New York Music Daily

Global Music With a New York Edge

Fable Cry Draw the Crowd in Saturday Night on the Lower East

There’s a big crowd gathered toward the back of the room at Fat Baby on Rivington Street Saturday night. “You can get closer, you know,’” Fable Cry frontman/guitarist Zach Ferrin tells them. “But maybe you might not want to,” he adds with a hint of a sinister smile. Then he and a four-piece edition of the Nashville circus rock outfit – Jo Cleary on violin, Scott Fernandez on twelve-string bass and Rachel Gerlach on drums – launch into the lickety-split noir cabaret shuffle Onion Grin. Zach tells the crowd that this particular number is about getting too cozy for safety’s sake.

Fable Cry’s songs cover topics like making Frankenstein babies, and the kind of things that happen when somebody forgets to lock the gate at the mechanical monster park. Symbolism or just bizarre, creepy storytelling? Whichever – the band kicks ass. Ferrin fires off phantasmagorical flourishes when he’s not vamping out on a suspenseful two-chord minor-key groove while Cleary mashes up Romany and bluegrass licks. He’s got the eyeblack, the Halloween pirate getup; she’s more demure in overall cutoffs and black stockings. Both go out into the audience with their respective axes and get in everybody’s face. Funny thing is that the more they do it, the more people gravitate down front: they want to get in on the action.

Speaking of axes, Fernandez’s is huge. It’s about half the size of a harp and must weigh a ton, but he’s a big guy and it doesn’t seem to phase him. And instead of Chapman Stick-ing it and playing a million notes where one would do, he sticks to the groove and adds slinky leads on the middle strings when the guitar and violin are fluttering ominously and vamping out. Gerlach swings hard and she can play a mean Texas shuffle, but when the music gets darkest that seems where she likes it best: it wouldn’t be a surprise if she had a background in artsy metal.

Three of their songs tonight have a rapidfire, surrealistic hip-hop edge to the lyrics: Ferrin rips through them before they have a chance to settle in. The Train Song is the bluegrass/circus rock mashup; The Zoo of No Return is the missing-monsters-run-amok scenario. From Myth to Moon has a little Celtic edge; if memory serves right, they either close or come close to closing with the catchy Fancy Dancing, one of the numbers with a touch of hip-hop. Technical difficulties onstage on the part of the club limit the band to just a tad over half an hour onstage; it would have been fun to see what they could have done with a longer set.

Advertisements

Roman Rabinovich Delivers an Irresistibly Fun, Nuanced, Dynamic Lincoln Center Recital

About half a dozen bars into the jaunty, peek-a-boo phrasing of Haydn’s 1789 Sonata in C Major, what was unmistakably clear was that pianist Roman Rabinovich got this piece. And obviously had a great time getting acquainted with it, and committing its tongue-in-cheek, practically snarky leaps and pounces to memory. He made every pause a full stop, underscoring the sense of the unexpected that the composer works so amusingly until the piece builds to full steam. Slowly, purposefully, Rabinovich parsed the dynamics for all they were worth so that when the second movement, a lively rondo, came around, the party at Lincoln Center’s Walter Reade Theatre really got going. No small achievement for before noon on a chilly, blustery Sunday morning.

The world premiere of Michael Brown’s partita Surfaces made a good segue, particularly since it’s  similarly spacious and even more dynamic. Inspired by a series of paintings by the pianist himself, it opened with a Toru Takemitsu-tinged minimalism, rising toward a steady, elegaic passage, up to an astringent, bell-toned, twisted scherzo of sorts, again echoing the Haydn. Rabinovitch brought it full circle, quietly and broodingly. It was the highlight of the performance.

Then the pianist revisited Haydn, this time with the Sonata in E Minor, from around 1780. On one hand, this was more of a traditional, lively court dance, yet Rabinovich seemed to be reveling in subtext. He played up all its incessant good cheer to the point where that seemed suspicious. Was this a secret message from the composer to himself to just wrap up this cotton candy dance and then find a way to sneak off the Esterhazy estate forever?

The program’s concluding number was Schumann’s Fasshinsswank aus Wien, and this was where Rabinovich got a little carried away. Then again, that’s what the suite is about, and after all the nuance and intuition he’d mined from the three earlier pieces, he was entitled to some reckless abandon. It’s not really grand guignol: it’s more like grand guignol lite. And it’s not nearly as funny as the Haydn for lack of subtlety, although considering the title – “Farce from Vienna”- its humor is meant to be broad. Rabinovich made short work of its forcefully percussive motives, in contrast with an unexpectedly lingering, pensive passage and then a playful, bouncy coda. And earned a standing ovation for it. Rabinovich’s next New York concert is May 14 at 3 PM at Alice Tully Hall, with works by Haydn, Schumann and Beethoven plus one of his own.

Lesley Flanigan Builds Uneasily Enveloping Sonics at National Sawdust

Singer and sound sculptor Lesley Flanigan headlined at National Sawdust Friday night with the epic title track to her new ep, Hedera. Onstage, depending on the piece she’s creating, sometimes she ends up doing a floor ballet of sorts, a constant, rigorously physical dialogue with the mixer and speakers and mics positioned around her. This was not one of those situations. On her knees, brow knitted, almost motionless, she switched on an old, broken tape recorder, amplified to the rafters, and launched into the piece..

On album, and to an extent on the new ep, Flanigan’s sonic creations often have a dreamy quality. Not so at this performance. The sound was LOUD. National Sawdust has banks of custom-designed speakers positioned way up in the ceiling- think Issue Project Room multiplied by a factor of ten. This amplified both the distant menace of the mechanical loop as well as the dichotomy between that and Flanigan’s bright, resonant vocals. In the studio, she’s a strong and nuanced singer, with an unadorned, pure pitch: she was even stronger here. Adding one layer of vocals after another, she built a many-faceted sonic Rothko, up to a sudden moment of insistent angst. The effect was viscerally chilling. The recorded version seems to reach a calm resolution; this performance was more ambiguous and unsettling.

The opening acts were a mixed bag. Singer Daisy Press and keyboardist Nick Hallett joined forces for a trio of Hildegard Von Binghen songs, which they reinvented as starlit, twinkling art-rock. Hallet supplied a kaleidoscope of deep-space textures and baroque-pop loops for Press to soar over. There was an allusively Middle Eastern quality to her ripe, wounded soprano, channeling buttery, lascivious allusions in Latin: a cantor or a muezzin might have sounded much the same around 1150 AD. Getting to hear Flanigan and Press back to back was a rare treat: the former gets credit for having the guts to follow the latter on the bill.

Turntablist Maria Chavez built a pastiche out of spoken word albums; the only thing missing was “Number nine, number nine, number nine.” There was a joke about noisy neighbors that drew some chuckles, otherwise, it could have gone on for half as long and nobody would have suffered. Or maybe you just had to be 420ing a little early to appreciate it.

As for the night’s first act, C. Spencer Yeh, it took nerve to give the crowd a fat, raised middle finger for as long as he did. Puckering up and running his vocal pop-pops through a mixer, he first created a rain-on-the-roof tableau that suddenly became just a single stream of liquid. That was hilarious, and foreshadowed the rest of his act. That quickly became the kid upstairs at 6 AM bouncing the basketball on your ceiling. Over. And. Over. Again. And then farting noises. Self-indulgent? Totally. Puerile? Uh huh. Pure punk rock? No doubt. Yeh gets props for being fearless, but be aware that if he’s on the bill, you may be subjected to something like this.