Money Mark |
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Wed. August 26.1998 3:03 AM EDT |
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Money Mark Goes For Broke OnstageJoined by turntablist Kid Koala, Beastie Boys keyboardist turns in rule-breaking live set. by Contributing Editor Kembrew McLeod |
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Amid turntable loops, Money Mark played everything from a kazoo to old electronic gadgets. (Phil Knott) |
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CAMBRIDGE, Mass. -- As turntable loops filled the club, Money Mark reached for a trumpet for added flavor. It wasn't necessarily a strange choice for one such as Money Mark. But, then again, this wasn't your average trumpet.
It's fitting that Mark, the keyboard player for the Beastie Boys, named his first album Money Mark's Keyboard Repair, because his Sunday show at the small, Cambridge club the Middle East was all about breaking and mending -- actually, totally re-working -- every musical rule in the book. "Now we're gonna get a little experimental on ya," Mark (born Mark Ramos Nishita) said at one point during the show. He wasn't just blowing smoke. From a passing nod to "Smoke on the Water" -- Deep Purple's '70s mega-rock anthem -- to extended stops in the realms of silky soul and all-out noise, Mark proved himself a man of musical action -- and of seemingly infinite imagination. And he did so in what was his sixth show in only two days (which included dates opening for the punk-rap powerhouse Beastie Boys and a handful of small-club shows during his time off). Thrown into Mark's alternately noisy and pop-laden show were traditional instruments such as bass, drum and guitar and plenty of less traditional ones such as two turntables, a kazoo, the balloon and trumpet, various old electronic noise-making gadgets and a small mic Mark held in his mouth that distorted his voice. Money Mark, apparently, never thought twice about going out on a musical limb and coming up with a brilliant-sounding mistake. Sporting 1960s-style wrap-around shades, a laid-back attitude and a small wall of keyboards, Mark looked like a 1990s hipster version of Keith Emerson -- the classical keyboard player for '70s prog-rock group Emerson, Lake and Palmer. But looks are where the resemblance ended. The show began with a brief set by Mark's touring turntablist and Ninja Tune recording artist Kid Koala, after which Mark thanked the crowd for coming and apologized for the absence of his small-club touring partner and Beastie Boys DJ, Mixmaster Mike. Then Mark and his band, which included a drummer, bassist, guitarist and additional keyboard player, took to the stage to the sound of crickets coming from a record that the Montreal-based turntablist was spinning. Settling into a big beat, Mark sat behind a battery of keyboards and electronics equipment and led the band through an uptempo instrumental vamp that was punctuated by the turntable scratches of Kid Koala. "People used to make fun of me in high school when I listened to my Al Green records," Mark said as he and his band settled into a slow groove for the tune "All the People." Crooning into the microphone, Mark re-created the smooth luster of sounds associated with Green and other 1970s soul stars such as Curtis Mayfield and Marvin Gaye. Following an abrupt shift to an uptempo noise-jam and then a slow soul number, Mark switched gears once again, strapping on a guitar and launching into a straight-ahead rocker titled "Maybe I'm Dead." Mark introduced the next number as "experimental." Then he sat back down behind his keyboards and segued into free-form tinkerings laid over a funk beat and joined by Kid Koala's turntable deconstructions. Shooting each other glances and smirks, Koala and Mark imitated each other's sounds on their respective instruments, each allowing the other room to briefly go off on tangents. By the end of the 10-minute piece, the two had locked into a solid groove and generated an outpouring of unearthly sounds that prompted one audience member near the front of the stage to clamp his hands over his head and repeatedly shout, "Oooooohhhh sh--!" Kid Koala more than made up for the absence of the popular Mixmaster Mike; Koala's mind-blowing turntable gymnastics generated audience cheers throughout the show. "Yeah, I wish Mixmaster Mike was here, but Kid Koala is so fly it doesn't matter," said 20-year-old college student Rick Howard. Immediately after the free-form jam, Mark walked toward the centerstage mic and dedicated the next song to jazz legends Rahsaan Roland Kirk and John Coltrane, as well as "all the bagpipe players of the world." Looping together a spare beat on the turntables, Koala stepped away from the spotlight. Mark proceeded to use the balloon-equipped trumpet to create a sound something like a dying horn. A few more songs followed, such as the guitar instrumental "Pretty Pain" and "Rock in the Rain" (RealAudio excerpt). But after little more than an hour, Mark said his goodbyes and announced, "I'm tired. I just played six shows in two days." Somehow, though, he gathered the energy to return for an encore that had him playing drums and humming into a mic the main riff of "Smoke on the Water." Afterward, he name-checked Detroit. An audience member screamed, "F--- Detroit!" "What did you say?" Mark asked, and the guy repeated himself. Bemused, Mark asked him to come to the front of the stage. Then, in a decidedly strange way to deal with a heckler, Money Mark told the twentysomething audience member to come up onstage and dance. It was unusual, all right -- and, for that, the perfect way to mark the end of a Money Mark show. |
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