Having Band-like fun with Felice Brothers
By Jonathan Valania
For The Inquirer
Impersonating the Band hasn't been a decent-paying gig since Scorsese filmed The Last Waltz in 1976, but judging by the full-up crowd at the Trocadero Thursday night, the Felice Brothers seem to be on their way.
Actually, impersonating sounds a little too dismissive and I like these guys, so let's go with evoking or carrying on the old, weird Americana tradition of the Band.
Besides, the brothers have the pedigree (they hail from the Hudson River valley), they've paid their dues (busking in the subways of New York, going acoustic at the Newport Folk Festival, woodshedding at Levon Helm's Barn Burner), and, more important, they are naturals, having just released Yonder Is the Clock, their fifth casually brilliant album of the aforementioned old, weird Americana.
Of the five Felice Brothers standing onstage at the Troc, only two were actual blood brothers named Felice: waifish singer/guitarist Ian Felice, who looked like Dylan '63 and sang like Dylan '68, and bearlike keyboard/accordionist James Felice, who looked like a young Hank Williams Jr. in his beard and Zorro hat. The third blood Felice Brother, drummer Simone, has elected not to tour this time out, and was replaced by Jeremy Backofen, who, in tandem with snake-fingered bass player Christmas Clapton, gave the band's two-hour set the requisite chugging heft.
Fiddler/washboard-picker Greg Farley seemed vested with the responsibility of maintaining the band's rowdy live rep as he flailed around the stage like a gorilla on roller skates and intermittently bashed the drummer's cymbals with his washboard. A large part of the charm of the Felice Brothers' live show is that you get the distinct impression they would be having this much fun even if nobody showed up. There is something about the way they all smile when they play, as if they shared some wonderful private joke that you want in on - kind of like The Basement Tapes.
Much like the albums, Thursday night's show alternated between barn-burning hoedowns in the Poguesian tradition of everyone-grab-an-instrument-and-make-a-joyous-noise (a stomping "Chicken Wire" and a howl-at-the-moon "Memphis Flu") and sweetly downer folkadelic introspection (a Wilcoesque "The Big Surprise," a stately "Cooperstown").
Especially noteworthy was a ripping spin through the subterranean homesick blues of "Penn Station" and a positively grand and otherworldly "The Greatest Show on Earth," which is one of those unforgettable songs where you know something's happening, but you don't know what it is. Do you, Mr. Jones?
CHOICE VIDEO: From the Troc 4-16
