Old Folks Boogie

With all the talk of Little Feat here lately, it seemed a good time to re-post my review of a June 2006 Little Feat show. This originally posted at my now-abandoned blog at myspace.com. The review is followed with proof positive that every word of it is true, that proof being an absolutely killer Lowell George-led version of Fat Man in the Bathtub.

It's not fair to compare the modern-day Little Feat to the Little Feat of old, I know. The old Little Feat was one of those rare bands that could achieve sublimity, but it did so mostly because a genius with a voice to die for and a slide guitar style second only to Duane Allman's was front and center. That genius was Lowell George, and he is of course gone nearly 30 years now.

Still, I'm not really sure how else I could have approached the Little Feat show I saw last night. The Little Feat I love is the Little Feat of Lowell George. Truth be told, Lowell George is what I loved about Little Feat; the rest of the band I could take or leave. There's nothing wrong with the rest of the band, mind you, but Lowell George was one of those gifted individuals who shone in a way that highlighted the mortal-ness of those around him. He was a Mozart surrounded by a bunch of Salieris.

Obviously a band that loses a guy like Lowell George has taken a pretty big hit. Lowell was not only an electrifying guitarist but also a wonderfully soulful singer who could switch from sexy laid-back croon to high-voltage blues growl without missing a beat. The new Little Feat doesn't have anyone who can touch Lowell as a singer. They've tried to replace him with two people: longtime guitarist Paul Barrere, who does a passable low-volume soulful vocal, and Shaun Murphy, a relatively recent addition, who is supposed to add the pyrotechnics. My wife described her perfectly: she sounds like the singer in a beer commercial.

The results were mixed. There were moments of abject misery, the worst of which was when Shaun Murphy grabbed "On the Way Down" by the throat and slung it to the ground, then kicked it repeatedly. When Lowell George sang this song, he communicated a wisdom borne of world-weariness; it's a good song that he makes great with his vocal. When Shaun Murphy sang it, she communicated "I have a great voice, and I'm going to let everyone here know it." Yuck. Another such moment came when Paul Barrere stepped to the mike to sing "Fat Man in the Bathtub." Lowell sang this one at the top of his range, and the result was hair-standing-on-the-back-of-your-neck exhilarating. Barrere sang it an octave lower, like it was quiet-sing time just before lights out at sleepover camp. The band had been really rolling along, but as soon as he started singing the tires quickly deflated.

The 30-minute "Dixie Chicken," with a thoroughly unnecessary interlude into "Tennessee Jed" and countless, endless solos, was a bit much, as was the turgid 8-minute version of "Willin'." And yet there were moments last night, often when the band was jamming out, that the new Little Feat showed itself to be a great band. Barrere and Fred Tackett (the other guitarist, a guy who has played with absolutely everyone) are both very good players, and occasionally Barrere would whip out the slide and play some Lowell-style licks. I wonder whether it bothers him to channel a ghost, to give the people what they want by erasing himself and mimicking a guy so long gone; I suspect it might because he didn't give the audience too much of it, but when he did the energy of the show kicked up several ticks and the audience responded accordingly. And much of the show was a lot of fun, even if it didn't ascend the level of high art. The new Little Feat has the same funky rhythm section as the old Little Feat, and they can lay down a pretty good groove.

As negative as much of this may sound, I really enjoyed myself last night. My friend Jon Shain opened the show and played very well; he got a very warm response from the crowd--I was really happy for him. It was fun to take a walk down memory lane with a band that was so closely associated with the Baltimore-Washington area where I grew up, and it was lovely to hear "Sailin Shoes" played live one more time. Still, when I woke up this morning, the disc I popped into the player was Lowell George's solo album Thanks I'll Eat it Here. It's got to be a bitch to live your life in the shadow of someone else's greatness.