Music Review: Alejandro Escovedo at Antones October 19, 2007

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Alejandro Escovedo at Antones

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PRELUDE
After splitting a fine rustic Northern Italian dish of Chicken Piccata with Sheila at Gypsy (w/side salads and a special side treat of four cheese Fried Ravioli companioned with carmelized onions), and taking a detour after-dinner ramble walk in the new Town Lake Park across the street (enjoying seeing the walking trail lights come on back-dropped by the changing Austin skyline and the scents of freshly watered pines by the children giggling squealing dashing through the changing lit waters), Sheila and I finally found our way to Antones for my birthday.

I don't know if I was looking more toward the music or some more of that smooth classic whiskey/bourbon at Antones, Bulleit , but the band didn't start for a bit and the thick bourbon glasses were clicking waiting for my order.

CONCERT
From my previous visit to Antones, at its 32nd Anniversary Show , I was more ready for how the club would feel and change as showtime neared, how the tall dark ceiling would fade like night sky for the stars on stage, how the music downstairs in the warehouse hall would envelope the whispers and laughter and quick quips potential lovers passed to one another. The sound, when the band began, would wrap me like thick rich bubble wrap, the kind with nice sized captured air protecting a prized painting, so well wrapped all I'd have to do was listen, then let my body be moved.

When Alejandro and his bank took the stage all they had to do by then was deliver.

Tight. Three guitars, including Alejandro's. Tall bassist fully into it. Lead guitar, tight interplay. Hard driving tightly connected drummer. Tight, wound smooth whipping to snap stops and pulled volumes, the sounds rising pull-snapped pulled softly out again. Very tight. Arms, heads of all three guitarists yanking their chords with one mind, the drummer seamless with them. One heart beat in this band. These were musicians playing rock and roll.

San Antonio born, musician raised, Alejandro thrust his Indian niched Mexican-American face upward into the dark club air and an aching undertone chased the clear arching voice searching for an unseen moon in the wilderness of his audience.

Alejandro's music is complex but straight forward, like a moving snapshot of a coastal cloudscape. Not the often clear rapid cloud passing of a Galveston set apart from the land, but more the built up clearing streaming banking sudden thunder-storming sky of Houston. Maybe his growing up years in California, companions of his early moods, helped shape the fluidity of his style. I was reminded of the sudden cracks of thunder from a thunderhead that'd sneak up behind the tree lines on a white-puffy day clear with distant patches of blue; reminded of the electric-light-switch turn-on of a sudden soft rain fading clearing into the high clear sky of summer. Fluid in the tight shifts of sound.

The cocktail waitress asked if I wanted another, "With an extra shot of whiskey?" she asked with a smile. "Yes!" then reluctantly I added, "Yes, but with a touch more coke." Could I still be cool, agedly so? She graciously nodded promptly without hesitation, Sheila's eyes smiled at me from her quietly lowered expression. I was cool.

I hadn't been familiar with Alejandro's music before knowing we'd be coming to see him, though both my youngest daughter and son frequently mentioned him as a favorite. So I cheat-sheeted him via a dvr'd Austin City Limits session I'd spotted on the schedule plus a quick visit to his website. Much like this Friday's performance, he had streaked through his set in that coastal sky kinda way, fluid tight formations; with strings added that at first I'd thought would be the usual "nice" symphonic touch, but ended gliding pounding into pure rock and roll. The innovators of music hundreds of years ago, themselves stretching what violins and cellos could do back then, I bet, would've smiled.

The live performance tonight though demanded, and produced, a heavier mix of strong driving beats; the clearer stronger arching voice became a mainstay; and the grand interplay between Alejandro and each of his band mates matched the best of that I saw on Austin City Limits.

Only during a haunting guitar interplay with his lead guitarist did the stronger mix shift. Recalling the opening vocals when he reached out with his voice, like a wolf questioning the moon, playing almost acoustically, plucking notes on the strings reminiscent of Pepe Romero 's classical guitar genius, the two conjured images of hot Spanish afternoons, languid, with an ache that seems to pervade the Hispanic soul at quiet times - que triste - how sad, how contemplatively sad; punctuated with passion bursts of strumming only to settle again: cloud-swirls, kicked up by passing winds and sudden overhead rains, leaving the dust to re-settle, lazily, lamentably, almost sadly, to the earth again. Beautiful.

A golden glitter caught my eye; I hadn't touched my drink for several songs. Sheila and I decide to share it and order "one more...with a little more coke please." We nurse the new drink through the return of the harder driving songs to the finish. The interplay and tight stops and rhythmic slow downs that'd swell back to full rushing force are tighter now, more intense, the drum sticks flashing in the dark behind the band like heat lightening.

There was no doubt they'd have to return for an encore. No one was leaving, not even kinda. No one'd even looked around to see if anyone else had left. The band's final 3-4 songs (I don't remember how many, they melted into each other like gears in a finely tuned car) grabbed everyone listening, driving us straight to the night - all 3 guitars semi-circled the drummer, revved their sounds into one avalanche ball, and finished, spinning on a thin silver dime of time.

It was done.

Ladies leaned over the ropes as the band left the stage stealing tight quick embraces while guys stretched out a hand knowing it'd be welcome.

They made their way to the back of the club and up the stairs where we and 15 or so others sat mesmerized, quiet as a sermon for one brief bleary moment, til applause and smiles bragged big across the small space as the band passed through the green room door.

A trace of the night remained in our drink on the table. We'd done well going to Antones. Full of sounds from Alejandro and his band. We didn't need more. We'd knew we'd be back for more music, another Bulleit, another night.

thanks ya'll,

adan

ps - we hope our next visit to Antones will be November 12 to see and hear Brett Dennen

i'd first heard his sound at the tail end of a particularly good episode of "Men in Trees" last year; his music ended the hour in a quirky bouncy perfect fun fit that left us smiley and happy and wanting to stay up

somehow sheila was able to figure out something about the song to where i was able to track it down; an i-tune download later and i had Brett Dennen's "The One Who Loves You the Most"

now i just need to add a little Alejandro :-)

related painting: "san antonio riverwalk bridge"

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