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Acid Mother Temple Rockwell, Somerville April 26, 2017
Arto Lindsay Once, Somerville April 27, 2017
Acid Mother's Temple drill a hole into your cerebral cortex, apply a lysergic poultice to the open wound and let nature take its course. And course they do it on a fantastic voyage right through your synapses. They let the effect build. Higashi Hiroshi modulates a sine wave to set up a space rock tingle over a drone. Tabata Mitsuru adds a splash of cheeky camp in white go go boots, run nylons and a garment factory buck a bag blouse and skirt. His occasional vocals add to the displacement.
Mitsuru guitar plays Lloyd to Makoto 's Verlaine if Marquee Moon was a sheet of blotter and Verlaine brought the noise. That said, all ears are on Makoto. The simple repetitive whole step and forth intervals set the "hit" that is Pink Lady Lemonade into motion. The riff is supported by busy melodic bass, shuffling drums and Kuiper Belt synth trails and theremin squiggles. Makoto leads an increasingly jagged freakout past the reluctantly downgraded Pluto. An unanticipated drop into a bit of space funk is highlighted by the chicken scratch of Mitsuru's second guitar. Finally, Satoshima's drums and S/T's bass click into double time behind Makoto and the whole fucking thing explodes. -------------------------------
Wiry, inscrutable and wry, the genial Arto Lindsay looks like the guy next door if he just happened to skronk a notable rough mark into New York no-wave and a lighter but distinctive imprimatur into the second wave of lilting pop Tropicalia. The crowd at Once is respectable and enthusiastic. Tonight it's all about the groove. The band keeps a light but roiling touch throughout. They play much of Lindsay's most recent Cuidado Madame disk. The drummer lays down a loop then plays a skittish syncopated or skewed hop hop groove. He layers in triggered splashes of percussion and synth and keeps things busy and insistent, locked in or locked out of the bass.
Melvin Gibbs on five string bass keeps the big grooves fat on that bottom string. The black nylons sound fast, round and smooth on his melodic runs. He dampens them all with his left hand and slashes out a cool, almost tuneless rhythmic kick. He twists it all up with judicious use of them there stompboxes. The keys float pretty through the more winsome tunes - especially those sung in Portuguese. Something about the electric keys reminds me of the departed too soon Gil Scott Heron. Like the bass and drums, the keys twist a few knobs and build up the groove.
Lindsay takes nothing you would recognize as a conventional solo. When he works his Danelectro twelve string it is usually with dampened strings and short bursts of contrast slash and burn rhythm and a finger splay of notes up and down the neck that demand your attention. He keeps it in check - maybe a bit too much. He smiles or briefly contorts his face like a transcendent Buddha happy to misbehave. The lyrics skip the politics of Tropicalisimo in favor of the politics of lovers, place, and relationships. Lindsay's vocals float on the band's midnight in a muy hip Rio nightclub vibe. He takes great care with the lyrics. Small pushes, bends on the notes and drops to an almost whisper create the tension and releases in the vocal. Then, he tears at the fretboard. The band percolates. They encore with the reggae tinged Simply Are. The surface is smooth but there are fantastic creatures wriggling about down below. Discover something new.
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