 Return to Lonely Goat Features Archives FAMILY FEUD: Gov't Mule @ Ziggy's O.K. I'll be the first to admit that occasionally I bemoan the many pitfalls of local club shows. Chatty, overrun crowds on the prowl for fresh meat make the experience less than rewarding at times. But I will likewise acknowledge that when it comes to a certain sense of intimacy and tight-knit community that not much tops a smaller barroom performance. So it was with equal trepidation and anticipation that I dusted off my camouflage, laced up my combat boots and sank back into the smoldering trenches for Government Mule's now-annual Ziggys performance. Gov't Mule is the quintessential modern-day power trio, allowing maximum room for each individual's musical voice. And what thunderous voices these demigods possess, hurling bolts of lightning from Mt. Olympus, blasting us mortals on the fields of Eleusis. In terms of sound, Mule comes off as a cross between Cream and The Allman Brothers- without the British pretension or pop exterior of the former and the stylistic limitations or current predictability of the latter. In fact, they employ so much energy and aggression that one could easily mistake them for metal or punk. (Although the presence of so much rhythm, melody and blues tradition quickly dispels that notion.) Actually, the band most closely resembles the beefy blues and power chords of seventies mainstays like Free, Mountain, Deep Purple and early ZZ Top, picking up exactly where contemporary throwbacks like The Black Crowes and Lenny Kravitz leave off: the laundry hamper. Indeed, this seventies revivalist shtick means more to Mule members than just the opportunity to don platform shoes and bell-bottoms; they seem to embody the true spirit of that freewheeling decade: reckless musical abandon. Most people are probably familiar with The Mule's ties to the legendary Allman Brothers Band. Guitarist Warren Haynes and bassist Allen Woody anchored the band for nearly a decade in the late eighties and early nineties. Honestly, they help to revitalize the band members for their second run at fame and fortune. So why forfeit such a lucrative and steady occupation for relative obscurity? Well for Warren and Woody, artistic freedom seems to supercede monetary considerations. The two left in late 1996 under less than amicable circumstances after Mule had existed concurrently with The Brothers for two years, even opening a few shows for them. And much as I hate to play purveyor of unsubstantiated hearsay, but word on the street claimed it had to do with Mule's record deal with Capricorn records, perennial enemies of The Brothers due to past misdealings. So the two groups parted ways and have spent the last couple of years trying to conquer that never-ending highway. Anyway, if anyone has avoided seeing Gov't Mule because they were unimpressed with Warren and Woody's role in The Brothers, then they should reconsider immediately. Warren's all around guitar genius was somewhat stifled during his boot camp with The Brothers. First of all, Dickey Betts is a guitar god by any estimate so the last thing he wanted was some young upstart to show him up on his own turf. Additionally, the band's sound was already ground in stone, non-negotiable. Therefore, Warren's role was a bit limited in the band; he was expected to deliver those wicked slide solos on cue, remaining as true as possible to the original solo. However, Gov't Mule affords all the freedom that a guitarist of Warren's caliber deserves. Truly, he sports one of the most complete techniques on the scene today, delivering every single note with the deadly sting of a scorpion. From his monster tone to his inventive crunchy riffs to the wailing siren of his slide work to his free-form, freight-Trane leads, Warren does everything well with an ear for blues tradition that sets him apart from his peers. And bassist Allen Woody has developed in leaps and bounds since his Allman tour of duty. He too was greatly constricted by the limitations and expectations of the musical big brother. (One need look no further than Oteil Burbridge's restrained role with The Allmans as compared to his front-and-center position with Aquarium Rescue Unit.) Woody is now a thundering beast on bass with an emphasis on guitar-like melody, most closely resembling the thumping, over-the-top style of his professed idol, Jack Casady. Woody is capable of single-handedly lifting the bottom of the music up by its combat bootstraps and stomping them shit-kickin' style all over the framework of skins and cymbals. And talk about foundations; drummer Matt Abts is a bona fide madman with the sticks. Matt also has ties to Southern rock's royal family, playing in Dickey's solo band, Great Southern, in the seventies (more fuel for the feuding fire?) In Mule, Matt employs a classic Ginger Baker-style barrage, perfectly suited to the rowdy Woody, pushing the jams to their absolute limits and drawing everything he can from his fellow musicians. Matt then proceeded to deliver a drum solo that demonstrated exactly where the dainty metronome, Jon Fishman, falls short: overwhelming power. Precision is undoubtedly a necessity as a musician, but we're talking about the most primitive of all musical instruments, the drums, and a certain amount of rumbling seismic force is an absolute requisite. And that is what the entire band gave the Ziggys crowd that evening. The show included a balance of powerhouse, riff-laden anthems "Mule" and "Blind Man" and ballsy, blues balladry "Painted Silver Light" and "No need to Suffer." And as usual, they delivered a handful of righteous cover songs, of which Tom Waits' "Get Behind the Mule" was the most convincing with Matt's soft brushes and Woody's upright bass recreating the song's slinky groove, proving that they can be just as subtle as they are powerful. The band also delved deeply into material from their new release Life before Insanity for two one-hour sets of kinetic combustion. Gov't Mule outdoes their former employers quite simply because they still have something to prove. On the surface, Mule appears virtually indistinguishable from the Allmans: wicked slide guitar, blues-drenched vocals, driving rhythm and lengthy solos. But where the two units differ most is between the grooves, when structure dissipates. The Allmans jam, of this there is no argument; but they generally jam along a pre-determined sequence of melodic phrasing with little variation from night to night. They must present their jams within close proximity of the song's original context because longtime fans shelled out a small fortune and expect the classics in recognizable form. Mule are able to break free from the harness of constant repetition by implementing free-form, spontaneous sections into their music, thereby allowing their solos to remain fresh and original no matter how many times they play them. And pure open-ended improvisation remains their greatest strength. The band creates a sound so full that it befits a band twice their size. Bass melodies layered over a fortress of percussive artillery with Warren's rich Les Paul tone whining, crying and resonating his own vocabulary of signature phrasing. Mule wins simply because they are at a point in their careers where they can play an impromptu club gig for a handful of informed fans. Allman Brothers' shows are always borderline circuses with many different sideshows distracting attention from the main musical payoff. Mule is just beginning to flap their creative wings (or should I say ears in this case) so they can still introduce new songs without inducing the audience's disinterest and disdain, and they're not limited into writing songs for a set Allman Brothers' sound or playing to fan's expectations. Ultimately, nobody emerges victorious when bad blood and resentment still linger among friends. But now we, the hardcore foot soldiers in the nightclub and amphitheater trenches, reap the true reward. We are left now with two distinct Southern rock institutions- one to carry the tradition back to where the language and lineage all began and one to carry the torch (and some hand-blown glass no doubt) to a new generation with a vision for the future of this once-defunct genre. |