Live DC: American Music Club/Seth Rothschild @ Iota

May 1, 2008 by John Foster  Send to a Friend

all photos also by John Foster.

I live my life to tell stories about it later. It’s something that I cannot seem to help. It is a shared appreciation of the little details that draws me to someone like Mark Eitzel. I truly cannot think of another songwriter who basks in the shards of the events before him that others would deem insignificant. The joy in his work is how he molds it back together in vivid and poetic detail and gives what had transpired a tragic beauty for all to now see through his weary eyes.

I have a story that I am fond of telling (I have annoyed Mark with it at least four times now) about the first time I witnessed American Music Club and geeked out so badly that I uncharacteristically grabbed the set list and had all of the band members sign it. All but one that is; Mark would neither sign nor exit the dressing room to talk that night. Now 16 years on, I stumble outside the club long before the show is to begin and happen upon the man himself relaxing with a beer and conversation. We have a nice little chit chat of shared cynical views of the world (and our dismay at thinking that way) and I again needle him about the show so long ago. It is more a case of so few physical shared experiences to sustain an interaction that I am in no hurry to end, and I wish I hadn’t raised it in an odd way later (too fanboy to bring up such an ancient event, to be honest.)

The show ends and the band take up stools at the bar to knock back two or ten Makers on the rocks afterwards. I am talking to any number of area bands, as the show is filthy with them – Mark truly being a songwriter’s songwriter – and he ambles over, flashes a little grin and asks if I want a setlist. I let down all pretenses and admit that I would indeed. Signed to “Handsome Johnny” our little bond is now whole. Its been a good night for friends and comfort (nice to talk a healthy Chad Clark out and about) and I know that whatever I write about the show it can’t alter the way Mark’s songs touch me and those that have filled the club around me.

So here is what happened in-between the setlist tales:

I always feel great at a show at Iota. The food (catfish wrap) and beer and crowd all conspire to bring out a little joy in my cold cold heart. It is why seeing American Music Club is so perfect here. That euphoria was soon to take a dent though…

Seth Rothschild has taken the stage with an accompanying guitarist. I had decided not to scribble anything about them so as not to ruin the mood of the evening, as he was just peddling non-offensive material (corny jokes and all.) That was tossed aggressively out the window when he sputtered into a horrifying, open mic style cover of The Pixie’s classic “Here Comes Your Man.” I should have felt guilty about the anger swelling inside me as they told a sappy story about a recently deceased bandmate and the connection to the club and the two players - but I just couldn’t swallow the dismay. He then promised that they were playing one more song and proceeded to play another AND then a total throwaway shit version of George Micheals’ “Faith.” Did I mention that I loathe Seth Rothschild? He was everything that can be awful in an opening act. Club owners take note!

(Everything leading up to this is in color, as it didn’t deserve to be shot in black and white just yet.)

The first thing I notice as American Music Club hits the stage is Vudi’s gorgeous pewter colored guitar. The second is that the new rhythm section is sort of pretty in a manly way. Mixed with the self-deprecating “good looking” nature of Eitzel and Vudi I wonder how this is all going to go live.

Starting with new material, “Decibels and Little Pills” (Elkie on my set list, which is the name of the woman the song is about) and the soaring “All the Lost Souls Welcome You to San Francisco,” things are off with a rush. Drummer Steve Didelot and bassist Sean Hoffman can find comfort working through material they have played on in the recorded version before hitting the back catalogue. They plow forward with songs from “The Golden Age” with a jaunty “I Know That’s Not Really You” and a slinking take on “The Sleeping Beauty.” They then dip back to 04’s “Home” for a bracing rendition well suited to the line-up, but missing some of the space between the instruments the past incarnation had mastered. Such is the danger in comparisons.

Mark does a shuffling dance back and forth and takes note of the door to exit the club being right next to the stage. When a woman leaves from the front he can not resist commenting on that tiny knock to his ego and Hoffman is allowed the stage banter of the night as he tells Eitzel that it is his friend’s wife and she is ill and implies she has been sticking it out as a favor. Words of care (and minor embarrassment) are then doled out instead.

A droning “The Stars” gives way to more banter (to be expected from Eitzel although I always prefer it in small doses) and a blistering build through “The Windows on the World.” Here the four piece really shines and Vudi’s amazing fretwork makes them sound like no other band on the planet. Settling back in and trading stories about his deceased muse/friend Kathleen Burns during her final stay in rehab and extolling the available drugs, Eitzel moves into “Another Morning” (where he again broke his promise not to write anymore songs about her) and then the mournful classic “Western Sky.” The band play it as if it were a 70’s AM radio standard and it brings out an uncomfortable dancing girl from the bar (wrong front man honey) to break the transcendent nature of the moment and remind us all that they do serve alcohol here.

“The Revolving Door” shimmers beneath it’s big chorus and Vudi’s feedback and the I notice Vudi staring across the stage at Mark, as if wanting to duel in the rockist sense, but Eitzel tilts back with his eyes closed not even noticing. Finger-picking into old standard “Blue and Grey Shirt,” the entire audience knows that they may have quibbles with the setlist, but Eitzel has sent them home happy. It is always a beautiful song.

Needing a moment to tune, Mark asks Vudi to step forward and play a song for the people. He good naturedly fields requests and then plays a few bits of The Standells garage rock classic “Dirty Water” (not one of the songs that had been called out for) before giving up with a smile. He then steps back, as Mark belts out the opening to should-a-been a hit “Johnny Mathis’ Feet” building to the bittersweet finish. Pausing for a minute, they then re-convene as just a duo of Eitzel and Vudi on a touching encore of “Everclear” closer “Jesus’ Hands.” Transfixed by the mixture of Mark’s croon and Vudi’s mournful backing I recall that this might very well be the song they finished with when I saw them the first time.

Thanks for the reminder old friend.

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