schneider

I've seen Bob Schneider in concert a handful of times, but last night's show at the Knitting Factory (best venue in NYC) ranks up there with one of the finest.

Nothing bugs me more than paying to see a band that spits out album versions of songs that have already oversaturated my earholes, and for the most part, I know I'm not going to get that from a Bob Schneider show (which is why I'm willing to drop $20 on a ticket every time he's in town).

But frankly, my last few B.S. shows had evoked one of my biggest live-music pet peeves: The evenings had started to become predictable. The last three sets seemed plagued by a lets-get-this-over-with vibe and a distinct lack of set-list variety and improvisation. To be sure, their second-to-last trip to New York had Bob and the band looking particularly comatose as they rolled through a set list that was eerily similar to that of their previous Bowery show (though Bob's "Sucka MC" hoodie almost made up for it).

So anyway, his shows have been sort of hit-or-miss for me lately, and I wasn't sure what we were going to get last night.

Turns out we got a hit. The band was on fire, and we were treated to a handful of new songs (many presumably from a new album, due out this summer). The entire band appeared to be genuinely into the show, and a steady vibe of hard-hitting funk and hip-hop persisted throughout, perhaps on account of an urban sprinkling from the band's new drummer.

And, as always, there were plenty of filthy raps for the ladies ("you be the tunnel and I'll be your train").

Come to think of it, that could be what cracks me up most about his shows. Not just that the lyrics are amusing (they are) but moreso that you can immediately pick out the folks who showed up expecting to hear the studio version of Bob Schneider. Maybe they heard Lonelyland or the even more radio-friendly I'm Good Now, saw the gig in the paper and decided to bring a date. But instead of a sensitive song bird whispering, "The world exploded into love all around me" or "love is everywhere," they get a six-foot bouncing ball of unkempt, slighltly-overweight testosterone rapping about his sore nuts. Then they double-check their ticket stubs. I love watching those assholes.

And so you are forgiven, Bob Schneider, for crapping out a couple shows that may not have lived up to my expectations. Besides, a touring musician must have his off nights. Nobody can (or wants to) go out and be the life of the party every single night for months straight (hence, drugs). It's another city, another gig, another bender; so who can blame Schneider or any performer for letting monotony get the better of passion every once in a while.

And incidentally, even when he is just going through the motions, this guy still happens to put on a hell of a show; especially for the first-timers.

Line of the night: "Let's New-York-City the fuck out of this one." (B.S., before the crowd-participation chorus section of "Assknocker")

Comments

[jim wayne]

I think your blog is terrific. Call your mother.

Love, Dad