A Twistedly Relevant, Phantasmagorical Evening in Brooklyn with Orphan Jane

by delarue

Orphan Jane brought a good crowd to the Knitting Factory Wednesday to watch them pounce and scamper through a tantalizingly brief, lurid set of noir cabaret and circus rock – on a night when the L train was shutting down early. Considering that their motley fans don’t seem like an Uber crowd – they’re a pretty diverse bunch – that’s all the more impressive.

What was most impressive was frontwoman Jessica Underwood AKA The Girl with No Name’s vocals. In the band’s early days, she worked a sardonically brassy, vampy persona. These days she’s Pirate Jenny on steroids. With her wide-angle vibrato, glass-shattering wail, razor bangs and crimson dress, she channeled pure menace. Guitarist Old Man Shorty (Dave Zydallis) and bassist The Gravedigger (Robert Desjardins) slunk and scurried and stabbed as singer Montana Slim (Tim Cluff) spun eerie Balkan-tinged minor-key chords from his accordion.

Underwood’s arioso firestorm rose over creepy, spiky artful-dodger guitar, red neon accordion waves and nonchalantly menacing chromatic trumpet from Daria McBean (Caitlin Featherstone) as the the first number got underway. “We don’t want a thing from you” became a sarcastic mantra. They followed with a twisted tale about a guy trying to pick up (very) underage girls – it’s their Aqualung, and also turned out to be the most Gogol Bordello-ish number of the night. As expected, Underwood took it way up to the rafters at the end.

The most straightforwardly murderous song of the night was Creepy Little Town, Underwood switching out the theatrics for raw evil, Zydallis’ stark monster-movie riffage anchoring its noir blues sway. They went back to the noir cabaret for the slashingly sarcastic The Banker, rising form a suspensefully tiptoeing intro to a big swinging harmony-fueled chorus. Cluff’s role in this band is sort of good cop to Underwood’s very bad one: “I’d prefer not” became his recurrent theme.

The next song, Diamonds and Caviar, was an unexpectedly Tex-Mex flavored conspicuous-consumption satire. The vernacular may have been Weimar, but the band definitely had the spend-and-Instagram crowd in their sights. “I can’t forget my mother, to hell with all the others,” Underwood snarled; “There will be clothes” was the mantra. The followed that with Strong – a fiery, towering female-empowerment anthem, with the HipSits’ Cherrye Davis and Kathleen Fletcher supplying spot-on satanic gospel harmonies – and then closed with the murderous Gatsby-gone-awry anthem The Mansion Song, the best and most cinematic narrative from their 2016 A Poke in the eye, Underwood unable to resist throwing a dis at Jared Kushner as it got underway. Kurt Weill, look at the monster you created. 

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