Cat’s Cradle Backroom Carrboro, NC
Contact: icecreamfordinner.com/contact
Web: theokandel.com
Players: Theo Kandel, vocals, guitar; Jacob Friedman, keys; Joe Ulmer, drums; Andre Vasconcelos, guitar; Charlie Hackemer, bass
While most of the music industry seems intent on continuing its journey on the long road to the middle, out of the left field bleachers comes Theo Kandel, a slight, almost imp-like figure with guitar and songs, all without the nonsense trappings of youthful wannabes: who are all sporting gaunt frames, lean and hungry eyes, overly solicitous appeals, and songs that seem stranded in the middle, struggling to find the road to musical validation.
Out of the gate came three acoustic songs: “1952 Vincent Black Lightning,” which rolled into “Stupid Funny Limbo,” which rounded the bend on fumes, then headed into “Flight to RFK.” It was a fast-moving audio with hooks, strong melodies and toe-tap choruses, just the ticket for the half-full room of appreciative Kandelites, both committed as well as a few unaffiliated. But no matter...
This was a bare-knuckle round of acoustic songcraft that rocked the block and spanked the flock—then the band shimmered on stage, all with matching waiter aprons. Huh?
Without skipping a beat, the full ensemble barreled into “Honey Dew Moon,” “One More Night” and “The 7-10 Split” before the absurdity of the waiter aprons on everyone became too much to ignore, and they were quickly cast aside in what would be one of the many headscratchers of the evening. As if to put a shiny object in the corner, the next selections featured more pronounced and robust sonic excursions by Andre Vasconcelos on guitar with energetic acoustic stylings over top by Kandel. “On My Mind,” “Moving Slowly,” and “Me & All My Friends Have Got the Blues” were perfectly served, and just as well received. It was a delightful guitar romp, and this attentive crowd, now fully recovered from the previously described “Apron Caper,” was all in for the groove.
The whole ensemble revved ahead into a musical landscape bounded by wattage and poor choices, where all their collective musicalness steered them inexorably forward. And their unhinged sonic subculture was beautifully exposed for all in this small room to see, savor and ponder. Charlie Hackemer on lower-register-four-strings seemed joined at the ‘plexis to Joe Ulmer—no relation to James “Blood” Ulmer—as they tore apart the 4 on the 4loor groove, put it on the beat table and performed complicated syncopation-surgery in real time that made those 1/16th notes beg for mercy and cry for help. No help was forth coming, none needed.
The set closed with “The Station” and “The Painters” a rather painful alliteration to herald in two very cool songs. Fade to black.
