And it was also like a boot camp, or a school managed by academic Nazis: too many restrictions. One has to ask permission from the band’s tour manager in order to fart. But everything went well. Nicely done on the part of the promoters. (Although the giving of promo items to Incubus smacked of the Master Showman and his stash of rubbing alcohol, powdered milk and biscuits.)
The outcome? No reporters slobbering like fans and posing for souvenir photos. No asking for autographs on notebooks that will find its way in junk heaps after the next general cleaning, anyway. It was all very professional – stiff, in a good way. Brandon and company showed up and fielded questions, no matter if they looked a bit tired because of their whirlwind schedule. (Incubus played a couple of gigs in Japan and Korea before proceeding to our sorry-assed republic not usually visited by stellar acts; we get the usual suspects such as Stephen Bishop, David Pomeranz, Air Supply and that daffy Bublé dude.)
Brandon said he was very excited upon learning that they were slated to perform in Manila. Especially since the band finds itself in an exciting new phase of its evolution – from the aural empiricism of "S.C.I.E.N.C.E.," to the pop rock flirtations of "Make Yourself," to the jangly meanderings of "Morning View." Incubus’ latest platter is "A Crow Left of the Murder," which is both progressive and nostalgic at the same time – a synthesis of the old and the new, a blend of the mathematically precise and the spontaneously raw. Something you’d expect from a band that doesn’t want to repeat itself.
"Things are better now, do you guys agree?" the vocalist asked the reporters at the press con.
"When it was time to choose a producer… it was obvious… it was the most natural thing in the world," said Einziger about Brendan O’Brien, whose production credits include Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots and Rage Against the Machine, among others. "(Brendan) produced the records that inspired us… And we had the same philosophy."
"I felt like a little kid every day – it was amazing," enthused Boyd about the sessions. By the way, Brandon named Jeff Buckley and Bjork as current favorites. The guitarist, who was wearing a Bjork T-shirt, listens to artists such as Miles Davis, John Coltrane, The Meters, James Brown and even James Hetfield.
A TV reporter wearing a pink wig asked, "Boxers, briefs or nothing at all?" Hmm… a question that is very relevant to music. Really. Honestly. Try wearing a pink wig and you’ll see the connection. Really. Honestly.
Someone asked about Incubus’ stint at the Ozzfest tour.
"We saw a lot of interesting haircuts," observed Boyd. "There were guys with mullets."
"Were they your fans?" asked a reporter.
"I hope not (laughs)!"
A girl asked a very intelligent query: Was the anger in the album inspired by bands like Fugazi and At The Drive-In, or was it inspired by the band’s own sentiments? (Some of the cuts in "A Crow" are seething with rage, just like the first single Megalomaniac and Priceless, which are juxtaposed with numbers exuding a positive vibe – an Incubus trademark; rock is not only about being "f*cked up and cold.")
Boyd answered that the songs on "A Crow" were borne out of different emotions he experienced like love and betrayal. "They were our own observations, and how we deal with the world," he said.
Then came the obligatory clunker. A reporter asked the guys from Incubus if they weren’t bothered that young Filipino musicians were emulating them rather than exploring our indigenous culture. Duh!
Mike’s answer: "As long as you’re inspired by music, it doesn’t make a difference where it came from."
(After the press con, that reporter will return to his office, write his article down in English and emulate the Spin/Rolling Stone magazine articles he so cherishes, while probably listening to Paulo Santos’ covers of American songs.)
Anyway, Brandon, Mike, Jose, DJ Kilmore and Ben came across as articulate and well-grounded – rare qualities for rockers. Nice guys, nice to have known them.
BRANDON’S CHEST,
FLOATING PROPHYLACTIC
BALLOONS AND OTHER
PROPS TO OCCUPY ONE’S TIME
There was a deluge of teens at the CCP Open Grounds the night of Incubus’ gig, sponsored by Smart Buddy, LoneStar Ultra and Jag.
Teens with parents, teens with braces, teens with tattoos and nose-rings, teens with microscopic clothing, teens with "Charles Mulholland" T-shirts, teens who went to fancy schools (it was like a reunion of sorts – "UA&P rocks!"), teens who drink pink non-alcoholic shit in Libis on weekends (which is so not rock n’ roll), teens who have no idea Dave Grohl was in another band before the Foo Fighters, teens who regard Incubus trivia like the Scriptures, teens who know only one Incubus song (Are You In?, ano pa?), teens with more knowledge about music than gnarly rock journalists, teens with various etceteras.
We in denial should realize that these days, rock has become so mainstream there is nothing subversive about it anymore. Rock soundtracks our car commercials, NBA highlights and slasher movies. Hence, the phalanx of perky teens at the gig – nothing wrong with that since rock n’ roll is supposedly "for, by and about" the young.
At least, the young ones know how to appreciate a good foreign rock band so very seldom seen on our shores. (Survivor? Freaking Gil and his glam rock posturing? Please!) Which I can’t say the same for that dude in the 16th row who came wearing cotton earplugs. Or that yuppie with a Garfield necktie at Siete Pecados who declared loudly and proudly that he knows only one Incubus song: Drive. He should’ve watched the annoying Jimmy Bondoc and his shitloads of airy covers instead.
Teens, Mr. Cotton Ear Plugs, suits… all these mean squat when a really good band like Incubus starts playing.
The group from Calabasas, California, began its set with Megalomaniac. You just have to dig Brandon’s voice in that number – melodic, visceral, versatile, and a pitch above the rest of those stupid nü-metal mercenaries (who thankfully are slowly going the path of the dodo).
Brandon shouted, "Salamat!" which came out like "Shalomar."
A Crow Left of the Murder followed. And it was made apparent how tight the band was. Einziger coaxed heavy riffs and atmospheric fills from his guitar. Drummer Jose Pasillas displayed precise timekeeping. DJ Kilmore was a revelation, spinning ethereal sound effects from vinyls and samplers (never has a DJ entertained me more – well, except the Chemical Brothers in Edinburgh). Ben Kenney stayed mostly in the pocket, no overplaying on his part (but wasn’t he too faint in the mix?).
"From here on, it’s instinctual," Brandon sang. And he was right. The band instinctively trudged through several numbers like a weary yet still snarling animal – from searing classics (Idiot Box, A Certain Shade of Green) to new scorchers (Priceless, ACLOTM).
I really dug the way the band dusted off sturdy funk-rock warhorses like Consequence, Clean, Warning and, well, Drive, which Brandon admitted they haven’t performed in a long while. If that song stayed in the closet, yuppies would’ve cried, "Wow, fare, harang!"
Vitamin from "S.C.I.E.N.C.E." became a polyrhythmic excursion for the band as Pasillas, Kenney and Boyd (who played a huge conga) jammed on various percussions, creating one huge drum machine.
Brandon also played tentative guitar in Pantomime, which he has done live only four times in his life. In the latter part of the song, the rest of the band joined in for a rousing crescendo.
Another standout number is Circles from "Morning View." I just love the jackhammer riff as well as Boyd’s epiphany at the end: "Round and round we go/Who could’ve known it’d end so well?/We fall on and we fall off /Existential carousel." Yeah, everything moves in circles. Other tracks from that more introspective album include Just a Phase, Warning and Wish You Were Here. (One yuppie at the back demanded, "Sing the hits!" Just before the band surged into a rendition of Wish. Hit your head with that, idiot.)
The new songs came out very well – especially the proggy, punky Pistola and Sick Sad Little World (a song for the dearly departed Dirk?). Einziger had a really far-out solo in Pistola, executing flawless arpeggios, cleverly utilizing effects, dabbling into an Oriental scale he used so brilliantly in Aqueous Transmission. Talk Shows On Mute went quite well. So did Here In My Room, one of the best tracks in the new album with its haunting, gothic piano and Boyd’s ardent delivery (which recalls Mike Patton – teens, check out that dude’s band Faith No More).
Incubus wrapped the gig up with Are You In? and Pardon Me, the band’s ode to spontaneous combustion.
I really would’ve wanted to hear The Warmth, Favorite Things, Nice To Know You and the jazzy, breezy Summer Romance (Anti-Gravity Love Song), which used to be a jaw-dropping, low-end romp for ex-bassist Dirk Lance. But we’ll take whatever we can take from Incubus. We hope a lot of other stellar acts would follow the trail blazed by the Californian band. Let not concert promoters condemn us to an eternity of listening to an aging singer croaking It Might Be You.
Parting shot: Hey, girls squealed when Brandon took his shirt off, not surprisingly. One guy also shrieked while a prophylactic balloon gracefully floated in the air – so very American Beauty. Twisted imagery. Terrific music. End of tale.