In this world of constant formulas and predictability, The Brian Jonestown Massacre is bucking the trend. Thirty years into their career, the psych-rock band still knows how to keep fans guessing with the kind of ridiculous and at times absurdly juvenile stage antics that can make for either the best or worst concert you’ve ever seen. Such was the case when they returned to Portland, Oregon for a sold-out show at the intimate Aladdin Theater on October 6th as part of their North American tour supporting their latest album The Future Is Your Past. The show was only slightly less of a train wreck than their previous appearance at the Roseland Theater less than two years ago, but at least that one had the excuse of taking place right after they had most of their gear stolen (and later recovered) in the Rose City. Whether the bickering, shit talk, and endless tuning was part of the entertainment on Friday was up to the perception of each fan and their interpretation of what makes a strong rock and roll performance.
The show actually started on a promising note as the band hit the stage on time and wasted little time before launching into “#1 Lucky Kitty” off their 2022 album Fire Doesn’t Grow on Trees. The band’s droning, marching sound with locked-in rhythm and loads of jangly guitar was on fine display during “The Real” and “Fudge” with shimmering, feedback-laced jams and a majestic groove that saw the band continuing to layer musical textures. Despite playing with his back to the audience, frontman Anton Newcombe seemed calm and collected as he guided the band through the crashing rocker “Do Rainbows Have Ends?,” the quick psyched-out punch of “Wait a Minute,” and the shoegazy glory of “Pish.” By the time they hit “Your Mind Is Cafe,” the band and their collection of vintage guitars were dialed in and doing what they do best: manifesting the kind of paisley-colored wall of sound that has made them one of the most enduring acts within the modern psych-rock scene. Then things began to unravel as the show went off the rails.
Talking in the accent of a medieval king or English royal, Newcombe rambled on about Elon Musk and interplanetary space travel among other enlightening topics. Somewhere around “You Think I’m Joking?” and “Don’t Let Me Get In Your Way,” he stormed off the stage mid-song and returned to berate his drummer before yelling “I’m not Courtney Taylor, I can’t just fucking fake it” in a dig on the frontman of local favorites The Dandy Warhols. This was followed by ssshing the now riled-up audience and even booting someone from the show. There were other highlights, like when the band members all donned acoustics for the technicolor dreaminess of “Nightbird,” but these moments were interrupted by ranting and excessive tuning that Newcombe defended in comparing the treatment of vintage guitars to maintaining an old car.
Before kicking off the crowd favorite “Anemone,” one of the guitarists remarked, “I’m so thankful all of you have stayed.” The sentiment seemed to reflect the frustration of the band members with their leader as well as relief that their fans are loyal enough to put up with so much ridiculousness. Even the appearance of Portland band member Collin Hegna – who didn’t actually play the show – holding down harmonies on the cosmic “Sailor” seemed laced with tension as he shoved stoic tambourine man Joel Gion before leaving the stage. Miraculously, the band managed to pack nearly twenty songs into a set stretching past the two-hour mark. This seemed like something of an accomplishment given all of the drama and absurdity that had transpired onstage, which was evident by how much of the audience had given up and left by the end. It felt apt that they closed the night with “Abandon Ship,” and the diehards that did stay were treated to Newcombe giving himself to sound therapy with an improvised feedback jam. This final blast of sonic chaos was a fitting end to a show that started on point and gradually descended into madness, raising the question of how this band ever makes it through a tour without killing one another. Three decades into their career, The Brian Jonestown Massacre can somehow manage to still keep us all guessing.
