Live Review: Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks
The Thekla's just about full tonight, and it's apparent that almost everyone in here is a die-hard fan of either Malkmus or Pavement. From t-shirts to badges to record bags and boxframe glasses, there are a hundred guys in here still living the Portland lo-fi dream. They're probably not here to see the support, but everyone's turned up early enough. Admittedly, I've arrived only halfway through an energetic set by Maths Class - a group of Brighton math-rockers with something very 'art' about them, however, I like what I'm seeing and hearing; two of their members are attacking a drum from either side, the riffs are insane - in short, it's great. But then the singer steps up and this is where Maths Class lose me. The man's voice drones into the microphone like a sarcastic teenager in my ear, and as much as I'd like to enjoy the band, this bloke wants my attention. A roadie makes his way on stage to tune guitars and line check everything, giving us just enough time to go grab a drink. I feel a little touched by the spirit of things; there are people up front trying to keep their places, and you could almost believe, with the pervasive indie-ness of the place, that we were, indeed, 'back in the day', at least the day before the things these people love were co-opted into iPod adverts. For a man in his early forties, Stephen Malkmus is a young-looking chap. Whatever his secret is, he and The Jicks are nevertheless idols of a significant turning point for underground rock music. It's nice, too, to see Janet Weiss (of Sleater-Kinney fame) behind the kit, nostalgia welling up once more. Malkmus fans are treated, naturally, to several songs from new release Real Emotional Trash, including the title piece and Hopscotch Willy, but equally as naturally, we're delivered tracks from previous releases such as Pig Lib's Vanessa From Queens and everybody - even the mysterious, incomprehensible heckler - goes wild when Malkmus and co. respond to a request for The Hook, a pirate-themed classic from his eponymous solo debut. The set rolls for an hour and a half, during which the band and audience share laughs and memories, with Malkmus throwing down his guitar in frustration, his roadie rushing on to deliver a fresh one in seconds. It's a touching evening, and we're all drunk and warm by the end of it. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that, as someone for whom Malkmus and Pavement have always been a peripheral presence at best in my listening, I only understood half the fuss. It's great that there were so many of the aforementioned die-hard supporters in tow, because the performance was clearly given with them in mind. Here is a band who panders to nobody but their cult following, and perhaps it ought to be that way. |  Stephen Malkmus. Photo: Moses Berkson |
