15
September 1999
Iggy Pop. As Rebecca Gates pulls her guitar strap over her shoulder, she tells us that she hopes she isn't wearing the same shirt she wore the last time she was in town with the Spinanes. "Iggy Pop would never wear the same clothes twice... there are certain rock and roll truths to uphold." But tonight is too humbling for rock and roll truths. The Middle East downstairs is spacious, well-lit, and pin-drop quiet. Amazingly empty, void of people not kin to Rebecca's simplistically genuine nature. Take them out one by one. Initially, Rebecca has no time for chatter. Atop a virtually empty stage, she segues from awkward, quiet endings to new, determined beginnings. All the while the audience is unsure as to where songs begin and end and soon everything melts into a consciousness of pedaled reverb. I recognize upstrokes and haunting throatiness from my rotation of Spinanes CDs over the last few months, but song titles and proper discography escape me. The DJ wishes for his french kisses. Halfway through, she begins to tell stories. Her drive from Chicago inspires a full-body imitation of the jumpsuited man working on his VW van. "How sad to think that his car breaks down so often that he keeps that little jumpsuit-mechanics outfit with him wherever he goes." She gives us a "K-Tel preview" of upcoming singles and compilations, singing a line or two from each one. "The DJ wishes for his french kisses" are "two great lines amid twenty shitty ones" that she wrote into a song in under an hour. "I don't usually work like that." I'm happy to hear it, knowing that it would take me weeks to master just a few of the poignant, grounded moments that color her songs with such sophistication. More requests? Or would you rather I just stumbled through my list of covers I don't know? It's all downhill from here. Fans quietly name song titles when she asks for requests, and whether she remembers the song or not, Rebecca attempts to play them all. She improvises the initial drums of "Grand Prize" and sticks it out amid mistaken chords, lost beats, and a frustrated, "Fuck!", uttered into the mic halfway through. Sharing a "performance moment", Rebecca explains that she suddenly thinks "Kid" written on her set list, shorthand for "Kid in Candy", is instead the Pretenders' cover. "Why did I list a cover I don't know?" She plays with the kind of candid flare that I've only seen Eric Bachmann match. Snarling her upper lip, zoning out with a trance-like stare, she's in her moment with or without us. I could go sit backstage for a while, but I'm all alone and it smells back there. She encores. She unbuttons her blouse. She steps into a vaudevillian shuffle. She closes her eyes. She turns her back. She's gone. Who inspires you? biggest kiss... ...kristen |
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