I may not be in the loop. I may not be hip. I’m quite certain I’m ignorant of a great many things. Still, I feel safe in guessing that there’s no place in Long Beach (at least) that regularly features as eclectic a mix of musical and other performers as {open}. In fact, I imagine much of the stuff Shea Gauer books at his bookstore wouldn’t play within the city limits were it not for his efforts. Tonight was another case in point, with two acts (and their self-descriptions): Grimace—”What we are is an improv/sonic exploring live loop duo. And we’re also snappy dressers (well, not really)”; and The 9?—”Good ole fashion old timey free improv with a dash of smelling salts and a subscription to Popular Electronics.”
A prior engagement meant I was able to catch only the last number by Grimace, and it made me sorry I’d missed the rest. An electric guitar (manned by Paul “JR” Garrison), a standard drum set (Paul Lesaspi), and lots of pedals &c. The back room of {open} is quite intimate, yet the duo managed to keep the reins on the sound, even when their playing exploded from measured, whispery loops of guitar moans and percussive taps to full-blown shrieks of texture over top a rolling thunder of dark jazzy rhythm (belying any notion that those who use lots of effects do so to hide a lack of chops).
Why The 9? call themselves that, I don’t know, but I was interested to see them because trumpeter Kris Tiner was part of The Unmentionables (kristiner.com/unmentionables.html), one of my favorite acts from September ’05′s socalsonic (socalsonic.com). I was not disappointed here, as this quartet (rounded out by Jeremy Drake on guitar, Harry Eisenstadt on drums and percussion, and Ben Wright on contrabass) displayed the same sort of knack for listening to each other. There is no sound register too subtle for these guys to explore, and even within 10 feet of them, a lapse of attention means you missed something. I particularly enjoyed the even-numbered of their four pieces, #2 highlighted by some wonderful melodic phrasings by Tiner and a building rumble that was an organic outgrowth of the moment; #4 by all four players (including Wright on saw) managing a collective sympathetic tonality and an earthy foundation (the contrabass and steel-stringed acoustic guitar were wood, the drum heads were muted by towels), upon which Tiner laid down a breathy metallic ornament.
As usual, there were CDs for sale; and while donations were appreciated, there was no hard sell. The turnout was sparse. Too bad, because this was cool stuff. Get on the diligent mailing list by visiting the {open} Website, accessopen.com, so that you won’t be even less in the loop than I am.