Chris Lee @ Frederick’s Music Lounge 2/22/02

Equipped with an electric guitar and a small amp, Chris Lee took the stage in front of a quaint audience that, for the most part, didn’t know a thing about him. Eighty minutes later, everyone staggered out of Frederick’s feeling as if they’d just made a new best friend.

Lee is so unique that he’s hard to describe and usually gets screwed over with comparisons. Most will say that he sounds like Jeff Buckley and Mark Mulcahy, or some will even suggest he’s more of a romantic soul singer ? la Billy Paul. Others will focus on his avant-garde ties, pointing to connections with Sonic Youth’s Steve Shelley or referencing one of his previous bands, like folk experimentalists Mishagas.

Really though, Chris Lee just sounds like Chris Lee. His experimental tendencies have taken a backseat and an emphasis on structure has emerged, although an odd melody or broken chord is occasionally inserted for good measure. Combined with a high-pitched, soulful voice, Lee composes authentic soul songs, readymade for late night listening. It’s arcane music that touches on themes of dependency, tragedy, sex, frustration and grace. For sure, both of his records are among the most comforting and thoughtful song collections in recent years.

Between songs, audience banter was alive and well, and Lee seemed to be enjoying the good-natured Eric Clapton requests and invitations to slag the Strokes and Ryan Adams. Finally, after creating friendly rapport with his sweet responses and honest attempts at conversation, he obliged by telling the infamous Ryan Adams story. Nearly everyone had heard it (concerning the infamous “three minutes to blow your mind” line), but it was still funny.

After “The Art of Self-Destruction,” he decided on some Sade and dropped a show stopping “Lover’s Rock,” during which his sweet voice provided a nice change of pace from the original’s sultry vocals. To end things, he entertained a Fred Friction request of “I Can’t Make Love to You Anymore” to perfection, although he hadn’t played it in quite a while.

The sleeve of Lee’s first record begs the question, “Where did all the Dan Penn’s go?” It’s a good point, considering the cult Memphis soul singer can be regarded as one of the greatest of all time and few seem to be following in his footsteps. But with a little time and a few more records, Chris Lee just may be the answer to his own question.

Guided By Voices @ Mojo’s 2/23/02

Bob Pollard bounced onstage, opened a bottle of Cuervo and took a generous swig. “I’m not drunk yet kids, but I’m getting there,” he said. Two-and-a-half hours later, the band was finished and so was the tequila. Indeed, nothing changes in Guided By Voices land but the seasons.

Like Wilco, the band has a new record in the can, although it probably won’t be heard for a while. In the midst of some label shopping (reportedly, they will join Paul Westerberg on Vagrant), GBV are embarking on an extended set of live dates, primarily touching cities not included on the lengthy Isolation Drills tour. About a dozen tracks off the upcoming record were played. Having accepted their new status as recognizable indie gods, Guided By Voices, it appears, are hitting their stride.

Although the band was “spot on,” the audience was a bit sketchy. Perhaps the unfamiliar songs were thwarting all of those familiar GBV show occurrences. Straight grown men were not hugging other straight grown men in that odd bonding ritual that usually takes place. Most stunning though, is that beer wasn’t being sprayed about the venue in jubilant celebration.

Pollard sensed the tame reaction, but wouldn’t quit with the new material. “If we don’t play them and get them right, they’ll never be your favorite songs,” he said.

Finally, he introduced “Tractor Rape Chain” and the place went mental. Fists in the air and smiles on faces, the audience drowned out Pollard during the chorus. Clutching began, and the guy in the Superchunk t-shirt was frantically singing to the guy in the Pavement T-shirt. All was well.

Requests came out in droves and GBV proceeded to turn out anthem after anthem. “Soul Train College Policeman,” “Waved Out,” “Things That I Will Keep,” “My Valuable Hunting Knife” and “The Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory” came early, but songs from Isolation Drills shined brightest. In particular, “Chasing Heather Crazy,” “Run Wild,” “The Enemy” and “Glad Girls” sounded monstrous.

Each of the five members played their parts well. Pollard was front and center; jump-kicking, smiling and altering the set list that was printed on a huge piece of yellow construction paper. Nate Farley and Tim Tobias stood stage right, drinking, joking, laughing, hugging and occasionally playing their instruments. Kevin Marsh and Doug Gillard proved to be the backbone, holding the music together with concentrated playing.

For the encores, two perfect covers sandwiched the classics. First up was “Jumping Jack Flash,” serving as solid proof that GBV are the biggest of rock stars somewhere in a parallel universe. Following another series of sing-a-longs that included “Peephole,” “I Am A Scientist” and “Hot Freaks,” was a spot-on “Baba O’Reilly.” A grown man singing about “teen-age wasteland” never sounded so right.

After more than 40 songs, the band was off, but still remains the surest ticket in town. Never have they stopped drinking. Never have they let an audience down. Never have they shied away from their pop sensibilities. Never have they sucked. Never have they failed to passionately play rock ‘n` roll, night in and night out. “A Salty Salute,” then, to Guided By Voices.