Image via Rupert Angeleyes Facebook
In a lot of key ways, humor and music work very much alike: Both are about the tension between the familiar and the unexpected, both live in the subtle variations of tone and phrasing and, most significantly, both require a precise sense of timing. Unfortunately, it was this last element most conspicuously missing from Friday’s show, a well programmed but poorly executed bill featuring a pair of local joke-rock side projects, with a quality touring band thrown in for some reverse comic relief. On paper, it’s a great setup, but sadly the delivery left a little something to be desired.
Scheduled for a 10 p.m. start time, the first hour or so consisted mainly of waiting for the dinner crowd to clear out, meaning it was well past 11 p.m. by the time The Rockbirds (from Rockford) squawked their way to the stage. Rare avian visitors from south of the border, who bear a passing resemblance to several members of The Fatty Acids, their look and sound has evolved a bit since last being spotted. Beyond sporting more tropical, birds-of-paradise-esque plumage, their repertoire now includes surreally hilarious, fowl-mouthed sendups of Will Smith and R. Kelly in addition to their usual classic-rock mimicry.
Next up, after a bit more of a wait, was the evening’s sole “serious” offering, Minneapolis-based Day-Glo-colored rockers Rupert Angeleyes. Although their sound draws heavily on the highs of the mid-’60s, blending bubblegum psychedelia, a splash of surf and the optimistic sheen of space-age pop, it’s all filtered through a very modern sensibility and seasoned with quirky touches, such as some tastefully deployed vibraphone solos. It’s a precarious mixture, but they manage to make it wholly their own and mostly avoid the slippery slope into tired, retro-chic homage, even if one of their loungier numbers did sound disconcertingly like Fastball.
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Given the late start and lackadaisical pace, the once substantial audience had at this point started to thin, leaving only a small knot of people for the Blue Mooners’ bar-time set. Which is a shame, since their spot-on spoof of classic country, by way of northwoods Wisconsin, strikes the perfect balance between sincere affection and outright silliness. The selections from their brand-new album Wildwood, such as “Cel Ray” or “Black Bear,” are great (and might surprisingly appeal to fans of Sat. Nite Duets) but tonight, after four hours mostly spent standing around, they hardly felt like much of a punch line.
