Music Review: Vernon Reid at Lula Lounge

Vernon Reid with “ My Id” at Lula Lounge, Dundas Street West, Toronto, Canada, December 4, 2008.

I‘m here early. Like, _really_ early. I thought the show would sell out, so I made the effort to avoid lines. Apparently, though, Thursday night is all about downtown Toronto, not the upper West End.

...wait: 8:30 and the place seems to be filling out a bit. There’s a table full of cell-phone-holstered coolios next to me drinking Heiniken and exchanging hormone-soaked war stories. This is usually a good sign when hanging out at “Hooters” but is not promotional when you’re waiting for a theortetically intelligent concert to start. They occasionally mention bass players, though (I’m not a complete voyeur, by the way, but I do catch the odd bit here and there) so maybe they know something about tonight that I don’t.


Food:

Okay: I’ hungry and haven’t had dinner, so I peruse the menu.

Here’s a quote:

“Basil Drizzled Polenta Cakes Topped with Brebis sheep’s cheese and an avocado, roma tomato salsa. Served with steamed asparagus, black bean sauce and green rice pilaf with sweet peppers, golden raisins, pineapple and honey.”

I’m sorry, but wtf? This kind of pretentious jargon is always a sign that the marketing guys are much more talented than the chef. I mean, really, what the hell is “Brebis sheep’s cheese”? (well, just looked it up, and it’s a blue cheese from the Basque area of France, but I think you get my point). Dude goes to the Loblaw’s and buys eleven pounds of no-name blue cheese, and let’s the words on the menu dictate the price.

And raisins are raisins. “Golden” is complete marketing BS.

Here’s another good one from the same menu (I stole it as a souvenier; going to hell, I know):

“Corn-Crusted Fillet of Atlantic Salmon on basil chimichurri scented quinoa with a sweet pepper, tomatillo, button mushroom, lemongrass and ginger salsa. Served with Peruvian boniato chips and a black bean sauce.”

(Hey Phil! Toss me over some of those nachos and a ladle of the bean sauce; I’m gonna slop it on this salmon steak. You got any of that rice left over there?)

So against my better judgement (told you I was hungry; but I didn’t want to lose my front-row table as a result of running across the street to the Jamaican place for a roti) I ordered the daily “soup du jour” which was advertised as “Spicy smoked salmon chowder with Yukon gold potatoes, sweet roasted peppers & onions with a splash of tequila.”

...they failed to mention the lips and arsehole Wal-Mart soup stock and the heavy use of cornstarch. Oh, and the completely unidentifiable brownish, salty crunchy burned bits sprinkled lovingly over the bowl. Then they dropped a plate next to it containing two limp slices of whole wheat baguette slathered with something that tasted somewhere between bottled Tostito’s salsa and ketchup. Dissapointing, to say the least, but as I said, I was hungry, and my hat is off to the writers.

Anyway, Mr. Prima Donna sucked up the 10 bucks, and is now going to enjoy his glass of Gamay Noir (an uncharacteristically acceptable Niagara product, btw; wonderful leathery notes and a thick tannin finish) and wait for the band to start.

Music:

A hefty, pasty guy in a green plaid overcoat walks out to the stage and sits at the keyboard (two, actually, the main being a cute little 55-key Korg X3). I’m thinking “roadie”. After an hour-long set, though, he turned out to be a kind of Peterson/Shearing-esque prodigy, who lost himself regularly in blistering, tasteful solo work and rock-solid support.

Jeez; I called that one; after I wrote the above, I looked up his bio:

Robi Botos
Born in Nyiregyhaza, Hungary in 1978, Robert moved to Toronto in 1998. Since that time, Botos has been featured with many of Canada’s foremost jazz artists including: Pat Labarbera (Elvin Jones), Dave Young (Oscar Peterson), Don Thompson (George Shearing), Terry Clark (Jim Hall), Norman Marshall Villeneuve (Duke Ellington), Archie Alleyne (Billie Holiday) and Bob Mover (Chet Baker). He released a self titled album, “The Botos Brothers”, with brothers Frank (drums) and Louis (bass, vocal), with all original compositions. As a sideman, he can be found on numerous CDs with Toronto jazz musicians. In July 2004, he won First prize and the Public prize at the international Montreux Jazz Festival jazz solo piano competition, sponsored by TIME magazine. Robi also won the National jazz award for jazz piano earlier this year. He will also be performing in many parts of Europe in the near future.

Anyway.

The billed star, Vernon Reid, is absent for most of the show, and only wandered out for solo shots to publicly masturbate in that “see how fast I can play?” guitar-hero style. Staring complacently at his music stand, he painted the classic picture of a disenfranchised and personally lost rock star, subject to past memories of fame, delusions of potential, and the stark reality of Thursday nights playing small clubs in a country he probably can’t find on a map.

Don’t get me wrong; he’s technically impressive, but the way I see things, you’ve got to know what notes to play, and why they need to be played. Relax; you’ve got the chops. Think about it for a minute, and remember why you do it.

I’ve played music on a Thursday night. It’s hard. You have to dig for the joy that simply playing gives you, because it’s unlikely that you will find the electricity that a Friday or Saturday night, or a Big Ticket Venue provides. Unless you provide the electricity yourself. Great musicians do that. Sorry, Vernon.

All the tunes are original. This, I totally appreciate. Most of them are written by Aubrey Dayle, the accomplished percussionist (and recognized “leader” of “My Id”) and the last few are Vernon Reid’s throes at jazz/funk fusion. Esoteric for the most part, but without the standard weirdo time signatures and mixolidian BS you generally get from frustrated musicians. Great funk and reggae back beats occasionally, and some truly interesting melody lines.

And there were occasional smiles between the musicians - particulalry between the bass and keyboard - that helped you to understand why these people have chosen to do this for a living. I found myself totally focused on finding these moments, and keen to use my recently-discovered wolf-whistling abilities to show appreciation.

Gratuitous (yet technically impressive) solos from everyone in the band (save the saxophone player, who was awesome, and looked like the kind of guy it would be great to go fishing with) showed, once again, that it was a go-through-the-motions night for this group of extremely talented musicians.

Save one. I’m biased, I know, but shit; Rich Brown ranks among the top four bass players I have ever seen live. A six-string (usually relegated to the ranks of pretentious wannabee’s) Samick turned into a complete extension of this man; Victor Wooten, Jaco Pastorious; Bootsy Collins, James Jamerson; all of them channeled somehow, and all with the smile of someone who doesn’t really care if anyone is listening. He’s a Torontonian. I’m going to go watch him play whenever I can.

k