Miscellaneous - Ottawa, 7/7/2006...11/7/2006

  by Andrew Carver

published: 21 / 7 / 2006

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Article

Once upon a time, Ottawa’s Bluesfest was all about the blues. Twelve years have come and gone, and now you’re just as likely to see a bunch of rowdy punk rockers, etiolated indie rockers or a world beat celebrity gracing one of the 10-day event’s four stages as a grizzled bluesman. Case in point: The first band I saw on the festival’s opening Friday was seven-member Michigan grab-bag orchestra Anathallo. The band was plunked down on a side stage ostensibly dedicated to grassroots music. In fact they sound like the offspring of Sufjan Stevens and the Animal Collective. Blending post-rock with dreamy vocals, a plethora of percussion (everything from massed bass drums to shakers to a balloon) and such intriguing stage antics as having every member of the band keel over for dramatic effect. The next “grassroots” band was Montreal’s Malajube. If your grass grows between wherever Blonde Redhead lives and a bunch of noisy garage rockers, then by all means they qualify. Their punchy, jumpy sound brought an enthusiastic response from the crowd. Having been dissuaded from seeing Calexico by the packed crowd assembled in front of the Black Sheep Stage (named after a local venue that favours folk and world music) I reclaimed my spot at the grassroots stage to watch Broken Social Scene. The group is hugely popular in Canada, but its mostly instrumental post rock still strikes me as overwrought and overstuffed. The dozen members put on a good show, but an hour later I wasn’t humming any of their tunes. The band themselves seemed to wish they were off watching Calexico themselves, (“We love those boys”), led a crowd singalong suggesting whoever booked the two groups in the same time slot should be fired and in a triple chant of “Calexico!” The following day I was back at the MBNA Grassroots Stage to see the Asylum Street Spankers (or at least five of them, since they left a few members back in the U.S.). The Texas-Louisiana band started off as an amplification-free old-time music band, and has since incorporated extra helpings of everything from jazz to country to hip hop into their sound. Their lyrics were surprisingly raunchy, and at times the band could have taken itself a bit more seriously - I’m specifically thinking of the use of a rubber chicken as a beat box – but made up for it with stellar musicianship. They were followed by Black Merda (pronounced “murder”), a Detroit based-funk rock band whose pedigree predates even the Parliament/Funkadelic crew’s. After a three-decade layoff they returned to perform a few shows in their hometown and generally cash in on their strangely resurgent reputation. Sandwiched between the Spankers and quirky dance-poppers the Brazilian Girls they didn’t seem to attract an audience themselves (the crowd was unresponsive to the point of churlishness) or perform well enough to earn one. I left the debacle to see Otis Taylor and his group (a mandolin player, guitarist and his daughter on bass) work there way through an intense set of trance influenced blues (including a searing version of ‘Hey Joe’) before settling in to watch Detroit’s Deadstring Brothers play a very capable but slightly predictable set of Gram Parsons worshipping country rock. The evening’s entertainment consisted of melancholy folk-rocker Jason Collett and bouncy singer songwriter Feist. Although the two acts weren’t co-billed, they might as well have been, with almost every member of the two acts making a guest appearance (Afie Jurvanen, of Collett’s backing band Paso Mino, and Apostle of Hustle Julian Brown worked straight through the night). Feist appeared on stage to duet with Collett (and pinch the flower from his buttonhole) and also drummed enthusiastically if not precisely on a later number. Feist’s headlining set avoided some of the more rocking touches of the last live appearance I saw, emphasizing the more delicate aspects of her much-acclaimed ‘Let It Die’ album. While lower key, the set was still typically intense, and Feist both looked and sounded great while she performed songs by Ron Sexsmith, tracks from her upcoming album and tunes from her days in Broken Social Scene. Sunday saw capable sets from local alternative-rock-loving singer-songwriter Amanda Rheaume, appropriately named and fancily dressed blues guitarist Slick Ballinger and high-energy blues and R&B ensemble Detroit Women. Cuban guitarist Elmer Ferrer also pleased his fans with his Hendrix-inspired playing. I was mostly interested in seeing Detroit soul singer Thornetta Davis, whose early work presaged the Bellrays, thanks to her ties with Motor City funk outfit Big Chief. But since the days of her debut album ‘Sunday Morning’ she’s taken a turn for more conventional rhythm and blues. She’s still a powerhouse vocalist, though. Fortunately the husband and wife team of Amadou et Mariam saved the day with their versatile Afrobeat. They have a splendid band that obviously enjoys working together (there was much onstage clowning and teasing) and their ebullient performance could not be denied. Sometimes folky and melancholy but more often upbeat (and a bit saucy) their set was easily a festival highlight. They made a super end to the weekend. Monday began with two female blues guitarists at the grassroots stage. Local Roxanne Potvin’s set seemed a bit mannered while Australian Mia Dyson’s hard-nosed blues was pleasingly muscular, while (the crowd applauded both sets enthusiastically). Rickie Lee Jones headlined the evening, accompanied only by a bassist and a guitarist whose fretwork could have just as easily shown up on a Kranky label release, she worked through her back catalogue and a couple of new tunes before an oncoming thunderstorm forced her to end the evening with an early encore of her big hit, ‘Chuck E’s in Love’. Tuesday was a bit drier. After a cover-heavy country music set from Ball and Chain, an Ottawa duo with a great affection for Hank Williams, and some slide guitar from Joe Grass, a blues guitarist from the Maritimes, I gathered with a vast contingent of local singer-songwriters to watch Mark Kozelek of Red House Painters and Sun Kil Moon fame. His somber acoustic performance (aided by fellow Painter Phil Carney) left the crowd either hushed or moribund, depending on your viewpoint. He may have thought the latter because he ended his set rather abruptly. Either by coincidence or design, the festival booked both major offshoots of famed alt-country forefathers Uncle Tupelo. Jeff Tweedy’s Wilco received a headlining slot on the main stage for the final Saturday; Jay Farrar’s Son Volt also got to headline, but on the Black Sheep Stage on a Tuesday. A smaller crowd, then, but one treated to a blistering set of country rock topped with Farrar’s reverberant rasp. The crowd was delighted, but I would have enjoyed a little more sonic variety.

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