The Roxy
September 19, 1992
Martin Phillipps of the Chills is one of the best pop singer-songwriters breathing at the moment. Phillipps composes wonderfully melodic tunes resplendent in their thoughtful lyrics and catchy chords and choruses. A Chills song is at once inventive and familiar. A Chills concert is almost always a memory.
This weekend's Chills show at the Roxy was certainly memorable.
But for all the wrong reasons.
For starters, the crowd at the spacious central Phoenix club was abysmally small. Lack of attention from the local media ensured plenty of legroom for the 75 or so faithful who somehow heard about the show.
Those who did manage to make it to the Roxy no doubt wrestled with second thoughts for the rest of the night. The merits of the evening were initially blurred by opening act August Red. The local hair band proved (yet again) that even musicians with looks, attitude, long locks and swell chops can come up a good deal short without equally accomplished songs.
As for the Chills, the venerable New Zealand cult band wandered onstage only after an alarmingly insipid club deejay mangled all sense of mood by playing up-tempo Pearl Jam tunes during the break and repeatedly urging those in attendance to "partee!"
Phillipps, showing ample capacity for patience, accepted an addled introduction from the deejay booth and proceeded to guide his band through a healthy set of airy, subtle Chills songs. Phillipps' newer material--Double Summer," "Sanctuary" and "The Male Monster of the Id"--turned out well. Indeed, almost everything the Chills played off the band's new CD, Soft Bomb, had an energy and enthusiasm that transcended the PA's muddy, overmodulated sound.
But the acoustics did succeed in making a casualty of Phillipps' older songs. "Pink Frost" sounded out of focus and far from its recorded bliss on the uniformly excellent Kaleidoscope World retrospective. "Night of Chill Blue," an equally haunting masterpiece in which Phillipps croons alongside an eerie slide guitar, also wound up blindsided by the blitzkrieg mix.
The sound was most definitely a problem. But so was the band. Phillipps, ever tinkering with his band's lineup, had a brand new bunch of Chills with him onstage. And at times it showed. American keyboardist Lisa Mednick seemed overwhelmed with the intricate chord changes and sweeps of sampled sounds on "Effloresce and Deliquesce." Mednick's meager contribution dimmed in contrast to the work of Andrew Todd, the Chills' former keyboard player and secret weapon of the band's once-brilliant live sets. West Coast guitarist Steven Schayer (ex-Clay Idols) played well but with little more than studied competence. A better showing was turned in by the all-kiwi rhythm section of Craig Mason (drums) and Terry Moore (bass). Moore, a onetime Chill from a long time back, was sartorially splendid with his very bald head and "Speed Racer" cartoon tee shirt.
Musically, the Chills hit their stride with a boffo rendition of "Rain," off 1987's Brave Words album. Another high point came on a blistering take of "The Oncoming Day," an older Chills live fave that finally made it to CD on 1990's Submarine Bells.
It was clear, though, that the small crowd, big sound and Chills-in-training would keep the band in check this night. Even so, the group was encouraged to do an encore by the ubiquitous club deejay, who loudly reminded the audience that the Chills were "all the way from fucking New Zealand." Phillipps again charitably ignored his surroundings and got his band to pull off a neat version of "Never Never Go," one of the many killer tunes from 1985's The Lost EP.
A second song, "I Love My Leather Jacket," contributed to the off-balance nature of the night. The song itself is a lively memorial to "a long-lost friend." Phillipps sings that he wears his deceased buddy's old jacket as a "protector and reminder of mortality." It's an evocative, heartfelt song, and it makes up only a small part of Phillipps' considerable talent at mixing naive, hopeful longing with minor-key melodies that never fade. But much of the Chills' genius never got there Saturday night. The quiet, shifting nuances of the band's set list were trampled underfoot by bad sound and average playing. By evening's end, the Chills, like most in the crowd, appeared slightly dazed and maybe a bit confused.
"I've never driven to New Zealand," the deejay roared as the befuddled band left the stage for good. "But if I did," the voice continued, "it would be a parteee."
Yeah. A real scream.
SEPARATE AND EQUAL AT ASU BLACK-CULTURE ... v9-23-92
