Putting Self on stage after midnight on a Sunday night was a brave move. Not everyone in the audience was a college student who could sleep through the next day of summer classes. Some of us had jobs and deadlines. But this was a show worth staying for, and as the night wore on, the crowd grew larger instead of thinning out. Self definitely satisfied the masses and made the sleepless night worth it.
Not that waiting was a problem. A local group calling itself UB50 opened the show quite well. Only Kansas City, MO and Lawrence, KS insiders might have known who UB50 really were. The flyers said The Hollowbodies and their amps had another local band's name (Truck Stop Love) stenciled on. Whatever their name, they played their catchy brand of start/stop slacker pop with good energy. Their lead singer was decked out in early American Bowling Alley garb, and the drummer mugged at the girls in the front like a little imp.
After the assumed UB50 left the stage, Brit-pop-meisters Cast took command. You didn't have to know anything about the band to immediately realize their musical heritage. Lead singer John Power, formerly of the La's, started out with the early Beatles trademark head bob and guitar rock. It looked like Paul McCartney all over again. (Someone should teach these guys how to tap their toes.) "Sandstorm" stood out immediately as a catchy tune, and it is now getting airplay as the second U.S. single. As evidenced by their t-shirts, Cast are a pro-hemp band. The lead singer's shirt was a subverted United Parcel Service logo that read "United Pot Smokers."
Fortunately, the band seemed relatively sober, and the songs were clearly lucid. Cast shares a lot with groups like Squeeze and XTC. The "she doesn't love me" type of songs didn't come across very well, but a more intimate setting might do them better justice. By the end of their set, I was nearly convinced on Cast. Unfortunately, they took a big chunk out of that enthusiasm when they disengaged their final song into a confusing sprawl of distorted junk. They started tearing up their guitar strings and trying to act out their own revival of The Who. But then, they set their instruments down carefully and left the stage without smashing a single thing. It was a confusing let down to an otherwise excellent performance of classic British pop.
Finally, after a long night of music, Self took the stage around 12:45 am. I wasn't sure what to expect. Their debut album, Subliminal Plastic Motives, is primarily a one man show put on by Matt Mahaffey with a little help from his brother Mike. It's a superb album from this newcomer who looks disarmingly clean cut on stage. The clean cut image fits well with such an immaculate album. Subliminal Plastic Motives is produced with an excellence and maturity that is surprising for an artist in his early 20's. Artist/producers like Trent Reznor and Prince usually take until their mid to late 20's to make such masterpieces, and Mahaffey seems to have a slight head start.
The base of Self's sound is a grinding guitar that backs Mahaffey's vocals. But this base only comes out after multiple listens because studio noodling is everywhere on this album. Loops of live drums are twinned with a wholly sampled backbeat. Swirls of distorted samples and spacey effects are placed within the whole framework, and just when you get comfortable with the beat, Mahaffey changes everything. The guitar that starts out grinding breaks way to tender strums or fuzzbox delights.
Sometimes Mahaffey layers his vocals in 3 part harmony. Then he sends them through an effects box and mirrors them with a quiet piano riff. The effect reminds me a lot of more experimental groups like Phish or even Frank Zappa. Notes slide up and down in tight harmony. The beat loops refuse to repeat blindly. Instead, they morph into new sounds and stop in mid-beat just to turn around back again. New instruments and samples emerge from nowhere. "Marathon Shirt" even takes the time out for a little jazz break.
Yet, for all of its novel turns, Subliminal Plastic Motives is extremely accessible to anyone. It's the kind of album that has your ears begging for another chance to listen. For every twist and turn that Self puts you through, the basic song keeps pushing along. Front and center on every track is a catchy little song that is guaranteed to stick in your head. The hit "So Low" is a perfect example. It starts out with a mellow piano and guitar part, and within 20 seconds it's added a goofy bass line and scratching samples. Before a full minute is up, the guitars are booming, and the lyrics are glooming that "I'm so low that I wish I was dead." Before "So Low" is done, there have been so many repetitions and changes that it feels like you've been through a musical blender.
The question going into the concert was whether or not the newly formed "band" Self could pull off what had originally been a one man album. They fielded Matt Mahaffey on lead guitar and vocals along with a bassist, a keyboardist, and a drummer. On stage, they were fresh, new and genuinely excited to be there. A Nintendo video game theme introduced them and Mahaffey calmed the cheering a bit by explaining "We haven't played yet -- you don't know if we suck or not." Then he launched into a new song called "Mummy".
It took him a little to get going, but by the time he got to the second song, things were going just fine. This was "Stewardess" and the bouncing "Northeastern southwest Mississippi" chorus pulled the crowd into the show. A count of those singing along showed that about half of the audience knew the song at the start and everyone else followed suit after that. The band kept up the energy through the rest of the night for an hour long, 15 song set that featured 9 songs off of the new album.
Most of Mahaffey's writing appears to focus on the music industry. One of the new songs was about Smashing Pumpkins, and it was hard to tell if it was pro or con for the band. He said "Superstar" was written for Juliana Hatfield, and Mahaffey described another new song as being "about Barry Manilow and growing up in the 70's". The next song, "Big Important Nothing" slammed Michael Jackson, and then a few songs later it was time for a cover song. What was the cover? A vicious version of Alanis Morrissette's song "Ironic" with a chorus that went "Isn't she moronic". Yes, as clean-cut as Mahaffey and his band looked, the man him-self is one hell of a little smart ass.
But behind the cocky attitude was an obvious newcomer to the touring scene. At times, Mahaffey looked a tiny bit nervous, and he spent a lot of time looking at the disco ball spinning above his head. There was no need for worry though because the "band" Self pulled it off. Mahaffey switched once between guitars and keyboards and his vocals switched between crystal clear tones backed with three part harmony and barking whelps and screams. James, the keyboard player, stuck in the samples just right, and the rest of the band held their own - even if the bassist kept reminding me of the comic Carrottop's little brother.
By the time Self closed their show with "So Low" at almost 2 in the morning, the crowd was too tired to even try for an encore. We filed out like zombies dazed by great music yet doomed to wake up for work in another 4 hours. Self had presented themselves incredibly well. The songs came together on stage with relative ease, and Self "the band" lived up to their promise. They are a new band that hasn't been warped by too much touring or too many record execs. This is a band with a future. Pick up Subliminal Plastic Motives and, if you're lucky, go see them live while you can still stand right next to the stage.
