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This was posted to the Govt Mule mailing list, I think it was from Jambands.com





Gov't Mule, Roseland Ballroom, NYC - 9/13
Chad Berndtson
2004-09-29
We came for a knockout of a CD release party, and we got something far more
important: a reassuring nod and -- blink and you missed it, for this was
ostensibly a "no frills" Mule show like any other - proof that after four
years of reinvention, the idea of Gov't Mule undergoing a real rebirth is
no bullshit.

Gov't Mule is no longer a collaborative - it's a band again. The comfort
zone and the joy that that realization brought was slow to dawn on
attendees during this well-sold Monday night at Roseland: a three and a
half hour, somewhat frustrating, patience-testing, guest-less show that
devoted the entire first set to brand new material and cut the second set
short due to curfew.

But it was there. And it is something great to behold.

First amen: The new tunes kick ass

For once, a band has made good on its promise and done exactly what it said
it was going to do: the brand new songs on Deja Voodoo sound like old and
new Mule, and perhaps more importantly, sound like the most natural
progression possible from the Deep End discs: the old school Mule grounds
them, but they tackle almost the full range of Mule styles and instead of
being tunes that have to merely accommodate keyboards and a bassist who
isn't Allen Woody, they are songs that are as much Danny Louis and Andy
Hess as they are Warren Haynes and Matt Abts.

Deja Voodoo is a deeply involved disc, the Mule's darkest and most intense
yet, and the type that, annoying and rock crit chic as it is to say, is
best imbibed and subsequently grasped with repeat listens. Some songs are
definitely better than others, but all came to life in one way or another
during the first set at Roseland, and applause to the Mule for chewing its
own second set time to give these nuggets the workouts they deserve.

You have your straight up Mule gassers -- the opening "Bad Man
Walking," "Perfect Shelter," and "Mr. Man," for example -- destined for the
go-to, dependable ripper slots in the setlist (i.e. the same punchup effect
that opening with a "Bad Little Doggie" or hammering it in during a mid-set
lull provides), played straight, hard-nosed and rarely, if ever, messed
with. Then you have your centerpieces, which depending on the band's mood
(and Warren's lead) explode into cacophonous, psychedelic hailstorms or
moody, brooding rockers: the Floydish/King Crimosnesque "Silent Scream" (an
audience slayer among many at the Roseland show); the prickly
diatribe "About to Rage," the gritty, spaced-out blues "Slackjaw Jezebel,"
and the broken morality tale "New World Blues."

Then there are the songs that push this thing over the proverbial line, and
scintillating, frisson-filled live renderings only confirmed their
destinies as Mule staples. "Lola Leave Your Light On" is Bad Ass -- the no
frills cock rock tune that scratches the Zeppelin itch and gives Warren the
chance for some curled-lip raunch, both on vocals and guitar. "My Separate
Reality" simply floors, a marriage of Haynes' finest, slow-to-boil-over
drear (think "No Need to Suffer," "World of Difference," that sort of
stuff) and the more introspective, dour-as-all-hell devastators ("Tastes
Like Wine") he delivers best during solo acoustic outings. Mighty and
undeniably well-done stuff, all of it.

Second amen: The Mule is four now, not two plus two

Danny and, especially, Andy no longer feel like guest musicians to the
audience, and the Mule didn't need a banner change (the background stage
banner in the first set, which was the contorted griffin-like creature that
graces the front of Deja Voodoo, changed to the classic, red-and-black
mosaic-like Mule banner for set two) to prove it. Louis is comfortable such
that he has no problem adding fills, colors and runs to Mule tunes in
places where they weren't before, and no problem stepping up to challenge
Warren in the solo improv arena in places where, in past years and Mule
adventures, he played things straight and safe. "Blind Man in the Dark,"
which closed the second set, is quickly becoming his tune (the amorphously
expanded solo section, which first jelled during Karl Denson's brief stint
as a featured guest in spring 2003, has coagulated into a dynamite Hammond
B3 playground), and he's also a force to be reckoned with on traditionally
Haynes-dominated tunes like "Thorazine Shuffle." He still reaches sometimes
for a peak that, by way of a sloppy exploration, won't be there and needs
to find a better way (instead of just sort of collapsing out of it) to bail
out of a failed experiment, but it's clear he's a weapon now, not just an
addition, and the band knows it.

It's Hess who's had the time of it, and his presence still lacks in some
areas, but just to hear that cocksure rumble that kicks off "Thorazine"
again and knowing he'll be able to hold it down and won't have to rely on
Abts so much is refreshing. Hess is coming, if not here yet -- he's getting
the gist of when to jazz-dance beneath the lead players and when he really
needs to throw the anchor and just groove. Abts, still the scene's most
criminally underrated drummer, feels it too -- he doesn't have to lean so
much to the bass now that it's not shifting players every other song, and
while it will be a while before he molds a solid performance rapport with
Hess into an E.S.P. one, the dynamics are jelling: Abts knows he can rely
on Hess if he wants to get a little fancy, same as he's willing to follow
Hess's lead if the bassist sparks an idea of his own. Matt Abts the Hammer
remains this band's rock.

Third amen: Warren Haynes is starting to relax again, both as a player and
a bandleader

It's not as if Warren never had those "out" moments of truly mind-altering
guitar work during the Deep End tours, or didn't have fun (and provide it
for the audience) welcoming every great musician in his Rolodex to share
his stage in the past three years, but Mule fans who remember what Haynes
was like in his wild, unrestrained all-meat days (think early 90s ABB and
beginning Mule), or are at least familiar with recordings from those
formative years can tell that the Warren of recent years been erring on the
side of tethered more often than not.

It's not that he's tired at all (or maybe he is), nor does it have anything
to do with the Allmans (where he remains the raw meat stalwart to Derek
Trucks' stringier, more experimental fare) or the Dead (he's right for this
band and he isn't, but that's a discussion for another time) -- we're
talking Warren Haynes, lead singer and lead guitarist of Gov't Mule.

Mostly, it has been one discernible habit in particular: the tendency to
become "Captain Warren," and worry more (understandably so, given the
rotating cast) about the band and holding it together in a jam than getting
into his own zen sphere and cutting loose with the same balls-out gravitas
we all love him for. You hear many musicians that have played with Haynes
(Panic's Dave Schools for example, in the Deepest End interviews) talk
about how he likes to "cut throats" and "let the floor drop out" and fun-to-
say stuff like that, but during the Deep End period, it's clear that those
moments happened somewhat less during the band's rebuilding period -- they
were replaced by more collaborative, guests-are-doing-something-totally-
awesome-in-the-moment stuff, but where's Warren just stepping to the front
and pillaging an audience?

To an unpracticed ear for his hellhounded, exploratory soloing, this
reticence was probably unnoticeable, but Warrenheads know that he uses
relied-on licks (as most marquee guitarists do) quite often, and when he's
out of ideas in a solo, his go-to vault for improv resources leaves his
playing naked and rather repetitive. This happened far less than another
habitual occurrence, however: even when he was getting on a marvelous
creative tangent (often) in his soloing, he seemed often too nervous about
what the rest of the band was doing to follow it, closing off solos just
three or four bars too early, as if he wasn't willing to really stretch out
and fire into orbit for fear the rest of whomever was on stage with him
that night wouldn't know how to catch him.

But not recently, and certainly not tonight. Haynes was a ballast, a
machine gun and a machete at Roseland, exciting eyes and knowing ears
watching him build those old school, gutting solos to their exploding
climaxes and shivering peaks, hoping he holds off before noise damage
ensues but at the same time begging him to just pour the whole damn can of
gasoline on the fire. He teed off during the second set with hands and
words during "Thorazine," "Blind Man" and a marvelous run-through of Al
Green's "I'm A Ram," while offering jazz-cadenced, more reserved, but no
less core-cutting contortions on the tunes that required them, such the
textured jam that bled from "Larger Than Life" into "Birth of the Mule."
The only real weak spot was the set-opening "Soulshine," which is always
wonderful to hear, but perhaps more than any other Mule tune suffers
considerably when its soul-lifting improvisational section is truncated and
perfunctory, as it was tonight.

The show's encore was a sizeable treat all in itself, from a band that
prides itself on providing them. A few tuning strokes from Warren and, as
the first of two songs began, in crept a vaguely familiar, gorgeously
pastoral progression that first sounded like "Into the Mystic," but quickly
became a majestic rendering of "Ballerina," a rawer Van Morrison chestnut
several years older than "Mystic," found on the immortal Astral Weeks
(1968). In Haynes' ongoing quest to tackle the Morrison catalog (and this
Van fanatic is holding out in giddy earnest for the day he attempts "Cyprus
Avenue," "Astral Weeks" or, preferably with horns, "Caravan"), "Ballerina"
is a curious, mature and rewarding choice: slightly obscure (although it
was still embarrassing how many Roseland attendees didn't seem to know it),
and epitomizing the rawer, more unrefined antecedent to Van's
beloved "Caledonia soul" that got further and further away from the gritty
R&B of Them with each successive album in the early 1970s.

As if to clear the air after all that headiness and ethereal beauty, Mule
busted into its terse arrangement of Robert Johnson's "32-20 Blues," which
over the years has become one of the band's most reliable vehicles: a
necessary injection of ballsy blues whether the set needs it or not, and an
unchecked, elastically-jammed showcase for Haynes and whomever he's chosen
as a foil. This is one of Mule's more reliable "guest tunes," especially
for sitting-in guitarists (all-time versions include the Live With a Little
Help from Our Friends slugfest with Derek Trucks and Chuck Leavell, The
Deepest End with Sonny Landreth, Will Lee and Karl Denson, and, most
recently, the Telluride Nawlins'-soaked scorcher, guest starring the
Bonerama front line). Here, Haynes threw the improv baton at Louis, who
answered with punch, and then yanked it back, peeling off sheets of Les
Paul gristle, his fingers racing up and down the fretboard, wringing slide
licks out of the thing as if he were with his bare hands extracting sap
from a maple tree. With that crazy, lemon-faced "Warren" look that means
he's going to take it up a notch, Haynes tacked on a false ending to his
solo, and then began to play call and response - with himself.

Tickling the high register and answering those pixie tones with syrupy
moans on the low, it was an inspired bit of wankery from a pre-legendary
guitarist who rarely lets his solos get that wonderfully ridiculous
anymore. That's not a dig: Haynes is more in control of his guitar than
some folks are of their fingers, and rips the shit out of it with largely
peerless expert abandon, but to see him giddily jerking off on himself, if
for but a scant minute, was even more confirmation that the Mule can
finally relax and play with some fuckin' balls again.

The Deep End albums and concerts as a whole are important historical
documents for this band, and in the no less than 26 Mule shows I saw during
those years, I take away memorable moments from each. This Roseland
adventure was the first time in four years, however, that going to see and
hear this band didn't feel like Haynes, Abts & Friends - it felt like the
Mule. They're a band again: an intensely musical, creative force to be
reckoned with, with the brightest of futures.

We're lucky to have 'em.