THE BEAT GOES ON
NEW YORK—“Baby psychedelia,” claims Billy Altman three songs into the Bongos’ first set at the Bottom Line. “Like an early Nervus Rex if Nervus Rex had been better musicians” he amplifies, “I don’t like this type of pop if it doesn’t know how to rock.” Me, I like pop whether it knows how to rock or not, but the Bongos’ friendly mediocrity has never been less appealing than tonight; all forced enthusiasm, smooth surfaces, and boyish whimsy as epitomized by singer /lead guitarist/writer Richard Barone’s sweaty jog-pacing getting worked-up through the music doesn’t explain why.
THE BEAT GOES ON
Banging The Bongos
NEW YORK—“Baby psychedelia,” claims Billy Altman three songs into the Bongos’ first set at the Bottom Line. “Like an early Nervus Rex if Nervus Rex had been better musicians” he amplifies, “I don’t like this type of pop if it doesn’t know how to rock.” Me, I like pop whether it knows how to rock or not, but the Bongos’ friendly mediocrity has never been less appealing than tonight; all forced enthusiasm, smooth surfaces, and boyish whimsy as epitomized by singer /lead guitarist/writer Richard Barone’s sweaty jog-pacing getting worked-up through the music doesn’t explain why. The evening hits a low point with the Bongos’ new folk/acoustic /five minutes-plus “Sweet Blue Cage,” which has the collegiate boy (friend) s and girl (friend) s audience awestruck (a girl looks at her companion and nods her head as if to say “I told you so”) just like the old days of paisley shirts and half tabs of acid.