Wednesday, May 6, 1998
Eclectic show’s repertoire
not exactly smooth as silk
MUSIC: Hackneyed mix of jazz, funk still pleases
cocktail-clutching crowd
By Vanessa VanderZanden
Daily Bruin Staff
Wearing an all-white lounge suit, the Groove 103.1 DJ King Britt
takes to the stage.
"Tonight," he calls into the glistening silver microphone, "The
Troubadour will be known as ‘The Cosmic Lounge!’"
With that, lead guitarist James Poiser begins an electric
ramble, leading the rest of the Philadelphia-based funk and jazz
infusion Sylk 130 in front of the packed Monday night crowd.
Though the 14-member band created a thinner sound than one might
expect, they still provided a lively performance. Their casual,
invitational attitude brought audiences in, as though being
welcomed over for a jam at Sylk 130’s personal rehearsal studio.
This atmosphere, coupled with the group’s unusual musical style,
kept fans squiggling throughout the hour-and-20-minute set.
As cocktail-clutching audience members settled into their spots,
the various musicians gradually collected on stage. Main man Britt,
with a healthy afro and slick, black-framed glasses, sauntered up
to the mike to begin whippin’ on the jams. His beat-worded delivery
covered everything from a "ghetto dress" in 1977 to being in Africa
in a "cosmic utopia."
Soon, the trombone, sax and trumpet players filed in as the
rhythm section offered haphazard grooves. Diva Blue called out, "I
hear some horns!" prompting the brass to fall into a big- band
beat. Sneaking in the tune like a crocodile, bassist Jamaladeen
Tacuma let out a slow, creepy whine, as the guitarist and
keyboardist kept it soft like candlelight.
Then the tune exploded as two full-figured back-up singers, in
skin-tight lycra outfits, burst into the chorus, "When the funk
hits the fan." This song kept the energy level high and had fans
cheering every time it resurged through the speakers. However, by
the end of the night, the tune began to wear old, audience members
declining to sing along late in the evening as T&A, the two
Pointer Sister-like divas, shoved a microphone in their
direction.
Though at this point the tune still had character, the real
highlight came directly after it, as a thin, commandingly voiced
Ursula Rucker presented herself. Wearing a turban around her
dreadlocked hair and a silver arm band, she took the listeners on a
spiritual journey.
Beginning with a series of jazz-inspired "Ba-doobie-doobie"’s,
she later let loose into more primitive moans and primordial
chants. Allowing the trombonist a soulful solo, Rucker brought the
entire sound around to a rolling movement that seemed only to
desire a sense of action beyond words. The bass drum slammed up
right inside the listeners’ rib cages "goin’ down, down, down."
A blues sensation lingered in the air, as Poiser sent out
rain-stick-like spindles of music. Rucker repeated the last words
of each sentence as the microphone was set on a revelatory setting,
producing the effect of fumbling around in a cave. It could be that
she had sung years ago on the soundtrack for the "Lord of the
Rings" cartoon, in trippy freeze-frame animation.
In any case, at the song’s end, Vicki Miles, yet another singer,
this time one in a black dress with a French twist hairdo, grabbed
the center mike. Calling, "Come on, come on, come on," with her
hand in the air, the concert began moving in a more R&B groove.
But no one seemed to mind.
Her sultry voice took advantage of the support it received from
the three previous singers, by now dancing and calling in the
background. As she belted out the love song, "The Reason," the
original afro-ed beatnik introduced the group members one at a
time. Each player took the opportunity to show their stuff on a
solo basis.
Of these acts, the trumpet player stood out with his giggling
notes. He cupped his hand over the bell, popping off notes like a
gaggle of honking geese. As he finished, the song returned to the
singer’s verse portion.
Soon, two more musicians entered the scene. DJ Britt spat out
scratchy turn-table sounds as if the psychotic slurping noises
emanating from the instruments were as normal as violin whines in
an orchestra. Then, as the turban-headed singer began working on
another tune, a silver-clad rap artist, Capital A, interjected
rhymes between her lines.
It remains a mystery how so many performers could be on stage at
once and still manage to sound hollow and musically lacking. At one
point, the keyboardist repeated the same three notes over again and
again in rhythm with the drummer’s mechanical beat. At another,
though the singers were sweating from every pore and the electric
aspect of the band kept surging the pace on, the brass section
pulled the sound down with a few bare, extended notes.
Still, the eclectic audience of jazz-junky scenesters in
close-cropped haircuts and turtlenecks, and sharp, black-clad music
execs enjoyed the varied sounds. Unlike the standard pop
performance, where four-piece guitar bands play the tunes on their
newest album from dull beginning to dull end, Sylk 130 offered a
truly unique experience. Even if at times it sounded like a local
rental band hired for your hometown’s Fourth of July
celebration.