FIREWATER
LIVE AT VILLAGE UNDERGROUND
NEW YORK, OCTOBER 12, 2001
They had been playing these tumultuous but thickly layered songs for just over an hour and a half straight and the two CMJ kids in front of me were hugging each other again.
The one with the thin face, goatee, and long-curled hair had just recovered from a powerful wave of emotional voltage that had knocked him off his feet. The music had hijacked his motor control. He landed on his ass and looked like a spider whose web had just been electrified, or like a bad guy in the movies who gets zapped and thrown backwards. After a moment of complete "what the fuck just happened" he bounced up next to his friend, grinned wildly and hugged him, as they had been hugging all night. It finally dawned on me that they were on ecstasy and that the surges of blissful extremes emanating from Firewater had sent him over that edge.
One helluva trip. The funny thing is that the waves of emotion he was gleaning from the music were all there and you didn't have to be juiced to feel them. At the same time, the sheer power of the band was at times too much to handle and only persons of extreme constitution could withstand the sonic assault of Tod A and his hard-charging crew. Otherwise, you could end up on your ass.
To this madness I chiefly credit the mixed bag that drummer Tamir Muskat brings to the table. He's a fucking animal on the kit and makes up for his lack of subtlety with an almost inhuman sense of rhythm. The problem is, sometimes he's just too amped or too goddamn loud for the band too handle (part of the problem was certainly the small, horizontally-built venue space, which is more suitable towards watching smooth jazz. These guys should be in arenas).
As a result of Tamir's insatiable appetite, the bass, violin, keyboards and poor Tod's voice all have to power up to match the unwavering tempo and deafening beats. When they were all together, an unbeatable dynamic was created. When they were off, confusion reigned.
Let me provide an example. The band's 4th number was "Whistling in the Dark" from The Ponzi Scheme. A nice, rolling lounge number. But instead it was played too fast and loud and its subtle moments of intrigue and suspicion were lost, leaving Tod and the rest of the band fighting to stay above the fray. At times it sounded like a jumbled mess, with some of the band trying to hang on for dear life while others were obliviously jamming. The same problem occurred on "The Man with the Blurry Face," a fantastic lyrical trip that was lost with the frenetic rhythm.
Too many of these and it’s a two-Tylenol night. But when Tamir and everyone else are jacked up to the same level, it’s a blissful blast-out. Few bands around can match the unique sound and fury that Firewater delivers.
What, exactly, is that sound? One person told me they were like "punk meets klezmer." I myself described their latest album as carrying a 60's alt-pop sound; other reviewers have noticed a similarity to spy movie theme music. And my compatriots for the show, Justin and Jenny -- who had never seen or heard the band -- thought they sounded like a Gypsy band that reminded them of The Pogues.
All of these are accurate, but none of them matter when you are watching Firewater live. When you are involved with this band you are watching the revelations of Tod A and the preachings of his band.
The ups and downs of life are magnified threefold, amplified and then jammed. Firewater isn't full of showmen, mere entertainers playing rock and roll -- it's a passionate and cathartic collective. When Tod tells you he "Woke Up Down," you won't come down. When they are "Dropping like Flies" you are falling to the floor. These two signature songs and the last five of their extended evening brought out the best of the band.
"Fell Off The Face of the Earth" from Psychopharmacology was one of them. The emotion inherent in the song was evident when Tod announced "this is another song about people who can't fly" to open the tune. A haunting melody carries Tod's impressions of a departed friend. Tamir's drums complemented the guitars instead of overbearing them and the strange eastern dronings from Paul Wallfisch's organ connected the song's elements. When Tod stayed up past his bedtime and extended the song past its normal ended, it was pure bliss. They had also done this with "Woke Up Down" (probably the best number of the night) and "Ponzi's Relapse".
The evening ended with that kid I told you about being blown off the floor by three consecutive all-out songs. The band brought saxophonist Ori Kaplan (complementing bassist Oren Kaplan) to the stage for some classic Zorn-like sax burstings, or klezmer squeakings, I couldn't tell you which. Violinist Hahn Rowe let go completely and began to hold court, summoning up a great spirit from his electrified bow as the band continued to wail behind him, rising to ever greater heights with that beast Muskat in the engine room. Soon a rushing of glorious, cacophonous noise began to take on a shape and life of its own as a stage full of people high on life, for a while at least, connected with the mysteries of death and utter melancholy of living. This was pure New York, a mix of Zorn, Sonic Youth, Ramones even.
And everyone left with smiles on their faces, those that were strong enough to stay for the entire show. I talked to two strange-looking kids afterwards, one with long stringy black hair down to his belt, wearing black, but with peaceful easy eyes and a girl's face. The other looked like a football reject, with a dyed-blond tuft of hair like a monk's crown over buzzcut sides. Good, honest and intelligent folks they turned out to be. They were in town from New Mexico Tech university and were quite exhausted from the show. How was it, I asked?
"Fucking fantastic."
-- Tony Leonardo
October 13, 2001
