On the Road Again
Live Reviews:

Latin Playboys/Lisa Germano
April 21, 1999
Lee's Palace, Toronto

Before the show, waiting at the Palace doors for my companion, I met the whole of the Toronto music scene (funky, cool division) on the way in. Among the musicians I encountered at the door, said hello to, or spotted inside(alphabetically listed): Stephen Fearing, Greg Keelor, Don Kerr, Scott Merritt, Blair Packham, Dave Pedlaham, Julie Penner, Laura Repo, Jane Siberry, Andy Stochansky, John Switzer, Kurt Swinghammer, David Travers-Smith and David Woodhead.

The point? That Latin Playboys make music of such rare grace, beauty, passion, intelligence — and striking originality — that they can't help but draw their fellow musicians (and a musically knowledgeable crowd as well). It seems that the more familiar you are with music, the greater your appreciation of their performance. Which made it a little frustrating that the majority of the sold-out, jam-packed audience (though probably not the musicians, to be fair) wouldn't shut up for Lisa Germano's opening set — doubly frustrating since her work is so delicate and fragile. Why can't people shut up and respect the onstage performer a little more?

Still, she was stunning as usual. What can I say about her that I didn't already say when she played Lee's last year? (See Lisa Germano, Nov 4, 1998.) She writes casually intimate confessionals; delivers them in the hushed whisper of a fallen angel; and plays them strong and sure on her piano and harmonium. It's gorgeous, captivating stuff, even more so when combined with her lazy, slightly hazy, distinctly feline vibe. Latin Playboy and sometime Germano producer Tchad Blake accompanied her on a few tunes this time, providing some of the delightfully wonky sonics that made last year's Slide album such a modest pleasure. That makes twice now that she's left me breathless at the end of a set. It's a shame that she's decided to give up music as a career — but what a great tour to go out on!

The between-set delay was interminable. How many effin' times do the roadies have to visit the stage? Let's see: Once for guitar tuning, once for the laying down of water bottles, once for the laying down of towels, once to place the music stands, once to place the guitar picks on the amps...

Perhaps a little detail, while we wait. For the uninitiated, Latin Playboys are a Los Lobos side-project who've just released their second album, Dose — which is indeed a musical dose, roughly equivalent to three Guatemalan insanity peppers. It's an album's-worth of hallucinogenic, beat-heavy soundscapes that re-paint the same neighbourhood (East L.A.) that Los Lobos described on their album of that name back in 1991 — but this time, it's painted in thick, day-glo orange and globs of phosphorescent lime-green.

The members, and their onstage roles, are: Lobos multi-instrumentalist and nominal "frontman" David Hidalgo on guitars and sometimes congas; Lobos multi-instrumentalist and nominal "drummer" Louie Perez on basses, guitars, and percussion; longtime Lobos producer Mitchell Froom, looking very professorial (and a dead ringer for one of his clients, Elvis Costello) on keyboards; longtime Lobos producer/engineer, the abovementioned Tchad Blake, making up for his possibly dull studio years as something of a practical joker on samplers, keys and mostly basses; and Señor Estrada on drums and hand percussion.

At great length, Latin Playboys finally took the stage. And right from the git-go, they took off and never looked back. "Mustard" was an early knockout punch. Founded on rock-solid but spacious rhythms, it built from West African guitar stylings to the soaring, Southern/Celtic twin fiddles of David Hidalgo and Germano (who joined the Playboys for an occasional tune). And that shouted "Get Back!" in the chorus is straight out of the alley, but good...

Only the very best musicians can combine such disparate elements so seamlessly; it takes years to get to the point where they can make such complex, creative music rock so hard, swing so easy, sound so accessible, and seem so effortless. DAMN, they're good.

"Latin Trip" was another standout: Froom coaxing electric-guitar-style squeals out of his clavinet; Hidalgo playing stinging riffs with that piercing, twanging tone that cuts through everything, especially your eardrums; Perez playing the maracas with, I swear, a look of absolute conviction on his face; Germano swaying with her cowbell like a cat doing some pre-nap stretching. And then. THEN, they go for an extended Latino-funk jam at the coda that makes War's "Low Rider" sound like a eunuchs' convention. DAMN, they're REALLY good!

The twisted, bouncy, knees-up polka of "Palatero" — with Hidalgo using his high, keening voice to shout out the role of the neighbourhood ice-cream vendor on the corner — was yet another highlight. Not to mention the insanely heavy, AC/DC-meets-Sabbath guitar crunch of "Locoman," which actually inspired one scrawny, leather-clad punter to forsake his smuggled mickey of scotch in order to, I kid you not, wave his lone lighter aloft in tribute to Latin Playboys, maaaan. "Paula Y Fred" was as gorgeously chaotic as it is on the album, if a little more cranked for the live setting.

Suffice to say it was one of those magical nights of utterly amazing, totally enthralling live music. Never mind "good"; never mind "great"; like Los Lobos, from whence they sprang, Latin Playboys are one of the greatest live acts you'll ever get the chance to see. If you miss 'em, you have no idea how sorry you'll be.