Irish music. If you think it’s all folksy fiddling and weepy laments for political martyrs, you might want to give Black 47 a listen.
This New York sextet, which takes its name from the worst year of the great potato famine of the 19th Century, plays a Celtic rock hybrid that knows only two modes: insurgent and celebratory.
Like a pint of black-and-tan, Black 47 is the distinctive offspring of two disparate influences. In 1989, Larry Kirwan, an Emerald Isle expatriate playwright, met a uillean pipe-playing cop named Chris Byrne after hours at a New York club.
“Chris was in an Irish music band called Beyond The Pale that I went to see,” recalls lead singer-songwriter Kirwan in a slightly faded brogue. “They were breaking up that night, and they let me play a few songs with them. Later, Chris and I started drinking and talking. Somewhere around six in the morning, we decided to form Black 47.”
But where Beyond The Pale worked up an old-fashioned Irish shindy, Black 47 made rock and R&B its staples and began freely mixing soul, hip-hop and reggae into its Celtic-beat base.
“Most Celtic bands are centered around folk music and a virtuoso fiddle player,” continues Kirwan. “The rhythm section ends up working around that player. With us, the beat comes first.. . . Everyone in the band has a strong interest in black rhythm-and-blues because it offers interesting ways to get around the turgidness of straight 4/4 time.”
Moreover, though there’s an overtly political content to Kirwan’s lyrics and more than a few of his narratives revolve around tragedy, the band’s music is almost unfailingly aggressive and upbeat.
“A while ago, I worked on a theater project where I had to research a lot of old Irish music,” says Kirwan. “I found that if you scraped away the melodramatic performances, many of the melodies aren’t melancholy at all. With Black 47, I use some of those melodies but strip them of their calcified melodrama.
“As far as the lyrics are concerned, even on our most down songs, I tend to inject some optimism or at least defiance into them. To me, life’s a journey. There are periods where you’re in the depths of despair, but tomorrow’s a new day, and you can still make a success of things.”
Black 47 headlines a show Thursday at the Abbey Pub.
Richard Buckner, Monday at Schubas: Buckner’s 1995 debut LP “Bloomed” may have been the most aptly titled release of that year. On it, the San Francisco songwriter unfurls a talent of auspicious depth and originality. Though he hails from the Bay area, Buckner’s music is steeped in the dark-souled outcast country-folk of the West Texas plains. For “Bloomed,” Buckner opted to go without a rhythm section and allow his rustically elegant acoustic melodies to take center stage.
Gem, Saturday at the Empty Bottle: Like an aural history of rock ‘n’ roll programmed for “random shuffle,” Gem whirls out a varied, unpretentious guitar blitz that’s rugged and brash, thoroughly hook-laden, and more fun than dime beer night at your favorite tap. Made up of Cleveland-area scene veterans, Gem believes that rock is neither an art nor a forum for Big Statements; it’s simply an excuse for a raucous good time. The band’s recent “Hexed” record recalls Big Star, Cheap Trick and even the Beatles with its swaggering meld of power chords and winsome melodies.
Kenny Neal and Tinsley Ellis, Friday at Buddy Guy’s Legends and Saturday at FitzGerald’s: Second-generation Louisiana bluesman Kenny Neal combines the swamp-laden sensibility of his father, harpist Raful Neal, with his own unmistakably contemporary approach — making him one of a mere handful of young bluesmen with something fresh to contribute. Fluent on both guitar and harmonica, Neal’s gruff voice sounds old before its time — but his five impressive Alligator albums prove it’s no affectation. Rock-influenced guitarist Tinsley Ellis, Neal’s labelmate, shares both bills.
– Bill Dahl
Stick Figure, Friday at Lounge Ax: While many of his millionaire ballplayer cronies spend the off-season working on their putting, ex-Sox pitcher Jack McDowell is cranking up his six-string and leading this band. Though you might expect a bunch of beer-sodden party slop, Stick Figure’s “Just a Thought . . .” album hurls a surprisingly tuneful, well-crafted heater of McDowell guitar-rock originals at you. And the lanky righthander sings and brandishes a guitar with more than rookie finesse. Stick Figure opens for talented singer-songwriter Jeff Tweedy.
Chisel, Poem Rocket, Friday at the Empty Bottle: Spawned at that hotbed of rock ‘n’ roll mayhem, the University of Notre Dame, Chisel hews a jumpy mod-style punk-pop notable for its crookedly catchy melodies and singer Ted Leo’s artless whine. On its new “8 a.m. All Day” record, the trio careens through a funhouse of pithy ditties with plenty of spastic energy and ’60s-informed tunesmithing. New York’s Poem Rocket, on the other hand, spurns basic song structure altogether. Over repetitive grooves and riffs, the Rocket jettisons sampled noise, wistful vocals, eerie guitar cobwebbing and other sonic detritus.
Michael Smith, Wednesday at Schubas: Smith was a notable voice in the original folk boom of the late 1950s and early ’60s, and he’s remained a local-scene mainstay ever since. Among his many widely covered tunes, Smith penned the Steve Goodman classic “The Dutchman,” and in recent years has contributed music to a number of theater productions around town. On his latest record, “Time,” Smith weaves a comely garland of spare narratives that reflect the values of folk music’s heyday: literate, ruminative lyrics, plaintive melodies and an intimate, unvarnished presentation.
Sonny Rhodes and Skeeter Brandon, Saturday at Buddy Guy’s Legends: Lap steel guitarists are a rare commodity in blues circles, but Sonny Rhodes makes the instrument seem right at home in such an unfamiliar setting. The Texas-born Rhodes, who sports a natty turban onstage, started out on conventional lead guitar (he still plays it most convincingly), but it’s the lap rig that sets him apart. Skeeter Brandon is a keyboardist from North Carolina who infectiously blends blues, soul, and a touch of gospel. In 1993, he cut a solid album, “Hi-Test Blues,” with his band, HWY 61.
– Bill Dahl
The Wesley Willis Fiasco, Saturday at the Metro: Willis is a schizophrenic Wicker Park resident befriended by members of the art community who put together this band as a vehicle for his skewed stream-of-consciousness rants. While Willis’s supporters may have his best interests at heart, it’s hard to imagine the Fiasco’s pedestrian punk-metal attracting much attention in that part of town were it not for the edgy spectacle of Willis’ performances.
