Since they pulled into town from Kansas City in 1990, the Coctails have been one of the local rock scene’s most distinctive and beloved bands. Back then, the quartet’s sound was a stylistic grab-bag that included breezy pop/rock, light jazz excursions and unclassifiable bits of musical whimsy.
“In those days,” recalls bassist Mark Greenberg, “we wanted our music to be fun. We were interested in different musical styles, but it always sounded fun.”
The Coctails early on bypassed standard amped-up, guitar-heavy rock for a more low-key, acoustic bass-sax-vibes approach.
Two years ago, with the release of the band’s all-instrumental “Long Sound” record, the Coctails began focusing more on musical texture and introspective songcraft. The quartet’s upcoming, self-titled and final studio album is a beautiful collection of sparkling, soft-toned songs and compositions. Sadly, it will be released at the band’s farewell show Sunday night at the Lounge Ax.
“When we started out,” says Greenberg, “we could devote ourselves completely to the band. Lately, however, we haven’t been able to do that. When passion turns into a chore, it’s time to stop.”
But Coctails fans need not despair. Guitarists Archer Prewitt and John Upchurch and Greenberg plan to continue playing together.
“The three of us will continue on in some form,” adds Greenberg, while drummer Barry Phipps goes his own way. “I think we’ll be more productive as musicians by starting over. Turning off the Coctails will ultimately turn on a lot of new music.”
Puppets sock Hard Rock
For almost 15 years, the medicated Arizona cactus rats known as the Meat Puppets have emitted a consistently warped squeal.
The band’s recent music skitters between pop, metal and wistful country with singular abandon.
The Puppets’ latest record, “No Joke,” is less quirky and colorful than last year’s “Too High To Die” but still yields more quality than most of its radio-airwave colleagues.
Toiling in relative obscurity for many years, the band seemed destined to remain in the dreaded “cult artist” ghetto. But an appearance with Nirvana on MTV’s Unplugged show and the unexpected radio success of the song “Backwater” legitimized the Puppets in the “alternative” rock marketplace. Suddenly, this odd, chameleon-like trio was a hot act in one of rock’s narrowest niches.
Live, the Puppets have a well-deserved rep for breathless, exuberant, caffeinated sets. All three band members have rounded into first-rate players over the years, and Curt Kirkwood, in particular, is a dynamic guitarist — though it will be interesting to see how these introverted anti-socialites respond to the freshly scrubbed roisterers at the Hard Rock.
Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Friday and Saturday at FitzGerald’s: Like fellow Texas legends Joe Ely and Townes Van Zandt, Gilmore’s individualistic brand of country has nothing to do with the gaudily-packaged, flavorless C&W bologna cranked out by Nashville. As liable to cover Elvis or Brenda Lee as he is Hank Williams, Gilmore’s performances express a unique vision rather than a marketable formula.
Chris Isaak, Sunday at the Fairmont Hotel: If you’ve got money to burn, this pricey show may be the match you’re looking for. Crooning heartthrob Isaak can help you twang in 1996 with his stylized, romantic rockabilly. His latest record “Forever Blue” proffers a predictable mix of pallid Roy Orbison emulations and a handful of tunes that buttonhole your ears despite their obvious artifice.
Jimmy Rogers, Saturday at Chicago Cultural Center: Forced to cancel his recent concert at the Cultural Center due to a transportation snafu, this Chicago blues legend’s show has been rescheduled for 2 p.m. As one of the hallowed pioneers of postwar Chicago blues (both as rock-solid second guitarist with Muddy Waters’ peerless combo and on his own), Rogers played a major role in sculpting the idiom’s development. His classic Chess label recordings “That’s All Right,” “Chicago Bound” and “Walking By Myself” are enduring cornerstones of the genre.
– Bill Dahl
Poi Dog Pondering, two shows Sunday at the Riviera Theatre: Frank Orrall’s loose musical collective has increasingly snuggled up to a light, adult rock sound notable for its lava-lamp philosophizing and tofu-bland songcraft. The band’s latest effort, “Pomegranate,” recovers a measure of artistic vitality with more compelling melodies and thought-provoking lyrics, though a few numbers (“Complicated”) sound like they were pilfered from an Up With People revue.
The Mekons and Kathy Acker, Sunday at the Metro: What do you get when you mix a storied punk/country/dance/pop band with an experimental writer? A concept album/novel entitled “Pussy, King of the Pirates.” This unique show will preview music, lyrics and spoken-word passages from the upcoming, aggressively offbeat Mekons/Acker LP and Acker novel.
Todd Rundgren, Sunday at the Park West: When Rundgren’s brilliant “Something/Anything” record appeared in 1972, he was justly hailed as a masterly songwriter and musician and innovative studio whiz. Rather than fossilize into a musical cash station, Rundgren restlessly forayed into prog-rock, techno, video production and interactive media, sometimes at the expense of his fans and artistic standards. Rundgren’s newest record, “The Individualist,” released under the moniker “TR-i,” suffers from a few stylistic blunders but boasts some of his most attractive songwriting in many a year.
The Smithereens, Sunday at Drink: In 1988, the Smithereens’ imploring melodies, brusque yet sensitive playing and ’60s-saturated aesthetic was a welcome addition to a largely punk-inspired indie rock scene. But somewhere around the third or fourth record, the tunes went flaccid and the playing grew plodding. Still, a reinvigorated set of the band’s best stuff would be a kick.
Red Red Meat, Sunday at the Empty Bottle: At a time when extroverted bombast is in, Red Red Meat grows ever more pensive, nuanced and subtle. The band’s excellent “Bunny Gets Paid” record is a refreshingly low-key hoot mingling laconic country-blues guitar riffs, frayed piano plunking and Tim Rutili’s ragged sigh. Expect RRM’s prom-band alter-ego Cotton Candy to make an appearance.
The Bottle Rockets, Sunday at Schubas: Where Lynyrd Skynyrd filled the drunk-and-disorderly guitar-slinger niche among ’70s Southern rock rebs, the Bottle Rockets produce the most rugged, high-voltage crop in today’s roots-rock pasture. Like the Skynyrd boys, the Rockets fuse rollicking gin mill melodies, brass knuckle guitar riffs and a penchant for wry small-town tales. Genteel champagne slurpers stay away.
Material Issue, Sunday at the Double Door: If 1995 was a turbulent girlfriend year, then this is the show for you. Material Issue’s Jim Ellison writes songs named for girls, about girls, that pine away for girls. The Ish’s classically tailored power pop offers few surprises but, at its best, works longing melodies and savvy hooks into three-minute pop epiphanies.
Peter Himmelman, Sunday at the Cubby Bear: Guitar-strumming troubadour and radio personality Himmelman ushers in the new year with his trenchant social commentary and affable coffeehouse rock. Occasionally, Himmelman’s pursuit of incisive storytelling takes precedence over distinctive tunesmithing, and his melodies end up more perfunctory than potent.
