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[Live & On Record]

SEX MOB:
FREAK OF THE WEEK

Despite our proximity to the Big Apple, acts from New York’s woolly downtown jazz scene don’t make it up to the Hub that often. Knitting Factory regulars Sex Mob are attempting to rectify that situation: they’ve settled in for a month-long hump-day residency at Lilli’s that continues through April 4. On their first night in town, a week ago Wednesday, the quartet laid out the ground rules for their invasion: cheeky irreverence and sonic subversion. Even though they rolled into Boston in a busted old van (“Does anybody know a good mechanic?”, Steven Bernstein quipped from the stage), Sex Mob performed with the power and energy of a brand new Ford pick-up, taking the crowd on a burly ride through uncharted musical side roads. Burlesque versions of ABBA? Check. Trip-hop takes on Prince? That too. Post-Ayler shitstorms of hair-raising squawking, screeching, and honking? Thank you, may I have another?

Led by loudmouth slide-trumpet player Bernstein, Sex Mob distilled a century’s worth of jazz history into a gnarly 90-minute set. It was all in there: the N’awlins second-line marches, the free-jazz gall, the greasy funk grooves, the angular post-bop blowing, the pop melodies, the hard-driving swing. But the kitchen-sink concept works only because the players are so damn good. Drummer Kenny Wollesen and bassist Tony Scherr were a perfect mix of rock-solid and sly slipperiness; Briggan Kraus tore through the top end with thrilling Middle Eastern–tinged alto sax; and Bernstein, well, he was just everywhere. When the compact frontman wasn’t blurting out uncensored stage patter, directing the sonic traffic with his hands, or screaming out horn arrangements, he played smoochy slide-trumpet lines that connected gutbucket Louis Armstrong cries with wiggly Don Cherry lines. It ended with a rollicking 20-minutes-plus version of the Stones’ “Ruby Tuesday” that featured three guest musicians (including the Either/Orchestra’s Russ Gershon), numerous collective freakouts, an ounce of bluesy pathos, and one spacious dub coda.

The King J. Revue preceded the Mob with a set of satisfying roots reggae and earthy rocksteady grooves. And the Anti-Jazz Raygun — who (full-disclosure time) are all NEC-trained jazz musicians and include my roommate Brandon Seabrook on guitar — began the evening with a radical take on the jazz organ-trio. They have all the usual organ-drums-guitar tricks up their sleeve: gritty funk, lounge noir, surf rock. But the youthful trio also dig into jagged and austere post-rock, manic klezmer, and elliptical Afro-beat earthshakers. Anti-jazz indeed.

BY MICHAEL ENDELMAN

Issue Date: March 22 - March 29, 2001