The Bottle Rockets

@ Blueberry Hill 3/7/01

During her last stop in St. Louis, Lucinda Williams said St. Louis is lucky to be able to claim the Bottle Rockets. “Any city that’s got the Bottle Rockets must be cool,” she said.

Usually lumped with Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt and others of the Americana ilk, the Bottle Rockets have much more up their sleeve than country twang. Their most effective weapon to combat these stereotypes is the Randy Newman-esque personality of leader Brian Henneman.

Totally lovable and a little stubborn, Henneman led the Rockets through a blistering set of country rock, chugging along with infectious pop song after infections pop song. “Kerosene” and “Indianapolis.” Chug Chug. “Welfare Music.” Chug. “Stoned Faces Don’t Lie” and “Radar Gun.” Chug Chug. Watching them made everything seem too easy.

Steve Earle would agree that the band’s best song is “I’ll Be Coming Around.” It’s nothing short of a pop masterpiece and its inclusion in the set provides the night’s most pleasant moment. “If he ever changes his mind/Thinks of leaving you behind/Or if you just want something more/When he steps out the front door/I’ll be coming around/Knocking your back door down,” are about the most wonderfully simple lyrics imaginable.

Lucinda, we know exactly what you were talking about.

The Dismemberment Plan

w/ Death Cab For Cutie

@ Creepy Crawl 3/8/01

We had on our hands a couple of amazing indie bands, unfortunately tarred with the dreaded emo tag, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Sure, the recognition helped make this a sold-out show, but the thought of entertaining 300 smiling weenies who worship Sunny Day Real Estate is enough to take the wind out of anyone’s sails.

Being troopers, Death Cab for Cutie went up first for an hour of intelligent, well-crafted pop songs and impressed enough to remind of R.E.M. in their youthful prime. The highlight is “Photobooth” from their recent EP, providing relief from the disaster that was Aveo, or the poor man’s Radiohead that opened the show. Although the show tapered toward mediocrity, Death Cab is clearly destined for something great.

The frantic sounds of the Dismemberment Plan were entrusted with headlining duties. Leader Travis Morrison showcased his frightening ability to seemingly spit out more symbols in one breath than humanly possible, all to the solid, funky backbeat laid down by the rest of the plan. The result sounds something close to Pavement covering the Charlatans “North Country Boy” in the freakiest, most epileptic way imaginable. “The Ice of Boston” was the expected highlight and snippets of “I’m A Slave 4 U,” “Izzo (H.O.V.A.)” and “Ain’t No Sunshine” were seamless segues.

The emo boys and girls ate up every minute of “Death and Dismemberment,” but so did we. So maybe, just maybe, Death Cab speaks the truth when they sing about washing our hard hearts away. So, the kids are alright-at least on a night like this.

Johnny Dowd @ Frederick’s Music Lounge 3/15/01

We mean this in the sweetest possible way, but Johnny Dowd is a strange, strange man. Evidence of this came midway through his set at Frederick’s on March 15th when Johnny and his band tore through a Brian Eno-influenced version of “Jingle Bells.”

As with the holiday classic, Eno’s ghostly soundscapes loom over nearly all of Dowd’s material, complemented with the Texas native’s spooky drawl and guitar chords that seem to hang forever. A breakbeat straight out of Roni Size’s repertoire steadies “Vengeance is Mine” and is one of the many accessible rhythms from drummer Brian Wilson.

As Justin Asher attacked his guitar with a screwdriver and Dowd read a poem about marrying his sister, the night only got more bizarre. Dressed in a black suit, Dowd commanded the stage like the Lou Reed of Americana, providing uneasy moments interspersed with slices of humor.

The encore is a song about “a body in the bedroom and another one in the hall.” Its comes as no surprise that it’s called “Murder,” but Dowd wandering into the crowd and handing his guitar off to a startled fan was unexpected.

The fan starts strumming, the screwdriver keeps pounding, the drums keep pummeling, and Dowd starts screaming “MURDER!” It’s easy to see why Sonic Youth are among Dowd’s devoted fans. And now, so are we.