When you reviewer spoke to THE BELLES' frontman Christopher Tolle prior to Christmas, he was waxing lyrical about how he'd love to present different versions of his band on the road, with people coming and going around the nucleus of himself and drummer Jake Cardwell.
Fast forward a few months, and the Kansas-based duo have expanded to include a keyboard player and are on the cusp of releasing their album "Omerta", which is already destined as one of the year's quiet classics. They're in Ireland for the very first time and are struggling with nerves, self-consciousness and are distinctly weary from travel.
Tolle is rocking an outfit Neil Young would have favoured circa "Harvest" (plaid shirt, black jeans, woolly hair and chunky semi-acoustic), though his thick horn rim glasses are very much his own creation. Cardwell plays an ancient kit with a snare damped so heavily it's like he's whacking cardboard boxes most of the time and smokes fervently; the fag ash regularly landing on his jeans as he bashes out the ritual rhythms. The shadowy keyboard player keeps his head down and gets on with the job.
Doesn't exactly sound like a recipe for rock'n'roll Valhalla, I agree, but Tolle walks the well-worn path of ragged semi-acoustic rock (as favoured by his heroes Young and Paul Westerberg) with his own innate understanding of simple, affecting melody and heartfelt lyricism. "Omerta" is utterly beguiling, and even in this (further) stripped-down, slightly spare live setting, his understated brilliance yawns and wakes on occasions.
They're determined to play it their way, too. Sure, they kick off with a muffled and muggy "(Who Will Be) Here To Hear?", but - supposedly on a mission to promote their debut album - they instead adopt a Wire-style desire to play loads of new songs, admittedly in a mellow, amiable kinda fashion.
This isn't a bad thing, mind. Despite unfamiliarity, the second song still sticks in the memory, with great Jeff Klein-style raw nerve lyrics like "I don't think we'll make it with our heads stuck in the sand" from Tolle and a tempo only just north of funereal, while the sweet, set-closing lullabye shows how intimate and touching The Belles can be. En route, they DO find time for the frail "These Things Will Kill Me" and a robust take of new single "Never Said Anything", although Tolle's reliance on the Neil Young-style harmonica blasts and a cover of "Birds" (from "After The Goldrush") are a bridge too far.
Nonetheless, The Belles are surefire contenders and this three-week trek with Massachussets' heroes THE PERNICE BROTHERS can only enhance their endearingly scraggly presence. Not that t'Pernices - in stipped-down, drummerless, three-piece mode - initially seem that professional themselves, with their meandering soundcheck featuring treks to the bar and numerous stagebound trips from soundman Keith, a mountain of a man straight outta The Furry Freak Brothers cartoon strips.
But appearances can be deceptive. Just take Joe Pernice: on record, he sounds studious and sometimes unbearably tender, while up close and personal, he's stubbly, pugnacious and surprisingly broad-shouldered as he hunches over his acoustic guitar and proceeds to let rip with a generous selection from his expanding collection of deludingly dark, but melodically perfectly-formed back catalogue.
This writer initially felt a bit swizzed when he discovered tonight wasn't to feature the entire Pernice Brothers line-up, but that feeling soon evaporates as Joe and his compadres Peyton Pinkerton (descriptive and versatile lead guitar) and new boy James Walburne (keyboards, third guitar and further harmonies) re-tool these songs for the occasion.
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They kick off with a sturdy "Working Girls" and it's soon apparent that even without a working rhythm section and the velvety strings of the records that these songs will throw raw, exciting shapes of their own in this more minimal sitting. Indeed, such is the trio's expressive playing that they get right into the corners of relatively complex tunes like "Bryte Side" and the great "Water Ban", which is enriched by Pinkerton's gorgeous baritone guitar and Walburne's counteracting slide.
Initially it seems like a very "World Won't End"-heavy set, with "The Ballad Of Bjorn Borg" and "Our Time Has Passed" also among the early highlights, and Joe mumbling the intro to a song apparently called "Shi'ite And Everything". They slide into the tune and of course it's really a beautifully measured version of "She Heightened Everything," postscripted by Joe as "my wife's favourite song."
So yeah, maybe your reviewer does need his ears mucking out, but not before he gets struck squarely by the ace double whammy of "Monkey Suit" and "Clear Spot" from the band's still classic-sounding "Overcome By Happiness" and heard them delve back into the mists of the Scud Mountain Boys' catalogue with "Grudgefuck". By rights, a song of that title may have you thinking of Seattle Grunge, but believe me, it's an essential, emotionally charged nugget from Pernice's past that's to be missed at your peril.
Gratifyingly, they also dip a toe into the waters of Joe's solo recordings. OK, anyone expecting the best moments of the "Chappaquiddick Skyline" record would be disappointed, but wisely they visit "Big Tobacco", taking on the eminent and wistful "Prince Valium" - with that star-scraping guitar solo from Pinkerton absolutely spot on - and, during the solo acoustic encores, Pernice gets to grips with the bitter'n'twisted show-stopper "Bum Leg" ("I got this scar above my eye from a dirty little shit..."), which seems all the more otherworldly bearing in mind it's followed by a weirdly straight'n'tender cover of "Olivia Newton John" hit "Please, Mister, Please." Needless to say Pernice caresses even this and recasts it in his own image.
Indeed, if you've a tendency to believe this New England band's lovely, mellifluous albums are a little too sweet, then try them live in this stripped-down format where the gutsy quality of Joe Pernice's songwriting is only too apparent. A thoroughly enjoyable night with two distinctive songwriting talents to the fore then. A double header to die for if they come to your town.
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