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Slinky, Purposeful, Enigmatically Shifting Grooves From Trombonist Reut Regev

Trombonist Reut Regev may be best known for her work with irrepressibly exuberant New Orleans-flavored oldtime blues jamband Hazmat Modine, but she’s also a bandleader in her own right. Her own compositions span the worlds of jazz, dub, psychedelia and downtempo music. Her latest album with her group R*Time, Keep Winning, is streaming at Bandcamp.

The Bumpy Way, a tune by her husband and drummer Igal Foni has a playfully circling, undulating groove matched by bassist Mark Peterson beneath guitarist Jean-Paul Bourelly’s minimalist skronk and chicken-scratch funk, the bandleader carving a way amid the potholes along the path.

The Last Show is an imaginary swan song performance, and the funniest song on the record, a Keystone Kops mashup of all the styles a trombonist is typically expected to tackle over the course of a career. Regev admits that even if she was to officially play a farewell gig, there’s no way she could quit music.

Up in the Sky, a surreal, bracing mashup of funk, uneasily percolating psychedelia and looming atmospherics, is a dedication to Regev’s brother Sharon, killed in a car accident at age six. As she reminds, the trauma of losing a sibling at a young age still resonates, no matter how much time goes by.

Moovit is a slinky, rhythmically shapeshifting number that harks back to the careening, often joyous haphazardness of her debut album, Exploring the Vibe, a milieu they stick with throughout the tightly swinging, noisily entertaining title track.

With a Smiling Voice is the most dubwise and also catchiest number here, Regev shifting from the terseness of vintage rocksteady to allusive Middle Eastern chromatics as Foni rumbles and then brings the song up to a wry trick ending.

The version of War Orphans here – a tune which Ornette Coleman composed but never ended up recording – draws on the Don Cherry version, a series of spacious, rising, increasingly acidic riffs. Inspired by Regev’s young daughter, Hard to Let Go explores the way children hold fast to the day as it winds down, a slowly unwinding experience with plenty of rough but also comedic moments…as any mom knows.

The album winds up with Foni’s quite possibly cynical, soca-tinged, turbulent Beware of Sleeping Waters, inspired by a bad experience at a gig in Paris. Lots of flavors and thoughtfully inspired playing here, as you would expect from Regev.

A Psychedelically Cinematic New Album and a Brooklyn Release Show by Sxip Shirey

For the last several months, when he hasn’t been on tour or on set for one theatrical performance or another, multi-instrumentalist Sxip Shirey has been tracking at Martin Bisi‘s legendary (and hopefully, sooner than later, landmarked) BC Studios. The Luminescent Orchestrii co-founder contributed to the marathon weekend there last year in celebration of the space’s 35th anniversary. Watching him play blues harp through a Death Star-sized pedalboard, dueling with slinky bass virtuoso Don Godwin (better known as the funky tuba player who propelled Raya Brass Band for so long) was a real trip, considering that this happened at around eleven on a Sunday morning. Shirey has a new album, A Bottle of Whiskey and a Handful of Bees – which hasn’t made it to the usual spots yet, although there a few tracks up at youtube – and an album release show at 7 PM on Jan 9 at National Sawdust. Advance tix are steep – $30 – but he doesn’t play around New York much anymore.

Since his pioneering Romany/circus rock band went on hiatus, Shirey’s thing has been loopmusic. As you would expect from a film composer, he takes some giant stylistic leaps between genres and makes it all look easy. This is a fun, quirky album that’s probably best cut and pasted among a bunch of favorite playlists: there’s something for every mood and theme here. It opens with the first of a couple of trippy, atmospheric miniatures, then shifts to a more psychedelic take on New Order and then a downtempo neosoul vamp with woozy vocals from Rihannon Giddens.

Crooner Xavier takes over lead vocals on I Got a Man, a steady, loopy resonator guitar blues-scape, then returns later on Cinnamon Stick, a homoerotic mashup of corporate urban pop, country blues and deep dub. Latency (Jetlag) is an uneasy music-box theme of sorts, while Shirey’s darkly exuberant minor-key blues harp on Grandpa Charlie brings to mind another charismatic New York frontman, Hazmat Modine‘s Wade Schuman.

Shirey follows the moody So Stay – akin to Iron & Wine covering the Sisters of Mercy – with Awake, a detour into spiky pine-forest acoustic psychedelia. Fat Robot blends New Orleans funk tinges into its trip-hop sway – it sounds like one of those Sunday morning tracks from Bisi’s place. Giddens returns to the mic on the ecstatic Just Drive By, Firefly, akin to a late 80s Bomb Squad take on a big soul anthem from twenty years before. I Didn’t See Her Walking In stays in the 80s, but with a slick Britpop gloss. Bracingly scrapy strings give way to a bubbly pulse in The Land Whale Choir Sings the Albert Hall, while Bach, Stevie Wonder and Janelle Monae is a lot more latter than former.

The big anthem Palms could be the Waterboys doing a Lou Reed tune. After that, Shirey brings to mind a more acoustic, less Asian take on Ryuichi Sakamoto’s early 80s scores.

A Rare Brooklyn Show by One of New York’s Funnest, Most Esoteric, Psychedelic Bands

As far as esoteric jambands go, Tribecastan have few if any rivals. The group’s ringleaders, multi-instrumentalists John Kruth and Jeff Greene have led a rotating cast of characters since this wild, psychedelic beast first made its appearance on the streets of lower Manhattan about a half-dozen years ago. To try to pigeonhole or categorize them would be useless. Like their closest comparison, Hazmat Modine, jazz is a frequent reference point, but where that group uses horns, this crew employs a vast arsenal of central Asian, Middle Eastern and African stringed and percussion instruments along with a rock rhythm section. And they’re funny – if Spike Jones and Juan Esquivel aren’t direct influences, they’re distant relatives. The group’s latest album, Goddess Polka Dottess – streaming at Bandcamp – is their most straightforward and psychedelic rock-oriented release. They’ve got a rare Brooklyn show coming up this Friday, Sept 9 at 8 PM at Shapeshifter Lab; cover is $12.

Tribecastan also distinguish themselves as one of New York’s most prolific bands. The latest album is a bit of a change from their previous output in that most of the songs are by Kruth. The opening number, Repo Rodeo follows a droll, cartoonish, cajun-flavored sprint fueled by Kruth’s mandolin, Greene’s vibraphone, the horns of baritone saxophonist Claire Daly, trumpeter John Turner, alto saxophonist Premik Russell Tubbs and trombonist Chris Morrow until keyboardist Kenny Margolis leads them down a Middle Eastern rabbit hole. From there the group keeps the Middle Eastern noir psychedelia going with Konjo – the first of two songs by Greene here – driven by Kruth’s watery electric mando and Eric Halvorson’s tumbling drums.

Bassist Ray Peterson’s snappy riff opens Bangalorious, a wry mashup of latin soul and Bollywood – a sitar, played by Kruth, finally makes a cameo. Vagabundo is an unlikely successful hybrid of creepy klezmer and dub ska – imagine a Belorussian James Bond theme. The even more macabre Charnel Waltz brings to mind Kruth’s other, more stripped-down group, Villa Delirium.

Majestic Ganesh, one of the band’s few vocal numbers, pokes playful, Beatlesque fun at the Indian pantheon. The band takes a turn into brassy psych-funk with Trouble in a Fur Coat and follow that with the silly calyspo flute tune Myrtle & Mable. Then they march through the somewhat subtler Zoli’s Strut, with its microtonal banks of Asian reed instruments.

The Mahakala Stomp, Greene’s second track here, is a catchy hi-de-ho swing number with boisterous solos all around. (you’ll have to supply the band intros yourself). The Surfing Swami makes a return to Beatlesque Indian psychedelia, followed by Kilopatra, the album’s best and most Middle Eastern track, awash in uneasy, icy mando, snakecharmer flute and biting banjo. The next track, Borislav, a slinky Balkan brass tune with a hilariously over-the-top break that’s too funny to give away here, is another real winner. Constantly shifting from one instrument to another, Tribecastan are very entertaining to watch onstage, with Kruth affecting a mad pied-piper-on-acid persona.

Rachelle Garniez Releases 2015’s Best Album, a Harrowing, Richly Detailed Portrait of the Here and Now

Dichotomies run deep throughout Rachelle Garniez’s latest album, Who’s Counting, streaming at Spotify. Optimism and despondency, irresistible laughs and corrosive anger sit side by side. The music is spare, uncluttered and for the most part unhurried. Everything counts for something, even the subtlest touches. Funny/creepy hospital room sonics channeled via the highest stops on her accordion; faux sleigh bells that could be cruelly faux-Christmasy, or maybe just guardedly festive. Even the jauntiest tracks have a dark undercurrent, while the darkest ones are understated, even gentle. While the music draws on many retro styles – saloon blues, Louis Armstrong torch song, Brecht/Weill cabaret, 19th century Celtic New York balladry – it’s irrefutably in the here and now, an artifact of a year of refugee death marches, tribal bride murders and the devastation of Garniez’s beloved Manhattan as the stampede to cash in on what’s left of the real estate bubble leaves entire neighborhoods trampled and crippled. Garniez relates all those narratives in many voices: an innocent, a bawdy belter or a shellshocked witness, sometimes a parade of personalities in the same song. As a bittersweetly accurate portrait of the here and now, it is unrivalled in 2015 and for that reason is the best album of the year, maybe the best album in a career that includes more than one brilliant one.

Garniez’s work over the past fifteen years or so is not an easy read. Very often, the window of interpretation hangs open, as far as the degree of subtext or sarcasm lurking in the shadows underneath. On the surface, Medicine Man – a remake of a sultry hokum blues strut originally released on her 2003 Luckyday album – builds a steamy atmosphere fueled by the gusty brass of Hazmat Modine, of which Garniez is also a member. A closer listen reveals a thinly veiled plea for some relief from a lingering angst. Little Fish – a Cajun-flavored duet featuring the Hazmats’ banjo player Erik Della Penna, originally released on Garniez’s eclectic 2000 album Crazy Blood – is addressed to a missing person who might be missing for keeps. And the album’s most irrepressibly dancing number, Flat Black – a simple bass-and-vocal duet that looks back fifty years to Sarah Vaughan’s work with Joe Comfort – is a blackly droll look forward to the singer’s funeral, where everybody’s going to “sit shiva by the river, have a little chopped liver.”

That’s the bright side of the album. The dark side is harrowing, even devastating. Garniez plays spare gospel-tinged piano against an ambered horn chart on the title track, in the moment in every conceivable sense of that phrase. She maintains that mood, taking it up a notch for awhile, on the vivid, photorealistic New York Minute, on one hand a fond reminiscence of a Manhattan childhood in the days before helicopter parenting, on another a very uneasy portrait of a budding eight-year-old existentialist. And Manhattan Island – one of several miniatures interspersed enigmatically between songs – grounds the current speculative crisis in centuries of history.

The album’s highest points are also its most brooding. The Elizabethan Britfolk-flavored Vanity’s Curse opens as a suspensefully crepuscular portrait of a dotty old lady’s well-appointed lair but quickly moves to illuminate the sinister source of all that luxe: it’s impossible to imagine a more relevant song released this year. The haunting, starkly quiet A Long Way to Jerusalem follows an ages-old Talmudic tale, recast as a shattering chronicle of women abused and tortured over the centuries. And It’s a Christmas Song (watch the cool video) offers a contrarian view that will resonate with anyone whose tolerance for corporate holiday cheer has maxed out. As the song swings and bounces along, Garniez has no problem with revelry. “If you gotta shop, please support the mom & pop,” but:

Let’s celebrate the birth
Of redefining worth
Start a full-scale reconstruction
Of a flawed global economy
Take down corporate tyranny
Promote local autonomy

It figures that Garniez would wait til the album’s last song to finally drop her guard and let her message resonate, pure and simple. That’s a Christmas present worth sticking around for. Garniez plays Barbes on January 7 at 8 PM, then she’s back there on January 17 at 7:30 PM.

Rachelle Garniez Brings Her Irrepressible New York Wit, Charisma and Songcraft to the East Village for Two Shows

Accordionist/multi-instrumentalist Rachelle Garniez was the first artist ever covered at this blog. Considering how the music blog demimonde is as crowded, and generally anonymous, as a Chinatown mall, if you’re going to hang your shingle out there, you want to go into business with a bang, really make it count, right? Four and a half years after that hot August night on the Lower East Side, Garniez – widely considered to be the gold standard for New York songwriters – has seen her career skyrocket, touring worldwide with her own group as well as playing in edgily shanbling blues/swing/Carribean/klezmer kitchen-sink band Hazmat Modine. Garniez also has a killer new album, Who’s Counting, just out and a couple of shows coming up on December 7 and 14 in the intimate, sonically exquisite piano room at Pangea on Second Ave. between 11th and 12th Sts. Cover is $15

For Garniez, ecstasy and despair are two sides of the same coin. She sings in character, and she’s got a million of them. deadpan ingenue, wide-eyed schoolgirl, hazily smiling hippie chick, opera diva, slinky silent film-era flapper. And also venomous oldschool punk rocker, outraged 99-percenter, wounded veteran of the psychic wars. irrepressible bon vivant, born-and-raised streetwise New Yorker with a sentimental streak as wide as Broadway at Park Place. Many of those characters inhabit the same song. Garniez loves to work that live, just as much as she likes to mess with the audience. One of her favorite shticks is to open a number, or write a first verse, that leads you to believe that the song’s going to be blithe and contented all the way through – and then she flips the script.

The last time this blog caught her live – at Barbes back around Labor Day – she actually didn’t mess with the crowd much. Instead, she was all about the songs. This was an intimate duo show with her regular bassist/sparring partner Tim Luntzel, who took centerstage on the macabrely funny Flat Black, a jaunty bass-and-vocal blues. Otherwise, he hung in the shadows and supplied a slinky backdrop, Garniez opening on accordion with the uneasily summery Manhattan Island, segueing from there into Tourmaline, a big crowd favorite with its bitter metaphors of semi-precious stones who go unappreciated. The high point of this particular show was Vanity’s Curse. She played that one on acoustic guitar, an Elizabethan-tinged Britfolk guitar waltz that goes on for awhile as a cozily nocturnal portrait of domestic contentment (and decor) before Garniez rips off the mask and reveals the source of where all that luxe came from.

Then she went to the piano for New York Minute, saloon jazz in the same vein as Mose Allison – if he’d been a girl from the Upper West in the days before yuppification, instead of a guy from Mississippi. The rest of the show ran the gamut of styles and her rich back catalog. There was the strutting, aphoristic Weimar blues Just Because You Can; God’s Little Acre, a defiantly hilarious kiss-off to a fling from the past turned Facebook stalker; and the understatedly grim existentialist gospel of the new album’s title track, all spiced with stinging, extemporaneous between-song banter. If this sounds like fun, it ought to be even more so next week in Garniez’s old East Village stomping ground.

Tribecastan’s New Songs from the Old Country: Their Trippiest, Best Album

Tribecastan’s fourth album New Songs from the Old Country is their best, most focused, and darkest release, one of this year’s most amazingly eclectic and trippy collections. The whole thing is streaming at the group’s Bandcamp page. Their 2009 debut Strange Cousin introduced them as a kitchen-sink band doing genre-smashing instrumental mashups of styles from the Mediterranean to the East Indies and all points in betweeen, employing a museum’s worth of exotic stringed and wind insturments. Their 2010 release Five Star Cave moved a little closer to jazz, while 2012’s New Deli went more in a rock direction. So this is a return to their roots, spread as far across the globe as they are, like a giant magic mushroom. As usual, the band’s brain trust, John Kruth and Jeff Greene take their pick of the choicest, most obscure insturments: mandocello, octave mandolin, yayli tambor, African raft zither, baglamas, charango: the list goes on and on.

Thre’s an awful lot to like here: sixteen tracks in all. The opening number, Bwiti is a dead ringer for Tuatara with its hypnotic clip-clop percusssion and spiky lutes, a catchy blues tune with Asian tinges and a lively horn chart with Claire Daly’s baritone sax anchoring Matt Darriau’s alto. Auto Rickshaw layers a thicket of lutes over Ray Peterson’s slinky bassline and Kenny Margolis’ swirly organ, with a break for sitar and a droll jawharp boinging underneath. Their version of Satie’s Gnossienne No. 1 nicks the Chicha Libre arrangement right down to the bolero rhythm, a wood flute replacing Josh Camp’s Electrovox; still, it’s a great song.

Dance of the Terrible Bear is a characteristically surreal mashup of Balkan brass, dixieland and bluegrass. Corned Beef and Sake does the same with an Irish reel, hi-de-ho jump blues and atmospheric Japanese folk. Communist Modern, fueled by Margolis’ sardonic keyboards and a lushly cinematic arrangement, is a dead ringer for surf rock legends Laika & the Cosmonauts.

Night Train to the Ukraine builds from a suspenseful, drony intro to a darkly scampering, chillingly chromatic woodwind tune. Gordana’s Dream brings back the Tuatara vibe with its gamelanesque, anxiously pointillistic ambience. Saloniki Reb marches along with a haunting Turkish melody played first on baglama (is that a baglama or another artifact from the museum?) and then clarinet, then suddenly the sun comes out and the tune picks up. The band stays on the Balkan track with the lively, pulsing, deviously catchy Road to Koprivnica

Adrian’s Leap is another mashup, this one blending bluegrass, the Balkans and the blues with a bit of an Indonesian tinge and a starkly searing solo on a fiddle of some kind. The Blue Sky of Your Eyes sets a bluegrass baglama tune to a bhangra beat, with bluesy harmonica. Natal Spring takes a bolero to the plains of South Africa, while.Kepaci Rain, the most hypnotic tune here, pairs off Gordana Evacic’s cimbalom against jaw harp and wood flute. Blame It on the Moon is not the jazz standard but a moodily strolling bolero with a lush blend of mandolin, lutes and horns. The final cut, Persian Nightingale, opens as a hypnotically clanging dirge and rises to majestically swirling heights  Among similarly inclined global jambands, only Hazmat Modine compare to these guys. Tribecastan play the album release show for this one this Fri, Sept 27 at 7:15 at Drom; advance tix are just $10.

Halle & the Jilt: Oldschool Soul with a Fresh, Dark Undercurrent

A cynic might say that the recent explosion of female-fronted oldschool soul bands are all trying to be the next Adele. But the reality is that most of them have been going for as long or longer than she has: the main reason why Sharon Jones isn’t on commercial radio is because her little label doesn’t have the payola money. Meanwhile, fantastic acts like Clairy Browne & the Bangin’ Rackettes, the Right Now and Meah Pace are packing small and midsize clubs. Halle & the Jilt work a lot of that same turf: for a taste of some of the lusciously noir cutting edge of retro soul music, they’re playing the album release for their second one, Three Roads Home, at the big room at the Rockwood tonight at 7.

Frontwoman Halle Petro goes for a steamy but biting oldschool soul vibe. Her voice is more crystalline and direct than most of the other retro soul mamas; when she’s not wailing full steam, her vocals often have jazz nuance. Petro’s not-so-secret weapon here is guitarslinger Michael Gomez, best known for his purist but often slashingly pyrotechnic work in careening minor-key gypsy/jamband Hazmat Modine. The album’s production is anything but slick, and all the better for it. At first listen, the funky opening track, Kiss My Ghost sounds like she’s saying “kiss my nose.” Petro sings vengefully over Tim Luntzel’s dancing, boomy bass, Jim Wert’s prominent drums and Gomez’ distorted funk guitar: “Are you happy when you kiss my ghost?” she demands. Did  she kill herself? Was she killed instead? Did anybody really get killed? The answer isn’t clear, and it’s intriguing.

The second track, Confessions is a feast of oldschool, jangly Memphis soul guitar under Petro’s nonchalant alto. Signs – which appears here in both live and studio versions – works a surprisingly interesting, artsy take on standard coffeehous singer-songwriter fare. Graveyard of the Ocean sets shipwreck metaphors over a cleverly creepy blend of noir funk and gothic folk. One suspects it might have a past life as a country song, reinforced by the presence of a broodingly torchy electric version of Wayfaring Stranger (which is actually fantastic – it wouldn’t be out of place on a Jennifer Nicely album).

Take What I Can Get pairs Petro’s elegant kiss-off narrative against echoey blues harp and nonchalantly unhinged, bluesy wailing from Gomez. Trees has a catchy, upbeat sway, Petro’s voice taking on a clipped, sardonic edge in the same vein as Hannah Fairchild of Hannah vs. the Many.

“You’re just a paper doll,” Petro adds casually on the burning, crescendoing, funk rock tune 10 East. Carry Me Home, a catchy 60s-style soul ballad, is a showcase for Gomez’ inspired, oldtime blues work with a slide on resonator guitar. The album winds up with a doo-wop soul number.

Reut Regev and R*Time Jam Out Some Murky Stoner Funk

[It’s always useful to have a sister blog that will send some good stuff over at the end of the month when you’re busy putting together the next month’s NYC concert calendar…]

Reut Regev is one of the ringleaders in minor-key jam band Hazmat Modine’s wild brass section, and a unique, original voice on the trombone. She’s got an eclectically fun new album, Exploring the Vibe, out with her stoner funk band, R*Time, which blends elements of jazz, no wave, Ethiopian and Balkan music, among other styles. Regev got the inspiration for the project at a festival in Germany where she had the chance to play with guitarist Jean-Paul Bourelly and realized that the chemistry for a good album was there. The rhythm section here is Regev’s husband Igal Foni on drums and Mark Peterson on bass, with cameos from Kevin Johnson on drums and Jon Sass on tuba. As you would expect, there’s a hypnotic, psychedelic aspect to this; at the same time, Bourelly and Regev utilize a lot of space, judiciously choosing their moments over an undulating groove. Much as a lot of the music has a restlessness and unease, a wry sense of humor pokes out from time to time. It’s a fun ride.

Bourelly plays mostly with a tinge of dirty, natural distortion when he’s not adding subtle ornamentation with his effects. Regev is a very incisive, rhythmic player, although she also likes ambient, shadowy colors. Peterson’s work here is hook-oriented – there are several passages where the drums drop out, or there’s skeletal percussion rattling around and that’s where the bass carries both melody and rhythm. Foni likes the rumbling lows, but like the rest of this crew, he doesn’t waste beats.

The opening track, Drama Maybe Drama, is a tongue-in-cheek diptych, Bourelly going off on a completely unexpected, early Jimmy Page-tinged open-tuned tangent midway through. They follow that with a buzzing, loopy, unresolved interlude and then Montenegro, which hints at reggae, funk and disco before finally hitting some Balkan riffage and then a Middle Eastern-flavored bass solo. Bluegrass and Ethiopian tinges sit side by side in Ilha Bela, a minimalisti but catchy tune with doppler trombone from Regev. Madeleine Forever, a tribute to Foni’s mom, illustrates someone who could be severe but was also very funny, winding up with biting Big Lazy-style skronky funk.

Blue Llamas makes a good segue, again evoking Big Lazy with its allusive chromatics, stomping, spacious blues, hard-hitting guitar and hypnotic rimshot rhythm. OK OJ coalesces toward a camelwalking East African groove with some neat handoffs between the guitar and trombone and a tongue-in-cheek “let’s go” outro. Raw Way, ostensibly a Junior Kimhrough homage, sounds nothing like him: way down beneath all the rumbling and shrieking and free interplay, it’s a terse blues. New Beginning is a weirdly successful, catchy attempt to merge New Orleans funk and Hendrix. There’s also a wryly bluesy guitar miniature and a bizarre stoner soul song sung by Bourelly. Who is the audience for this? Obviously, jazz fans, although people who gravitate toward the more psychedelic side of funk have an awful lot to sink their ears into.

Rachelle Garniez Plays a Hell of a Birthday Show at Barbes

Birthday concerts are usually good, whether you buy into the astrological theory that it’s the performer’s power day, or the simple logic that being surrounded by good friends and good cheer makes for lively entertainment. That was the case last night at Rachelle Garniez‘ show at Barbes. She’s not known as a guitarist, but she’s a good one: she started and ended her long, practically two-hour set playing six-string, snaking her way through a handful of nimble solos, hitting her bottom strings hard, oldschool blues style. She also played solos on piano, accordion and bells that were even more edgy and interesting. Lately she’s become a charter member of wild New Orleans/klezmer/reggae/jamband Hazmat Modine, so she brought along her guitarist bandmate Michael Gomez as well as her longtime bassist Dave Hofstra. Her duo shows at Barbes with Hofstra can be pretty hilarious, with as much surreal storytelling and free-association as music. With Gomez fleshing out the sound, this show gave her the chance to do as much playing as singing and flex her instrumental chops.

She did Luckyday (title track to her classic 2003 album) on piano, giving it a resonant Debussy-meets-Steely Dan gleam, along with a moody, expansively minimalist soul/gospel take of God’s Little Acre, cruelly exploring the dilemma of whether or not to reconnect with someone from the distant, distant past on Facebook. Playing accordion, she indulged a couple in the crowd with a sweet, torchy take of Broken Nose, from her first album, and later encored with Silly Me (from her 1999 Crazy Blood album), playing up its warm latin sway rather than the wary ambiguity of the lyrics. The jaunty Pre-Post Apocalypse had a narrator “maxin’ and relaxin’ on this morphine drip” while the water and the thermometer kept rising, while Jean-Claude Van Damme, which may or may not be a tribute to the action film personality (actor might be a stretch) and antidepressant pitchman, was a showcase for Garniez to air out her immense range with some joyous (or semi-joyous) operatics.

A couple of times she dropped the double entendres and the jokes and went straight for the jugular, which makes sense considering her teenage roots in punk rock. People Like You had less of its usual sarcastic, tongue-in-cheek bounce than raw uncut hostility, Garniez lashing out at the type of New York newbie who’s always looking over your shoulder to see if he/she should be talking to someone more popular. And After the Afterparty, as Garniez explained, took its inspiration from a high school classmate who went on from spending his wee hours at Danceteria to become some alternative kind of sex therapist (Garniez wasn’t clear on this, and maybe he isn’t either). Her sotto vocce “I can’t remember a thing, Captain” refrain is a Star Trek reference, a line that this time out made for a fleeting respite from the song’s terse, sullen, wounded beauty. Garniez will be back at Barbes on April 4, which is usually where she plays when she’s not recording with Jack White, playing with Hazmat Modine, or serving as the music director of the Citizens Band, among other projects.

Tribecastan’s New Deli: A Welcome Addition to the Neighborhood

Tribecastan might be the ultimate kitchen-sink band. The sprawling New York group play deviously lighthearted original psychedelic music in styles from all over the world, from every era, combined in one giant hempseed stirfry of crunchy goodness. Their classic album is their 2009 debut, Strange Cousin: it’s their darkest, with a much more Balkan/Middle Eastern feel than their subsequent work. But their new one, officially out this coming February 7 and aptly titled New Deli, is a lot of fun. They’re playing tonight at Joe’s Pub at 7: if eclectic, trippy acoustic music is your thing, you should check them out.

The core of the band, John Kruth plays fretted instruments and flutes alongside his co-conspirator Jeff Greene on the rest of the fretted instruments in the band’s collective museum (five, just for his part) plus many percussion instruments as well. Their fellow travelers on this effort include Ween’s Dave Dreiwitz on bass, Scott Metzger on guitar, Steve Turre on trombone and shells, ex-Mink DeVille percussionist Boris Kinberg, John Turner on trumpet, Claire Daly on baritone sax, Cracker’s Kenny Margolis on keyboards plus cameos by the Master Musicians of Jajouka’s Bachir Attar, the Klezmatics’ Matt Darriau, Badal Roy and a horde of other special guests.

The opening track, Song for Kroncha, is typical: a Guyanese-style soca tune that takes a turn into bhangra. On a similar tip, Bed Bugs is a blithe Indian-flavored flute tune gone soca – these bed bugs are obviously well fed! Louie’s Luau also offers a taste of the tropics, a calypso-spiced New Orleans second line march done with fretted instruments plus brass and spiky mandolin (is that a mandolin? you never know with these guys) and jews harp. The band quotes from the Human League’s Keep Feeling Fascination underneath a flurrying mandolin (mandocello? rebab?) solo in Dive Bomber, a bracing Greek rembetiko dance with…are you ready…blues harp.

As with their previous album, Five Star Cave, the best songs here are the more serious ones. There’s A Crack in the Clouds, a wistful, catchy 6/8 anthem with flutes and cautious, brooding picking, and Jovanka, a Middle Eastern-flavored tango with a rich bed of fretted instruments and zither, Turner’s trumpet rising warily over the mysterious ambience, then giving way to Daly’s increasingly agitated baritone sax. The pensive bolero El Bumpa is another standout. The rest of the tracks include Daddy Barracuda, which resembles another wryly bluesy, psychedelic New York band, Hazmat Modine; the funky One Day His Axe Fell Into Honey, with its forest of flutes; the carefree, swinging The Brain Surgeon’s Wife Serves Lunch; and The Mystery of Licorice McKechnie, a weirdly amorphous jajouka tune.

There are also some covers here. Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s Freaks for the Festival is done as a funky, vividly carnivalesque organ-and-brass tune with those spiky fretted things and a woozy, bluesy Metzger electric guitar solo. Don Cherry’s Guinea gets a rustic, hypnotic treatment with flutes over a harmonium backdrop that hints at reggae. There’s also a couple of duds: Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood, which even the great Eric Burdon couldn’t rescue from schlockdom, and a pair of cloying Ornette Coleman ditties. Go to Joe’s Pub and scream for originals.