Visual Arts and Music

Who is this Wols? Six grimacing self-portraits, the first images one encounters in the Busch-Reisinger Museum's exhibit of his photographs, prevent an immediate response. The portraits, cropped like busts from the neck up, span the varieties of human response, from the mirthful to the apathetic to the terrifying but never the genuine. This shock at lack of sentimentality is re-experienced in the 57 photographs displayed. In his most successful prints, he subverts the circumstantial reality of his subject and creates a new context without annihilating its essence.

Wols, the founder of the Informel movement, was almost exclusively known as a painter. Applying paint with fingers or knives, or directly from the tube, Wols created oils that confront the viewer head-on with their explosive colors and textured surfaces.

Until recently, Wols's photographs were seen as prefiguring his later work. Christine Mehring, who gracefully curates the exhibit, instead presents Wols's photography as an integral part of his oeuvre that must be considered independently. She divides his photographs into four discrete but contingent sections: portraits, abstractions, fashion photographs and still lives. As the works were taken during his ten-year residence in France between 1932 and 1942, they bear a strong stylistic affinity to each other. Yet the works display Wols's movement from germinal Bauhaus sterility and Surrealist tomfoolery to a style ultimately unique both from his contemporaries and from his later works on canvas.

Wols's photograph of his close friend Nicole Bouban (pictured) is the most visually compelling portrait displayed. Reclining on a pillow whose filigreed embroideries of butterflies merge with the platinum waves of her hair, Bouban's marmoreal face achieves the vacuity of expression associated with mannequins or dolls. Her smooth skin seems carved out of soap. But Wols's depiction is more than a trite objectification of a woman's face. Though she is reclining, this is not an image of repose. He effects the same response as that engendered in his self-portraits: the image is impossible to penetrate. Aside from the details of her features, one cannot learn anything about her; her expression resists psychological classification.

In his other portraits, Wols uses dark shadows and flat planes to occlude the subjects' faces. But in Nicole Bouban, he strips the face of its conventional revelatory implications without resorting to heavy-handed assaults on the planes of her beauty.

Wols's abstractions are scenes of the everyday realities of Paris life. Influenced by Moholy-Nagy and other Bauhaus aestheticians, they reveal the abstraction inherent in commonplace details. When figures are used, as in Untitled (Clochard) ,their human identity is obscured. Bodies become compositional elements, mere surfaces for the interplay of shadows. Other images, such as the stunning Untitled (Bucket), utilize light to create form. The water in the bucket has a metallic shimmer to it, suggesting a solidified surface. Wols skillfully contrasts the texture of the rags' ribbing with the placidity of the water to create an image of restive calm.

His work for the fashion pavilion at the 1937 Paris World's Fair continues his studies of the form and figure. The Surrealist ambitions of Couturier's De Chirico-like mannequins, with their featureless faces and heavily textured plaster surface, apparently appealed to Wols. Cloth is more carved than draped as the mannequins cavort and tremble at their shadows, which chase them among the neoclassical columns that decorated their stages and pedestals.

His still lives are unequivocally the most inventive and mysterious photographs of the exhibition. He retreats from the streets to the kitchen. But his foodstuffs are neither palatable nor tantalizing. Distorted in scale, lit by mysterious sources and seeming almost alive, these photographs disturb as much as they entice. There are no rites of passage into this world of objects. These depart from his earlier, formalist, abstractions: they are abstraction vivified.

Some of the objects that Wols photographs (like the hesitatingly named Untitled (Rolled Cheese)) are unidentifiable except as organic forms. Others, like Untitled (Lamp and Branch with Meat) and Untitled (Rabbit/Comb/Button), have been cast in roles that are alien to their natures. But in his most successful still lives, Untitled (Beans) and Untitled (Sausage and Potatoes), Wols takes his subjects out of our world, while retaining their physical presence (the shine of an overboiled potato, the turgid undulations of a bean's matte surface) and signifiers of the setting (the rounded edge of a table, the gleam of a pan's lid). More alive than the subjects of his portraits, the beans commune and swarm, the potatoes and sausage hold a brief rapport. He destroys the world we know these objects from and conjures another in its place. The foodstuffs occupy a distinct and independent reality: familiar, yet alien.

Because of financial difficulties during his lifetime and the initial lack of interest, very few of Wols's vintage prints exist. Those that are extant are often water-damaged or scratched. Because of the scarcity of originals, most of the prints displayed were made by photographic historians Volker Kamen and Georg Heusch in 1976. These contemporary prints replicate the state of the original negatives: minor scratches and imperfections are seen on the surface of most of the prints. The contemporary prints are framed by the black lines of the negative holder, reminding us that the artist, who would have had the freedom to enlarge or crop, had no hand in their production.

The difficult choice to use Heusch's prints seems the appropriate one. Heusch's prints guess at the artist's intentions as minimally as possible; one can assume that the integrity of his intentions are not disturbed.

Panorama: A Student Art Exhibit

Presented by Hillel Arts Committee

Coordinated by Tal Astrachan '01 and Sara Jablon '00

At Hillel

March 7-14

BY MARCELLINE M. BLOCK

CRIMSON ARTS STAFF

Panorama, Harvard-Radcliffe Hillel's recent art exhibit, was aptly titled. The exhibit, featuring the work of more than 30 Harvard artists, including graduate students, brought together a diverse range of works of art, subject matter and media. Panorama included many conventional pieces such as black-and-white photography, oil and acrylic paintings, charcoal drawings and watercolors but also presented very unusual media as well. Some of these are senior Amanda Proctor's Native American beadwork, a wire sculpture by Rachel Friedman '01, plastic boxes filled with transparencies and water by Jen Wu '00 and felt pennants by graduate student Paul VanDe Carr. Other unique uses of media and subject included junior Erwin Rosinberg's whimsical magic marker drawings, junior Shana Starobin's collage and sophomore Mana Golzari's mixed media work. Yet, in Panorama, the traditional and the non-traditional elements flowed together so well that neither one overshadowed the other but rather created a complimentary duality.

VanDe Carr's pennants were of particular interest. They look very much like any other felt pennants, hanging casually from the ceiling except that instead of bearing the name of a team or university, they are decorated with bizarre slogans such as "Hurrah for Hate," "I Love Work," "Go God!" and "Go Time." Each pennant makes an iconoclastic and provocative statement as even the backs of the pennants are decorated with more variations on the original slogan, such as a cropped clock face on the back of "Go Time," and "nice job!" on the "God" pennant. The sarcasm of these banners is hidden under a veneer of cheerfulness, providing a truly different perspective on society and spirituality.

Another piece that stood out is junior Elena Mer's untitled oil painting of a toilet that appears to be in the middle of a room, diagonally facing a couch that is almost entirely cut off by the border of the canvas. Although realistically painted in muted grays, blues and beiges, the toilet looks eerily out of place. Indeed, while the couch is hidden from view, we only see about three-quarters of the toilet itself, making the painting even more mysterious, so that finally the domestic legitimacy of the room is called into question. The excellent artistic technique of this piece imparts upon the viewer a sense of silence, thoughtfulness and quiet beauty. A toilet and a couch, ordinary household objects, seem unlikely subjects for such a painting, but through this painting Mer has given them a distinctly captivating power.

One of the most striking paintings of "Panorama" was senior Javier Mixco's portrait of a man viewed horizontally. The man is pensive, frowning; his jaw is constricted and Mixco's expert use of light and shading add even more to the somber quality of this painting. What is the man thinking about? What is troubling him? The portrait seemed almost intensely private, as if the viewer was intruding on the man's personal agonies and demons. Despite all this, the painting itself was not dismal or depressing but extremely reflective, piquing the viewer's curiosity. Mixco's piece was further enhanced by the fact that it was sitting on an easel in a corner of the exhibit and therefore had a private space of its own. Because of the easel, the painting seemed still very much attached to the artist, adding to the closeness already felt between artist and viewer.

Panorama gave us a tour of what student art can do.

Jonny Lang

At the Orpheum

March 13

By JUDY P. TSAI

contributing writer

Attention all teenyboppers: the long lost fourth Hanson brother has been rescued from the icy nether regions of Fargo, North Dakota. His name is Jonny Lang, and he plays a mean guitar.

At the tender young age of 18, Lang has traversed the world with the likes of the Rolling Stones and B.B. King. Not bad for a kid who just picked up the guitar on a whim when he was 13. Cashing in on connections that would make even the Harvard Alumni Association green with envy, Lang cut his first solo record after meeting ex-Prince producer, David Z. The album's debut single and title track, "Lie to Me," saw some heavy rotation on MTV and extended play on VH1. On the video, he was able to capitalize on his all-American pre-pubescent mug. Riding the wail of his electric manhood, Lang's acceleration to the top of the charts was fueled by his lanky frame, laid-back cool and thickly applied accolades from every blues brother. He is now being hailed as the musical messiah of the next millennium.

Despite his dubious status as the poster boy of the new generation of mom-approved modern rock, Lang is still a mere pupa in terms of his musical maturation. Case in point: his live show at the Orpheum last Saturday night. From the last row of the balcony, I was not afforded a proper view of the rising star. The best I could make out was a gel-spiked head which bobbed furiously to the beat of the manic drummer. Clad in a black tank top which accentuated his spindly silhouette, Lang affected and effected the look of a rock star, a proto-Mick. He casually sauntered to and fro between lyrics, strumming with the ease of an old pro. But while the classic demeanor has been perfected to a hyperbole, Lang needs much work on marinating his tunes in front of a crowd.

Perhaps it was the poor acoustics of the decrepit walls of the Orpheum in dire need of a makeover, because the experience was like someone Nerf-hammering my head and conducting a psychological study on the effect of flashing different colors of light for two hours straight. The only respite from the garish lighting design was the few seconds when a dramatic toplight isolated Lang at centerstage. Thanks to Andy Warhol, artsy for artsy's sake is now status quo. On top of that, the non-stop songs pummeled my body with their monotonous cacophony for so long that I was like a disintegrating slug that slipped on a pile of salt. My mind was screaming stop the madness, but those cries were drowned out by Lang's rawhide-cured vocals and even more subsumed by the combination of non-stop drums, three guitars and two keyboards. In a word, it was loud.

Was this mind-numbing noise a result of a boy's attempt at overcompensation for lack of talent? Not exactly. There's no denying the appeal of a phenom who can do no wrong. We all get caught up in the fervor of manufactured girl/boy toys like New Kids on the Block or the Spice Girls, but it would be a shame for Lang to be boxed into that category. He seems to be the real deal, what with his gravely beyond-his-years voice which emotes the sagacity of a down-and-out alcoholic who has been beaten down by society.

What Lang needs to learn is modulation and moderation. Instead of barreling through his songs like there's no tomorrow, he should vary the force with which he punches into each tune. He certainly is capable of variation, as he proves in his first album, where the soulful ballads are balanced by funky tracks and all-out rock grooves. His second effort, Wander this World, is an unsteady foray into the mainstream. Even that word mainstream connotes a Spam product which inevitably sullies the unique with the base. This shift in focus is what was displayed at the live show. Instead of savoring each sound as a true blues musician would, Lang merely paid lip service to whatever ditty was next. It was as if he couldn't wait to be finished with the show. Each song was predictably fronted with Lang's relentlessly shouted, not sung, vocals and backed up by even more earsplitting guitars. The theatricality of it all overshadowed his musicianship; it was all razzle and no dazzle.

By far the best moment of the night was when I was finally able to escape into the quiet streets of Boston to assuage the ringing in my poor assaulted ears. Thanks to a street musician who plucked a bare tune on his banjo and soothed me with his baritone, I was relieved. Jonny Lang is no flash in the pan as a musician, but his flashy stage presence definitely needs some lubrication.

'N SYNC with Tatyana Ali and B*Witched

At the Fleet Center

March 16

By ANNIE K. ZALESKI

Crimson Staff Writer

The fervor started on the T with the gaggle of pre-teen girls singing "I'm Too Sexy." It continued in the Fleet Center concourse, where entire families mingled with 13-year-olds dressed in an amusingly risqu fashion. On the floor it was even worse, where a sold-out arena reverberated with the ear-piercing screams of little girls bursting to be in the presence of their embodiment of The Perfect Men.

It wasn't the Celtics causing this commotion. No, this was the stuff that prepubescent dreams are made of, an 'N SYNC concert. Their concert on Tuesday night, with Tatyana Ali '02 and B*Witched opening, showed off how talent, energy and a whole lot of cuteness go a long way at any age.

Opening the show with four songs from their eponymous debut, Ireland's B*Witched had the excited crowd in the palm of their hands with their twee brand of Girl Power. This foursome inevitably encourages comparisons to the Spice Girls and All Saints. However, their youthful exuberance (the oldest member of the group is 19, the youngest 17) and enchanting Irish jigging showed that this group has a definite niche in the girl group genre.

Out came the next performer amid adoring screams. While most of us at Harvard are mired in midterm hell, Tatyana Ali '02 ended her night by being carried offstage by two very buff male dancers. (If the Harvard libraries had such a service, the amount of studying that would surely skyrocket.) But the 20-year-old Ali has taken the semester off to tour with 'N SYNC, and her time was well spent.

Wearing a sparkly purple midriff top and baggy leather pants, Ali started her set with her hit single "Daydreamin.'" This groove-oriented, high-energy track played well in the arena, as did her finale, "Boy You Knock Me Out." An entertaining crowd-pleaser was a tightly choreographed dance to a medley of Will Smith songs, a nod to her past role as Ashley on "Fresh Prince of Bel-Air."

However, other mellower ballads like her personal favorite "Kiss The Sky" weren't as successful. Her obviously strong singing was drowned out by the screams of her fans and also the cavernous arena. In a smaller venue, her varied style would have been heard and appreciated more thoroughly.

Then the lights went up, and the buzz of anticipation grew. The braces-adorned crowd, their faces scrawled with declarations of adoration, madly waved banners proclaiming their undying love for 'N SYNC. The cheers were deafening. It was like nothing I have ever experienced.

When the lights finally did go down, the surrealness of the entire situation was realized in a bizarre way. Onstage appeared a giant muscled monster controlled as a puppet. I half-expected the band to appear from the creature like something out of the Power Rangers. When the band did emerge, though, they were wearing body suits adorned with day-glo paint. Each grabbed a lighted stick and did a trippy tribal dance. It was absolutely Disney World on acid.

After a few interminable minutes, the strangeness subsided, and the boys danced out in full trackpants-ed glory to "Here We Go." Their dancing was pinpoint perfection, the harmonies glorious, their faces shining beacons of perfection. They fed off the crowd's excitement and became impossible to resist.

Indeed, any and all moves the band made were greeted with screams of appreciation. Justin and J.C. are the obvious hotties of the group, as evidenced by their multiple close-ups on the video screen and the marked increase in cheers every time they approached the sides of the stage. But the largely female audience had no qualms cheering madly whenever any members of the group did one of their countless amazingly deft pelvic thrusts.

'N SYNC isn't just about sex and pretty faces, though. These for the most part young'uns (their ages are 18, 19, 20, 22 and 27) have actual talent. Their roots in a cappella were revealed by the dreadlocked Chris as the group launched into a harmonically gorgeous "I Drive Myself Crazy." Other ballads like "God Must Have Spent A Little More Time On You," which the band dedicated to a lucky few girls who were given seats onstage, also showcased the band's vocal skills.

The scariest moment of dj vu came during their version of Kool and the Gang's "Celebration." The opening dance moves seemed to be directly lifted from the repertoire of 'N SYNC's predecessors, Boston's own New Kids On The Block. I started having flashbacks to "The Right Stuff" and for a brief second wondered if they would parody their whole boy band phenomenon-frenzy by covering that song. Sadly, it was not to be, but it would have been a nice touch of irony from a band sometimes compared to that late 80s merchandising empire/band.

The boys from 'N SYNC have enough hits to stand on their own, however. The powerful encore of "I Want You Back," their version of Christopher Cross' "Sailing" (during which the angelic-looking boys, now wearing white, were flown by hydraulics over the teeming masses) and the barnburner "Tearin' Up My Heart" brought the already-hyped crowd into frenzied convulsions of dancing and screaming.

So all of these performers on Tuesday may be young, but they knew how to put on a dynamic concert and mesmerize the crowd. It wasn't incredibly difficult given that the average age of the attendees was probably 12,but something has to be said for stage presence and vocal talent. And as 'N SYNC stated themselves Tuesday night, "You got it!"

Teknotag

At the Advocate

March 12

By Jeremy J. Salfen

CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Last Saturday night, the Advocate initiated sonic warfare with the city of Cambridge. Deafening explosions roared under machine gun clatter, while the drone and whine of bombers and the piercing scream of air-raid sirens echoed through the streets. In just under two-and-a-half hours, city forces managed to infiltrate the Advocate stronghold and suppress the uprising, and Cambridge residents were able to return to the quiet safety of their beds.

But while the assault lasted, it was brutal and sublime. Leading the offensive were /rupture and esp of the local Toneburst Collective. Hunched over a table laden with turntables, mixers, speakers, samplers and a laptop, all connected by a web of cables, /rupture and esp spliced together sounds of futuristic urban warfare. They started the set with an ambient, downtempo groove purring with thick, deep bass. But as the second floor of the Advocate House, the Sanctum, began swarming with people, the tempo and intensity of the beats increased, until the room was shuddering to the manic cadence and dive-bomb bass of wreckstep jungle.

But the eclectic /rupture and esp did not limit themselves to any one genre. They interspersed smooth experimental hip-hop and ambient noise soundscapes with beat-heavy jungle paranoia. And when esp began a live set, orchestrated on his laptop, he obliterated conventional genres of contemporary dance music. Looking like a mad scientist behind piles of hardware and cables, esp pushed the limits of electronic experimentation, turning the Advocate into a testing ground for revolutionary urban combat. Imagine the brain waves of William Burroughs playing Space Invaders--set to music.

Countless cigarettes and a smoke machine created a nearly impenetrable haze in which Advocate intellectuals and local hipsters writhed, bopped and boogied down. The frenetic music inspired all dimensions of dance and movement, from eager couples bumping and grinding to solitary enthusiasts thrashing in ecstatic abandon. And those who did not dance reclined on couches or leaned against the walls, absorbing the room's thick energy.

The DJs/producers /rupture and esp are not new to Harvard. Jace Clayton (/rupture) and Mike Esposito (esp) started the Toneburst Collective while they were undergraduates here. The loose-knit collective spans multiple genres and media, uniting jungle, ambient, and hip-hop DJs and producers like DJ Flack, Embryo and Electro Organic Sound System with video- and installation-artists like Synergy Promixions. They organize numerous events in the New England area which are more like carnivals than raves or concerts, combining abstract beats, video experimentation and performance art in unorthodox spaces. A production last year, Junk, was staged in a church and featured junglists and punk rockers, with interludes of spoken word and political puppet theater. Free rice and beans were available, and the seven-hour show cost only $5. Upcoming events include Transformations in April at Boston University and Access in May at the Museum of Science. See the website (www.toneburst.com) for more information. The crew recently released their second compilation, Toneburst Collective, on the label Bliss, featuring tracks by /rupture and esp. Clayton and Esposito are also starting their own label, Soot, which should begin putting out records this summer.

The Advocate's support of artists like /rupture and esp suggests that the organization is taking a more active role in providing space for and promoting local art. Teknotag, like the Advocate's GNR8R show last February and its recent photography exhibit, Sampler, in Adams House, offered a rare glimpse into the experimental artistic underground that is too often invisible at Harvard.

Regrettably, Cambridge police did not appreciate the importance of this show. At approximately 12:30 a.m., two cops shut it down, citing the city's 11 p.m. noise ordinance. The room cleared, and /rupture and esp turned off and packed up their musical weaponry. The sonic assault may have been silenced, but it was not defeated. This revolution has only just begun.

Sebadoh

At the Roxy

March 16

By WILLOUGHBY ANDERSON

Contributing Writer

Topless girl and all, Sebadoh's Tuesday night show was a rocking good time. The Roxy was packed with an extremely eclectic mix of fans--everything from aging rockers and suited 20-somethings to clean-cut alterna-boys and their hipper chicks. Even teenage rave kids were to be found bumming cigarettes and acting cool. Nobody paid much attention to the opening acts; instead they swarmed around the six bars that service this converted ballroom. Playtopia, the second opener, got some attention by the sheer volume of their amps. Despite much heckling and hooting to the contrary, I thought these guys' blend of pure noise and screamed goofy lyrics like "Here come the worms, the worms of doubt" was actually pretty funny. By the time Sebadoh hit the stage, the crowd was rowdy and raring to go. When it was announced that the concert was being broadcast live on WBCN, some people in the front began chanting things like "WBCN sucks" and other exciting graphic phrases.

Their first few songs proved that Sebadoh can still slam it home. Amid rebel yells from the audience, "Careful" and "Dramamine" filled the hall with jagged guitar and gunshot-like drums. Jason Lowenstein and Lou Barlow were joined by Russ Pollard, the drummer and collaborator on their latest album The Sebadoh, a fine new incarnation of this long standing band. This album, out of Sub Pop, is a mixture of ballads by Lou and yelling, fuzz-guitar romps from Jason and creates a tight, impressively "together" sound. Songs such as "Flame" and "Love is Stronger" are plaintive and sensitive, filled with interesting noises and rocking beats. "Cuban" is a swinging dance number with a screamed over melody that somehow works--and the cow bell is a nice touch. In the lyrical, acoustic "Tree," Lou proves himself to be a song writer who can transcend triteness and write a really beautiful song.

The audience responded well to the new music, which displays Sebadoh's established and evolving sound, a sound which is sure to bring joy to all you indie-rock junkies who still resent their MTV cross-over.

Fist-pumping boys screamed along as the older break-up anthems came on, but the newer songs are plenty angry, never fear. Pollard's howled rendition of "Break Free," which he wrote for the new album, was particularly frightening. Lou's soulful lyrics and simple beats on "Flame" transform angst into actual anguish, however, and on many of the pieces from the latest album the guitars do most of the screaming. Due in part to Lou's sore throat, this emphasis on dexterous guitar and bass still conveys the raw emotion and intensity of Sebadoh's songs. Slouching on stage in their t-shirts and hats, Sebadoh's garage band appearance seemed out of place with their refined, full and established sound.

Obviously tired, Sebadoh was not prepared for the raucousness of the crowd at the Roxy. Tired of chanting at the radio, people took the pauses between songs as opportunities to shout at Lou and Jason. Answering sometimes, Jason finally stated dryly, "Alright, people from Boston shouting." But like an irreverent monster beyond anyone's control, the crowd heaved and surged until finally it produced a young woman, who perched on the shoulders of someone near the front. Throwing both her shirt and bra at Lou, she crowd surfed until she was dropped, then clamored up onto the stage to get a little closer. As an answer to this event, Jason sang "I'm going to get so...naked" in their next song "It's All You," and Lou lifted his shirt. A crowd-pleasing concert all around, Sebadoh, in the words of an audience member, "rocked on." Don't miss Sebadoh's appropriately alternative website www.sebadoh.com, where you can fill out a fan personality profile--I think "naked" is one of the options.

By WILLOUGHBY ANDERSON

Contributing Writer

Topless girl and all, Sebadoh's Tuesday night show was a rocking good time. The Roxy was packed with an extremely eclectic mix of fans--everything from aging rockers and suited 20-somethings to clean-cut alterna-boys and their hipper chicks. Even teenage rave kids were to be found bumming cigarettes and acting cool. Nobody paid much attention to the opening acts; instead they swarmed around the six bars that service this converted ballroom. Playtopia, the second opener, got some attention by the sheer volume of their amps. Despite much heckling and hooting to the contrary, I thought these guys' blend of pure noise and screamed goofy lyrics like "Here come the worms, the worms of doubt" was actually pretty funny. By the time Sebadoh hit the stage, the crowd was rowdy and raring to go. When it was announced that the concert was being broadcast live on WBCN, some people in the front began chanting things like "WBCN sucks" and other exciting graphic phrases.

Their first few songs proved that Sebadoh can still slam it home. Amid rebel yells from the audience, "Careful" and "Dramamine" filled the hall with jagged guitar and gunshot-like drums. Jason Lowenstein and Lou Barlow were joined by Russ Pollard, the drummer and collaborator on their latest album The Sebadoh, a fine new incarnation of this long standing band. This album, out of Sub Pop, is a mixture of ballads by Lou and yelling, fuzz-guitar romps from Jason and creates a tight, impressively "together" sound. Songs such as "Flame" and "Love is Stronger" are plaintive and sensitive, filled with interesting noises and rocking beats. "Cuban" is a swinging dance number with a screamed over melody that somehow works--and the cow bell is a nice touch. In the lyrical, acoustic "Tree," Lou proves himself to be a song writer who can transcend triteness and write a really beautiful song.

The audience responded well to the new music, which displays Sebadoh's established and evolving sound, a sound which is sure to bring joy to all you indie-rock junkies who still resent their MTV cross-over.

Fist-pumping boys screamed along as the older break-up anthems came on, but the newer songs are plenty angry, never fear. Pollard's howled rendition of "Break Free," which he wrote for the new album, was particularly frightening. Lou's soulful lyrics and simple beats on "Flame" transform angst into actual anguish, however, and on many of the pieces from the latest album the guitars do most of the screaming. Due in part to Lou's sore throat, this emphasis on dexterous guitar and bass still conveys the raw emotion and intensity of Sebadoh's songs. Slouching on stage in their t-shirts and hats, Sebadoh's garage band appearance seemed out of place with their refined, full and established sound.

Obviously tired, Sebadoh was not prepared for the raucousness of the crowd at the Roxy. Tired of chanting at the radio, people took the pauses between songs as opportunities to shout at Lou and Jason. Answering sometimes, Jason finally stated dryly, "Alright, people from Boston shouting." But like an irreverent monster beyond anyone's control, the crowd heaved and surged until finally it produced a young woman, who perched on the shoulders of someone near the front. Throwing both her shirt and bra at Lou, she crowd surfed until she was dropped, then clamored up onto the stage to get a little closer. As an answer to this event, Jason sang "I'm going to get so...naked" in their next song "It's All You," and Lou lifted his shirt. A crowd-pleasing concert all around, Sebadoh, in the words of an audience member, "rocked on." Don't miss Sebadoh's appropriately alternative website www.sebadoh.com, where you can fill out a fan personality profile--I think "naked" is one of the options.