hurried take on gilly's

[fred kraus]

Happy Thanksgiving to all -- we certainly have many things to be thankful for – but listen, I am just so tremendously thankful three musicians known as psychodots ventured yet once again into the chilly north for a tradition warmly welcomed. Dayton loves you.

 

A bit of a change-up this year, though, moving from the rather intimate confines of Canal Street Tavern to the comparatively luxurious setting of Gilly’s just a few blocks away.

 

STOP here from reading any further if you plan on attending Friday at Southgate House Revival and would prefer not to know the songs played Wednesday, because if history repeats itself, there is bound to be some similarity, though the shows obviously are never the same. And even if they WERE the same, it still wouldn’t be the same.  You know what I mean.

 

So, Gilly’s: Nice room, certainly the most comfortable music club in the Dayton area, with tiered seating, big dance floor, friendly and competent waitresses, full bar, modern restrooms, free covered parking. A remarkable sound system tops it off, put in place by owner Jerry Gillotti, who’s been keeping the music going since 1972.

 

It was a little unsettling not to see Smitty running the house, as he has road-warriored to so many dots venues over the decades, and who’s as comfortable running a dots board as he is breathing.  But not to worry, as Mr. Gillotti recommended a fine gentlemen, whose name suddenly escapes me, and who brought in his own extremely impressive looking sound board and did one very fine job. He said he studied up by watching/researching dots videos on YouTube. Plus his girlfriend ran the merch table, so, hey, can’t beat that.

 

So the sound was big, but good, with plenty of separation, and the full house – with what appeared to be more people than have been showing up at Canal Street – seemed good for acoustics. The night’s opener Tim Motzer gave the sound system a good workout with his aural, looped-guitar landscapes, accompanied by multi-screen visual light mosaics.

 

But something’s lost as something is gained – you get the big sound, you lose a little intimacy. You get a bigger crowd, you lose a little sense of familiarity. You get a little more formal, you get a little less spontaneous. At Canal Street, the tiny stage is one-foot high and the ceilings are about 8 feet high, and you trade that for a four-foot high spacious stage and enough head room for a tree house. You’re not in the equivalent of someone’s big basement anymore hanging out with a mass consciousness all attuned to the same groove, moving as one, communally soaking basking vibing to a melody that borders on magical. 

 

 

 

On the other hand, creature comforts such as these can be more comfortable. 

 

Much anticipation ensues as the band takes the stage.

 

The dots opened with Big Love Now. A great song. The guys look great. They sound great. The stage looks really great, stacks of amps and monitors, lights. And the sound is really really great – concert-like.

 

AND NO ONE on the dance floor. No one. Not a soul. People look happy. People look comfortable. People paying close attention to the band. Maybe a little intimidated. Plenty of applause. All sit.

 

Second song, Terminal Boulevard.

 

Again, NO ONE on the dance floor. Not a one. Plenty of applause. All sit.

 

So Bob, smiling a little, tuning his instrument a little, fiddling a bit, says, “Hey, you know, we’ve got a nice big dance floor down here. It’d sure be nice to see some folks down here.”

 

Next song, Sad Little Monkeys. Kerry and Judy bop up onto the dance floor. Then a few more. Then a few more.  Then a few more.

 

And so begins a wavelike equilibrium of ebb and flow of body energy and movement.

 

And the band – tight. Drum-tight. Very much on it. Wow. No note is left unturned. Or untuned.

 

The music clearly is the message, and the music became the MASSAGE that worked out the body kinks and the brain mindjams and the soul-aches, all of which tend to accumulate from life and living and being a bi-ped.

 

A balm that sooths and simultaneously energizes.

 

And that becomes its own magic.

 

But not much chatting was emanating from stage, which I must admit, I did miss. No bad words – perhaps a first? – which, I must admit, I also missed. No second encore, with the band pulling out songs that were unrehearsed. No third encore, with a song or perhaps two, that hadn’t been in the rotation for a while. Missed. Missed.

 

But PleasePlesePlease, I’m not griping. I am really not. I am just REPORTING. I am just saying.

 

So more back to the BIG PLUS side. Chris has a new album, Flibbertigibbet, and it is GOOD, and we got to hear three new songs from that fine work, which was really pretty cool.

 

And, yes, Rob’s very fine solo album,, Saint Ain’t, is now just barely a year old, and we got to hear the dots workup on a couple of those tracks, which is very extremely cool as well.

 

We love the new stuff. Looks like Bob is next up in the new material lineup, so, Bob, when the spirit moves you, we are ready to accept.

 

 

Anyway, great show, I hope there are a million more, and even more of them, and more often, and in every venue of every town in the US of A.

 

OK, back to the music. At the appropriate time, Chris switched to mandolin and Rob played his black Taylor for an acoustic set, as Bob stayed on electric bass, but for the most part, this was the set list:

 

Big Love Now

Terminal Boulevard

Sad Little Monkeys

Candy

Veneer

Big Blonde Mistake

Show Me Where It Hurts

Playing Dead

Desire

Play Your Guitar

You Will Never Be Satisfied

Mattress

I Didn’t Want to Kill You

A Walk Thru the Garden

Too Much on My Mind

Dark Dream

When She Moves

Used to Be a Baby

Enough

Hope It Works Out

Fear Is Never Boring

 

I would go on forever, but I have relatives asking me, what the hell are you doing, so I hope to see everyone and more Friday at Southgate House Revival.

Fred