California Aggie, Volume 104, Number 149, 29 May 1985

Fishbone plays to the cheap seats

By BRETT GILFOIL

Fishbone 3 Mouse Guitars Club Can't Tell May 23

One of the nice things about Sacramento shows is that most people seem unaware of them, which allows for low ticket prices. Like the Coffee House of early days, when you could see the relatively unknown Police or Talking Heads at roughly one-fourth to one-fifth of their latest coliseum admission, up-and-coming bands stop at places like the Club Can't Tell and play to small audiences attracted by word of mouth or an article they read somewhere. I, the latter. The Chronicle Datebook gave Fishbone an attractive two-page spread, yet they were playing Sacramento, a few weeks later, at a measly three bucks. They played two highly energetic sets instead of the usual mechanical, play-by-rote set that certain bands get away with, especially when they would rather give their all in San Francisco and not in some nondescript town. Fishbone played some reggae, but most of it was kind of manic ska-funk. Tempos would change abruptly during their songs, sometimes double time and sometimes a fractured syncopated rhythm, causing the audience to do some improv-contorted skanking or an insouciant one-two onetwo or the catatonic bafflement. It sounded like James Blood Ulmer teaching the English Beat the correct way to play. The group's look matched their style of playing. The guitarist, decked out in a diamond long-sleeved shirt and shorts that went down to the knees, resembled somebody from the Little Rascals, thin, babyfaced, with shaved pate. The organist had a Buckwheat hairdo grown to Eraserhead proportions. At times, he would spin frantically on the stage floor, and once he nearly fell off the stage while doing some epileptic dance steps to a song about alcohol. The drummer had a Grace Jonesstyled mohawk. The bassist had a gush of Rastafarian locks. And the singer, wearing avaiator goggles circa 1930, plus farmer boots, had the right mixture of goofiness and "okie beebee" (translated "OK baby") sassiness. He'd lazily swagger across the stage in counterpoint to somebody else moving rapidly alongside him. Of course, the low price may also be the Club Can't Tell's way of paying the customer to endure 3 Mouse Guitars. They weren't bad; it's just that their act is based on an irritating novelty: after every song, the trio swaps their instruments with each other. In other words, all three get a chance to play drums and bass and guitar. After a while it's obvious that one person is better on one instrument than another. After a while the novelty stops hiding the lack of any original musical ideas.