Saw Max Creek Friday night. They played the Met, five
minutes outside of Providence and diminutive 17-minute haul from my house.
Admission costs were tiny. Attendance was enthusiastic but nowhere near
overwhelming. The band played one of the best small-room shows I’ve ever seen,
it was a privilege to be there to see it, and I cannot wait to do it again.
OK. How’s that? Tight. A little gushy maybe, but that’s good
because, really, it should be wayyyy more gushy. What I’m looking for, is a
sort of form-letter boilerplate that I can post just after I see the Creek, or
maybe just before. It’s always the same, you see? “One of the best small-room
shows I’ve ever seen”…Let me qualify that just a scootch: I’m old. I’ve seen thousands of small room shows.
Max Creek does this every time I see them, is what I’m
getting at. Never mind what they played Friday at the Met, that shit is
history! It’s on Archive right now.
Go download it. I’ll wait. Done? Good. Just start at the beginning. I won’t
keep you. Despite what I called this piece, I wont be reviewing the
show. Instead, I’m going to review every
show Creek has ever played, and every show they ever will play. I’m going
to use just three words to do it:
Always worth going.
Those words would be true if you live in East Greenwich, or
East Jakarta, East of Eden, Easter Island, or North, South, East, aaaaaaand
West of the Pecos. Is there another band out there for whom that ridiculous
pronouncement could be anything but press release pap-schmeg?? No!! There is
not! Trust me, I’m old.
Quick note about Max Creek: They get really lucky with
drummers. For the last 15 years or so, they’ve gone, for the most part, with a
two drummer set. The battery was composed of two exceptionally talented guys
with completely different strengths behind the kit. All Greg Vasso and Scott
Allshouse managed to do with their time in Max Creek is become one of the best
two-kit drum corps ever to take a stage. Those guys stepped into fill the shoes
of another awesome drummer – Mr. Greg Diguglielmo – who’s sound was completely
unlike that of his replacements. The last six months have seen the dawn of another two-man set, this time with the
omnipotently funky, frighteningly elegant Bill Carbone handling the kit, and a
subtle assassin named Jamemurrel Stanley on percussion toys. They are – shocker
– sounding all-cylinders amazing after less than a year.
Revision: I’ve decided that I can offer at least a few
comparisons to Friday’s ass-kickery at the Met that may serve as a normalized
review. The first set of the show was like when General Zod made Superman go
into that crazy power-sucking module at the Fortress of solitude to save a
captive Lois Lane in Superman II. The second set was like when the Nazis opened
the Arc of the Covenant at the end of Raiders of the Lost Arc, but instead of just
killing and melting faces, they killed and melted faces and then – miraculously
– brought everybody back to life at once.
OK. Good? Good. “Review” commitment fulfilled in a
multi-dimensional way? Check. Max Creek reasonably well represented without
committing the spastic hyperbole that their playing deserves? Oh checky-check.
Creek is going to rip and rend at the space/time fabric again in a few weeks, this
time at the greatest room in ALL of Rhode Island, The Ocean Mist in Matunick.
Let me remind you:
ALLWAYS WORTH GOING.
Write it on your hand in Sharpie for gadzooks! If you live
in Rhody, the O-Mist is not more than 40 minutes from your house. If you live
in my house, it’s a lot closer than that. You can read a review of that show in
this review, right at the top of the page.
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