SPONTANEOUS UNDERGROUND AT BLUE PARROT BAR & GRILLE
When it comes to music, these are undoubtedly exciting times. Presented with an ever-growing list of equipment choices, contemporary artists are capable of incorporating a wide range of innovative sounds into their work. From autotune to synths, these modern tools afford contemporary musicians the ability to fully explore the gamut of their craft, while creating intricate and luscious compositions. These synthetic and machine-driven sounds aren’t just ubiquitous on streaming websites or top-40 radio but have inevitably found their way into the realm of live performance. And while we should be open to embracing these tech-leaning forms of expression as they appear on the scene, we should likewise ask ourselves what is demanded or expected of artists? Particularly in a live setting, when availing themselves of the advantages that come with a prefabricated sound, what’s the litmus test?
I propose that live performances should check at least two if not all three of the following boxes: First, there should be a baseline of technical skill that informs the performance. Without this bare minimum, as listeners, we end up subjecting ourselves to mere doodling. Second, the performance needs to be guided by a recognizable and acknowledged degree of artistic honesty and integrity. After all, who wants to waste their time listening to someone profess statements they do not even believe? And third, there ought to be, despite all gadgetry and technology utilized, a distinct and palpable human element. Otherwise, why bother?
Last Saturday, April 6th, I stopped by the Blue Parrot Bar & Grille in Wilmington’s Little Italy. Known for habitually hosting traditional blues and jazz ensembles, it was surprising to find a “fusion” band made up of young musicians toting synths and other techy paraphernalia. Spontaneous Underground, a Philadelphia-based trio composed of Dr. James Charles Dunstan on keys/synths/turntable, Tony D’Amato on bass, and Jamie Newitt on drums, can at first glance, be perceived as a legitimately talented ensemble of musicians engaged in sound exploration. Well-versed in jazz, funk, and EDM, the group was a textbook example of what fusion could and should be, at least from a technical perspective.
Did their advanced level of technical proficiency, however, make SU an exciting band to watch or an easy one to review? Unfortunately, no. And that stems mostly from my having felt as if I endured three long hours of what could only be described as cognitive dissonance. On the one hand, there was a band that ingeniously found its way around challenging improvisational passages, while they kept a sizable audience on their feet. There was also the audience, who seemed hooked from the get-go, mesmerized by the synthetic quality of the trio’s freewheeling sound. But there was also the gut feeling that kept reminding me that what I was hearing was ultimately no more than eloquent droning, the kind of meretricious blather that defines most other jam bands.
As far as the music scene is concerned, we have endured many years’ worth of self-masturbatory antics and farce. As a champion for the ability of music to inspire and bring people together, especially in a live setting, I can’t but feel affronted by the arrogant demeanor with which SU approached their performance. The set reeked of bullshit, for it was no more than a rehearsed charade. The dull and superficial homogeneity in the sound underscored the most important quality about the band: an unflinching and self-aware brand of solipsism.
To watch Dunstan shake his head as he made strange and exaggerated mouth gestures gave me a visceral and unpleasant feeling. Hearing the salient indifference with which D’Amato and Newitt drove away at their grooves as they churned sterile rhythms, further pushed that sentiment home. Having to listen to the bland stew of ambient noise vomited by the trio under the pretentious guise of modern fusion, was enough to make me want to slip some Valium in my coffee and call it a night.
Ultimately, the band played what mostly sounded like the same four songs throughout the evening, without ever making any real attempts to relate to the audience through any means other than a repetitive series of drum beats played with demagogic arrogance. And though they flexed hard, achieving relative success when it came to technical prowess, the set was abysmal in all other areas. But it’s okay, because as the saying goes, “shit happens,” and last Saturday night, it certainly did.