August 6, 2005
Brian Jonestown Massacre
The Earl
By Michelle Gilzenrat

East Atlanta’s finest are overflowing into the streets from the packed out show at The Earl. The air is buzzing with recollections of “Dig,” the recently released rockumentary that follows the intertwining careers of West Coast bands Brian Jonestown Massacre and the Dandy Warhols. Passing through the restaurant to the stage area, I hear several wagers being made on how many songs BJM will complete before a fight breaks out. With their reputation preceding them, the audience can only guess what conflict will surely befall BJM tonight.

Innaway is the first of three California bands that take the stage. The unlikely label of “jam band” comes to mind as the indie rockers’ modern psychedelia often meanders on past the typical three-minute mark. Haunting vocals pierce through dreamy soundscapes as the first whiffs of, um, herbal cigarettes cloud the air.

I start to wonder if somehow time has spared the West coast, as The Quarter After begins their set. With flowing locks on the guitarist and bassist, and equally flowing tunic on their front man, Monkees-esque feel good music fills The Earl. Warm Ric tones and lilting harmonies back the singer as he aptly notes, “every waking hour gets me high.”

If The Quarter After represents the age of innocence, Anton Newcombe is the cruel disillusionment that follows. As soon as the BJM frontman takes the stage, there is clearly trouble. Body heat is increasingly warming the room, and Anton’s now infamous temper is boiling as expected.

“We need one more second,” Anton explains. “We’re in the process of deciding who we’re going to fire.” The band can scarcely get through two songs before Anton grabs a flustered roadie by the neck and forcefully marches him off stage and out the back door.

And so it begins. Upon his return, Anton initiates the first of multiple rants that evening…something about roadie Rob’s freeloading and poor guitar tuning. “We’re going to wrestle this beast to the f-cking ground!” he declares.

Anton removes his already sweat-drenched shirt. When the next song finally starts, his voice is scratchy and weak from berating his band members. The other musicians stand aloof as Anton, always speaking into the mic, tries to settle some undefined conflict. A digital clock glows on the soundboard: 12:53 a.m. and only two songs completed.

As if to make up for the song-free lulls, BJM eventually launch into what will become a 20-minute jam session. The crowd begins to loosen as bathroom breaks increase and I seek out a place to sit. I’d feel bad about being bored, but even the band is all sitting on the stage.

“Everybody just chill, okay? Chill out.” It’s 1:38 a.m. and the jam has ended but the show has restarted. Once again, Anton is livid about some unknown “beast.” He begs the crowd and the band to calm down, but he is comically the only one roused in tension.

“Bohemian like you!” One audience member offers, but the snide heckle goes unnoticed. Anton has finished his confrontational audience interaction and moved on to vague criticism of our presidency.

"My three year-old son could run the country better!" Anton shouts unprovoked as he anxiously paces.

For a man driven nearly to insanity by his art, it's sad and unfortunate that the spotlight shines on his psychosis more than his music. He is, nonetheless, an entertainer, and if it takes erratic banter to draw an audience, well, at least what few songs he gets through will be heard.

BJM are scheduled to return to Atlanta in September.

www.brianjonestownmassacre.com
www.thequarterafter.com | www.innawaymusic.com