definitely put their CDs on my shopping list.