The Lemon Twigs already have me hooked before the show even starts, and I’m thrilled they’ve chosen to compliment our intelligence with their opener: Jungle Green.
Jungle Green is a delightfully weird, one-man Devo synth Frankenstein! I use “weird” with tremendous affection here. Picture a ‘70s, arrow-through-the-head Steve Martin who stole Garth Algar’s clothing and hairstyle. (Well, excuuuse me if I schwing!)
He’d be a hook machine if he ever repeated a phrase, but we’re not complaining.
His banter is so charmingly stilted that I find myself laughing out loud at least a dozen times.
His musical style is a true individual’s hodgepodge, featuring ‘90s Beck-style breaks, Vai-like shredding, and Reading Rainbow keyboard patches. There’s a kitchen-sink approach that keeps you constantly guessing what’s next.
What’s next is the Lemon Twigs.
Théâtre Fairmount has an enviable room sound, and I find myself hoping it complements the legendary harmonies The Lemon Twigs are known for. That’s the experience I’m after. Just as I’m jotting down notes, the band hops on stage, and excitement reaches a fever pitch!
This show is flying by. These songs could easily be slipped into a ‘70s AM gold CD collection, and the boomers wouldn’t complain. And yet, the age range at this show starts at (I wanna say) four and goes up to (I wanna be careful here) the eighties. Crazy.
Instrument swaps, vocal duty trades, Chuck Berry boogies, Beach Boys falsettos—the harmonies are perfectly imperfect, and the room sound is a warm complement.
I think the thing that separates this show from all the others I’ve seen this year is the sense of fun. The performers are having a great time. The crowd is having a great time. The four-year-old is dancing the night away, and the eighty-somethings feel twenty-something. Too fun, man. Too fun, dude. Bro, it was so fun.
The encore comes, and one member, Brian D’Addario, returns alone to play three acoustic gems. He sings like an angel. He plays like Segovia. Maybe that’s a stretch, but to my knowledge, Segovia never sang while he played. This is James Taylor-level balladry. Brian then brings the band back for a cover of Del Shannon’s “Runaway,” which makes for an excellent singalong.
And with that, the show is done.
The overwhelming theme of the show, maybe the reason for the band’s existence, is pure and simple: fun. The harmonies are sung with happiness and satisfaction. The parts are played with relaxed, joyful familiarity. The banter and demeanour convey a playfulness and friendliness that say, “This is special, and more special things aren’t far away. So have fun. Be good to each other, and have fun.”
It was a show that didn’t change my life but did change my mood, strengthened my commitment to seeking happiness, and made me look for more fun. 8/10—would see again.
Review – Mike Rogers
Photos – Annette Aghazarian
