review by: Dave McGonigle

Going to see bands live can be a dangerous business, yet, until now, I’d always managed to avoid any actual, real, flesh-mashing, cartilage-ripping violence. My clean scorecard seemed threatened, however, when I was “requested” to review Oxbow at Bottom of the Hill.

The name of the band sounded vaguely familiar; I fancied that I’d heard rumors, none of them particularly good, mostly concerning the frightening regularity with which writhing, screaming violence seemed to erupt at Oxbow shows. I really, really, really didn’t feel like joining the likes of Nick Kent et al as yet another journo chain-whipped for my art.

But I showed up. I took notes on the two opening acts, Porch and Caesura - both fine, angular (if a little anonymous) noise bands, certainly worth looking out for in future. Apart from the sunglasses sported by the lead singer of Caesura, though, nothing really made me want to run from the concert screaming. Well, things could change, I told myself. As Caesura played their last note, I mentally and physically prepared myself for Oxbow’s onslaught. I also memorized the positions of all nearby exits, even the over-wing ones.

Bizarrely, however, Oxbow had launched into their first song before I’d even noticed that they’d taken the stage. It just wasn’t the "Sturm und Drang" opening I’d been expecting: no blood, no corpses, and no bats.

Just three guys with guitar, bass and drums

...and, of course, Eugene.

As I turned to face the band, my eyes were immediately drawn to singer Eugene Robinson: prowling the center stage, eyes looking everywhere and nowhere, hands alternating between the microphone and his crotch, Robinson seemed to warp space around him, making it difficult to focus on anything else while he was in the room.

Behind him, the three musicians were cooking up a bitches’ brew of jazz, blues, metal and volume, with the bizarre arithmetical precision of the music belying its incredible, organ-destroying physicality (seriously, folks - I peed blood after this show). The rhythm section of Dan Adams (bass) and Greg Davis (drums) played with preternatural precision and power, hammering out complex time signatures for guitarist Niko Wenner to play on top of. Wenner’s shards of jagged, molten guitar really gave the band’s live sound an edge, proceeding from deranged flamenco riffs one minute to Pat Metheny-like experiments in terror the next.

But, live, most of the audience is fixated on Robinson. At times he appears as though he’s invaded his own stage, stumbling, spitting out howling lyrics, face perpetually bemused; at others, he stands and stares at the crowd, a picture of complete confidence and power, truly frightening in his intensity.

While much has been made of Robinson’s interactions with the crowd (i.e. “hey, go see Oxbow and watch the lead singer strangle a guy and then skullfuck him”), there seems to be little to no affectation in Robinson’s performances. Instead, his interactions with the crowd cast him as the anti-Bono: instead of having to goad his audience into being involved, into interaction, Robinson gives the impression that he’d rather you just sat down and STFU (that’s “shut the fuck up,” methinks - Roberto).

It’s his space, and he’ll do what he wants - which, often, involves removing most of his clothes. It suits the confessional nature of most of Oxbow’s lyrics, too; while I get the feeling that Robinson requires the audience to be present on some level (probably on the “making sure the band gets paid for this gig” level, if nothing else), watching the band gives one a creepy feeling of eavesdropping on half-heard conversations that you really wouldn’t want to fully understand.

It’s this intangible fear, the uncomfortable feeling of being privy to real life in all its horrible and mundane details, that makes the Oxbow live experience not a little frightening (yet also immensely enjoyable). But don’t forget: if you do go and see this band (and you should - in a bay area drowning in musical mediocrity, forget the latest and greatest and go and see a band that matters) - always read the safety instructions. And always, always, know where the nearest exit is.

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