J MASCIS | LIVE REVIEW
The Globe, Cardiff, Wed 14 Jan
I last saw J Mascis during the summer, in his more prominent role as singer and guitarist with alt-rock pioneers Dinosaur Jr. He was mute between songs, and seemed disinterested in his own music to the extent that he constantly swayed with no rhythmic connection to the song he was playing, like an executive desk-toy set going some time earlier. His famously taciturn nature is such that there are a series of YouTube videos with ironic titles like “J Mascis opens up!” and “A revealing conversation with J Mascis” where he croakily mumbles through interviews, rubbing his face and looking away like a guiltily-stoned schoolboy.
Which led me to wonder what sort of solo performer he’d be? To start off with, he’s on comparatively loquacious form, treating the audience to a mumbled “hello” as he stumbles onto the stage with an acoustic guitar. Opener Listen To Me sets the tenor for much of the set: a sweetly melancholic country song, with J’s cracked vocals teetering on the right sight of the tune like Neil Young at the end of a long night.
Despite a smattering of younger members, the audience is dominated by devoted Dinosaur Jr fans in their 40s: the babysitters are booked and tonight we’re going to party like it’s 1989. Halfway through an acoustic rendition of Dinosaur Jr’s Little Fury Things J stomps on a fuzz pedal, drenching the crowd in waves of distortion; they respond with wide-eyed rapture, as though watching a guru levitate.
Interrupting tender acoustic ballads with squalls of over-driven guitar proves a surprisingly effective formula. J’s solos have always sounded thrillingly close to collapsing in upon themselves, and this tension is even greater without a band behind him offering support. This reaches a giddy apex on Get Me, with J’s keening falsetto asking “You’re not going to get me through this, are you?” in between coruscating waves of distortion. Amusingly, as his fingers whorl and eddy further into the solo his glazed eyes look at them with boredom, like a bank-teller crippled with ennui. If he is bored, he’s the only one here who is.
words and photo ROBIN WILKINSON
