Don't need a cure, need a Final Solution

I went down to the Bottom of the Hill last night to see Pere Ubu, because sometimes you have to stand by what you believe in. The show was unfortunately not without mishaps. David Thomas (not Dave, svp Jim), now bearded, has always been cranky about audience members calling out requests. He was drinking rather a lot on-stage, somewhat at the expense of his good cheer (beer then brandy, not so dandy; ask a man who knows) and smoking Camel bullets, in a public place in California no less. He grew increasingly grumpy with the crowd, with false starts of songs, guitar boxes not working, tuning instruments and fixing drum pedals, with monitor hum and feedback, interruptions to his between-song patter and almost anything besides applause from the audience. The band did not seem entirely good-natured either, though they played well; better, I thought, on the more recent material. Robert Wheeler definitely holds the prestige theremin/EML seat with distinction, though I find the current bassist and drummer more heavy-handed (or more rockin’, if you prefer) than Tony Maimone and Scott Krause.

Mr. Thomas became particularly incensed when someone shouted what sounded like, “I have to go to work tomorrow, motherfucker” or anyway someone called him motherfucker. Finally some asshole from the audience started shaking the mike stand. David fired back: “How dare you! Have you been through what I’ve been through? Have you crossed the threshing floor?” The asshole kept talking shit while the band played, pointing at David and then at the drummer, who threw a stick at him, to which he responded with a bottle. The drummer jumped off the stage while the band kept playing, the asshole went down and a few seconds later the drummer re-ascended the stage with blood on him and finished the set, quite the trooper.

I didn’t think they’d come back for an encore after that, but indeed they did, first with the “AM radio” song that closes St. Arkansas and then with “Final Solution”. They started to play “Sonic Reducer”, but when it breaks down to the guitar in the opening, Keith Moline’s guitar clipped out. That was the breaking point for Mr. Thomas, who stopped the song and didn’t want to restart it, a disappointment as I particularly like the recent Rocket from the Tombs version. Instead they launched into “Street Waves”, and as the band hit an open-ended noisy section, David began to rail the audience again. “Fuck you! Fuck all of you! What do you think we are? Do you think we’re trained monkeys? Fuck you all!” et cetera et cetera and then it was My babysitter, my babysitter and out, no more he’d had enough.

Last time I saw Pere Ubu I felt I was seeing a cult band in twilight; last night’s anger and frustration are perhaps another side of the same thing. But if they come back to town I suppose I’ll go see them again, even at a small club on a Monday. Sometimes you have to stand by what you believe in.