Jay Reatard @ Mojo's, 10/11/08

With standbys like "awesome," "sweet," and "killer" having utterly failed to capture the spectacle witnessed by about fifty people last Saturday at Mojo's, "sick" has proven itself a perfectly acceptable adjective with which to describe the Jay Reatard experience: Eighteen songs in thirty minutes. Not a second's respite between them. Feedback, distortion, and screeching, howling, furious noise. That wild, thrilling energy coursing through everything in sight. So I'll say it: That was totally sick.

I arrived the minute the doors opened, expecting a competitive crowd of St. Louis and Kansas City fans to have already ruined the possibility of a decent camera angle, but found Jay and bassist dude lounging, alone and unperturbed by their slobbering legion of fans, on the patio. After recovering from the initial shock of seeing "the next Kurt Cobain" (link) in the fleece, I purchased the very first ticket of the night and waited out the three hours of local bands with influences and musical stylings similar to that of the headlining act.

Okay, they were California Raisins (shtick: low-end keybs, screaming) and Monte Carlos (lounge attire, solos). There.

With that out of the way, Reatard and band took the stage at approximately 11:50 in clothing that was not soaked in sweat. A mostly indistinguishable "An Ugly Death" came straight out of nowhere and pure, unabating rock 'n' roll poured forth for the next thirty minutes.

I've never felt so certain that a show could defy the descriptive power of photography - not because the band happened to remain in a vigorous state of movement for the duration of the set, but because the very essence of the spectacle was that same thing we've been trying to pin down since "Johnny B. Goode." And though no less thrilling, it's admittedly frightening that this latest take on that "loud, slovenly, tuneful music" to which Robert Christgau refered in his initial exegesis of our aforementioned Kurt Cobain (link) has taken such a vicious temperament. No one punched (link) or kicked (link) in the face, but from the onset of the aggressive, assaultive performance, the distinct possibility of violence seemed only a technical difficulty away.

As for the shockingly sparse attendance, there were few enough people to manage a setlist without any trouble (see below), as well as a butt-pat from the woman who suggested I take it. College.





Two delay pedals, for reasons which are beyond me. Later there was change scattered here from Jay's pockets, pointed evidence of just how hard the guy was rocking.






The soothing sounds of mic-to-amp feedback.

"I would gladly have Jay's mono," says guy who requested that I snatch Jay's water from the stage.

You can't hear it in this picture, but the feedback continued to ring indefinitely for several minutes after the band left the stage. And its spirit has apparently chosen to live on in my ears in the form of what sounds like an alto-range lightsaber sawing through my eardrums. Rock and roll.


[photos and review by Zach Noland]