This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2011, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
Tribune staffer Rudy Mesicek attended the Felice Brothers' show at The State Room Tuesday, and here is his review:
A lanky gunslinger dominates a devilishly handsome poster fashioned by Utah artist Travis Bone for the Felice Brothers' Tuesday night show in Salt Lake City. Instead of revolvers, however, the slinger clutches a flute next to his right hip. A thorny branch coils up his left arm. He stands on a wide street in a nameless western town. Behind him is a church, a crooked fence and a noirish woman silhouetted in a second-story window of a house. The scene is backlit by flames that reach well above the roof tops. Or, so it seems. On second glace, there are no flames. Rather, there is a moonlit, starlit sky, being swallowed up by a thick substance oozing from on high. The whole image seems destined to disappear. Or, so it seems. The forebodingly disorienting tone is apt given the Felice Brothers' recent decision to give the oh-so-pretty Miss Americana a mohawk, take her to the strip mall, and let her brood. The band's State Room gig had much fitful energy, ebbing more often than flowing, altering the tempo frequently within a single song, which (almost unfairly) made some dancers in the audience look especially untalented. What themes and sounds were in store was immediately evident thanks to the composition that ushered the band onstage – the instrumental introduction to David Lynch's "Twin Peaks" – which then blended into the opener, "Murder by Mistletoe." After reaching back only one more time – with "Hey, Hey Revolver" – the band blasted forth with five straight songs from its May release, "Celebration, Florida." Full of experimental turns that are both melodic and jarring, the tunes drive home the fact that things have changed, and not just in the Felice Brothers' creative universe. Images pop up and immediately feel rootless. Ideas are mostly incomplete. While the lyrics are affecting, they come alive as fragments, hints and insinuations. But while there's no certainty and no conclusions given, what is being said feels like a stylized response to commonplace perversions. No control is expected, for instance, when the wheels start spinning in "Honda Civic." The end comes when the jealousy-fueled killing comes. Fraud and the lure of money animate "Ponzi." A strangely elegiac mood imbues "Oliver Stone," whose protagonist is lost, Major Tom-like, in space but seeks to reconnect to a feeling he identifies with the movies. And, as if inevitably, a dead man with a flute and a muddied suit, who wouldn't stay in the ground, causes panic in "Fire at the Pageant." As it turns out, this perfectly describes the slinger in Travis Bone's poster. While the Felice Brothers had a go at more of their older folk-rock ditties later in the set, the entire 20-plus song gig echoed their new musical attitude. From a technical standpoint, there was never any danger that perfection would carry the day. Bassist Christmas Clapton's voice, which on records can be as creakily expressive as Ian's, sounded fragile under the strain of high-volume instrumentation. The sublime emotional note struck in the lines "Girls in strange attire, I really love Richard Pryor," which anchors "Back in the Dancehalls," never had a chance at a reprise. On the other hand, the band's stops and starts and amplifier problems gave impromptu renderings of songs, like the James Felice-sung "Got What I Need," the satisfying flavor that scripted moments only rarely attain. While it was apparent not everyone in the audience had equal appetite for nontraditional Felicitations, disdain surged neither among the seats nor on the dance floor. Which, come to think of it, is a notable (and favorable) difference between the Felice Brothers and that folk-deity so famously responsible for the plug-in felt (and scorned) around the world.