For a guy known as a conduit for any number of personal demons, Brian Jonestown Massacre singer/guitarist/ringmaster Anton Newcombe projected a centered calm during his band’s marathon show at the Neptune Saturday night.
Over the course of two-and-a-half hours, Newcombe and his ensemble of one drummer, one bassist, one tambourinist, and three guitarists wended their way through a sizable chunk of the band’s catalog. It was a marked contrast to the inebriated Newcombe I saw six years ago fronting a ragtag version of the band bearing no original members.
Sobriety’s brought out a lot of good out of the mercurial front guy. While still solidly in charge, Newcombe spent the set stationed at the left side of the stage, content to oversee things and let his bandmates take their share of the spotlight. Without losing one whit of his guided-by-voices obsessive fervor, Newcombe charismatically–and democratically–held court.
That communal spirit proved invaluable. Guitarist Matt Hollywood and tambourinist Joel Gion (two of Newcombe’s bandmates from the band’s glory days in the 1990s) have recently returned to the BJM fold, and their presence Saturday night made the Massacre sound like a real band–not just The Anton Newcombe Show.
Hollywood took the mic several times, snarling out classics like “Oh, Lord” with snotty authority. And anyone who thinks a guy on tambourine and maracas can’t contribute solidly and inexorably to a rock band’s groove hasn’t heard Gion’s work on both, punctuating and propelling this band’s lysergic vibe. They helped contribute to an ambience that felt as cooperative and positive as it was heady and sensual.
Aside from one jerk who persisted in yelling “Kill!” at the nonplussed Newcombe, the packed house responded to the Brian Jonestown Massacre’s dense and dark psychedelic magicks with the ready eagerness of acolytes, swaying in time to the sometimes languid, sometimes driving noises that filled the hall.
And as the night progressed, the band didn’t so much lose energy as give in to the vibe, getting more elastic and surreal. Even without the faint aroma of cannabis wafting periodically, the sonics would have provided a serious contact high, but the undercurrent of darkness and ragged rock bravado in Newcombe’s songs kept things from getting too hippy-dippy. Best live show I’ve seen so far this year? Straight up and down, baby.