The Melvins & Altamont at the Brick Works, Chico, CA February 3, 2003
pics from Tony Collins
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Review from Synthesis.net
I had low hopes for the night from the minute I entered the club. Manic polka
music was tearing out of the house speakers, and it was beginning to give
me a headache when I asked a friend what exactly the deal was.
“Oh, I overheard the booking agent say that The Melvins insisted this
be played before the show,” he said.
Inauspicious, to say the least. But expectations have a way of biting me in
the ass, and this night was no exception.
The opening act wasted no time in storming the stage and dutifully churning
out Cro-Magnon stoner rock punctuated by odd time changes and snaking, sinewy
bass lines. The singer / guitarist looked oddly familiar, and by the time
the group had transformed into the headlining act (which I’ll get to
later), I realized that it was none other than Dale Crover, The Melvins’
drummer. Their music made an appropriate precursor to what was yet to come.
After a half an hour of playing, the group went into an extended jam that
seemed like it would never end. And it didn’t…all the members
of The Melvins gradually infiltrated the stage, taking control. The fact that
a guitarist became the drummer without my ever noticing is a testament to
how seamless the transition was.
The meager crowd howled in anticipation as lead singer King Buzzo took the
stage. Buzzo was an engaging figure; two parts Ozzy Osbourne and one part
Don King. The Melvins’ commercial success has been modest, and mostly
related to being Kurt Cobain’s favorite band, which has left them with
a diehard fanbase of freaks and stoners, both of whom came out of the woodwork
for a dose of riff-heavy sludge rock.
Upon their arrival, I immediately noticed that they were all wearing tattered
sackcloth dresses. With the exception of Buzzo, they all appeared listless,
but still managed to put forth a powerful set. Consisting of patchwork drone,
feedback and monstrous rhythms, their songs had a way of blending together
while retaining distinctly different tones.
A cool thing about their marathon performance was whenever you thought that
they had settled comfortably into a groove, they would abruptly mix it up
and proceed to rock the crowd with a sinister 15-second thrasher. By the same
token, however, they were adept at picking up an unassuming riff and expanding
on it until it became its own entity, only to incorporate it into the next
piece.
A second guitarist (who goes by the name of Adam Jones, better known from
his day job as the guitar player in Tool) provided ample distortion, stopping
occasionally to coax ominous noise from a keyboard. The only way their set
could be described is like trying to sing along to a Flipper record while
sinking in quicksand.
Just as the drummer started banging a gong and they began to wind down, everyone
waited for them to do what they did last time: stand around for five minutes
before one final jam. Then the house lights came on and Michael Jackson’s
peppy “Don’t Stop ‘Till You Get Enough” jolted the
audience out of its collective trance. The Melvins had gotten us, and I couldn’t
help but laugh.
– Raphael di Donato