The Legend of the Great Brian Jonestown Massacre Show

My friend Jeremy called the other day from Austin to tell me he’d recently seen a mutual favorite band of ours, The Brian Jonestown Massacre.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “How’d it go?”

One of the well-documented appeals of seeing the BJM put on a live show is that you never can tell what kind of a train-wreck it’s going to end up resembling once things get rolling. Generally speaking, most shows end in flames. Front man Anton Newcomb starts to pick a fight with the crowd/band/security and chaos ensues. There’s pushing, fighting, awkward confrontations, swearing, and the occasional assault. The actual music usually takes a back-seat to on-stage hysterics, which is kind of a shame. While they’re great entertainers, the BJM are also damn good musicians.

My first exposure to Anton and company took place shortly after turning 21. On the way to Dallas to see an Interpol show, someone popped the BJM’s latest LP, “Bravery, Repetition and Noise” into the CD player. Still in the midst of recovering from my first big breakup, the droney absurdity of “Bravery” really stuck with me. (In the interest of full disclosure, I also became enamored with The Streets’ debut album and Johnny Cash’s cover of “Hurt” on that particular road trip. Young Judd was a weird kid.) A few months later Anton was on the cover of “Magnet,” a music magazine greedily hoarded in Ada by Hastings book manager Stephen. Anton looked good on the cover, wearing tight-fitting denim jeans and matching jacket, sporting a rainbow-striped scarf. The corresponding feature included an interview with the Man himself as well as a laudatory review for “Bravery” and a mention of the BJM’s latest tour, with most venues TBA.

As luck would have it, one of those TBAs turned into Norman’s Opolis. Keep in mind, this was all about a year before the release of “DiG!,” the BJM/Dandy Warhols documentary that threw the band into the burnt yellow spotlight. At this point the guys were still playing shithole bars and venues smaller than my apartment. The Opolis and the polite disinterest of the Norman music scene was a perfect fit for them.

Jeremy, myself, and our friend Brian all went to see the show. At the time I had no idea about the BJM’s affinity for self-destruction. Brian had mentioned something about how sometimes their shows got kind of crazy, but that was it. As the band made it’s way onto the tiny stage and began to play, I noticed that Anton was wearing the exact same outfit, complete with rainbow scarf, as he had worn on for his Magnet photo shoot.

The show ended as abruptly as it had begun. Anton stopped singing in the middle of “Sailor.” The rest of the band came to a clattering halt. We all seemed to think there was some kind of technical difficulty. Anton mumbled something inaudible through the mic. Everyone looked at one another and asked if everyone else understood what he’d said. From the back of the crowd, someone hooted. The rest of us looked confusedly at Anton. He leaned into the mic again. “Fuck it. We’re out of here. See if we ever come back to this fucking place.” He stormed off the stage. A few people clapped politely from the front of the crowd, but most just looked at one another, stunned. What the fuck was that? we all seemed to ask one another.

The guitarist waved to the crowd after unstrapping himself. “Thank you, Norman!” he shouted, and left the stage. The rest of the band unceremoniously followed while the crowd halfheartedly clapped.

And that was my first experience with the Brian Jonestown Massacre. All 35 glorious minutes of it.

A year or two after “DiG!” came out, several friends and I went to see the BJM play at Trees in Dallas. Jeremy, who was living in Austin by then, had seen them play the night before at Stubbs. He said it was a spectacle, but also a damn good time. So I had high hopes about the Dallas show. After all, it couldn’t be worse than their show at the Opolis.

I was wrong. Apparently Anton had gone a little overboard during the Stubbs show the night before and had lost his voice. Instead of doing something drastic like canceling the Dallas show, he did what any sensible shirtless, strung-out rock star would do; he sallied forth.

After a brief introduction and hoarse explanation about Anton losing his voice, the BJM started playing what can only be described as a spur-of-the-moment, 40-minute, non-stop rehearsal. No singing, no recognizable tune. Just a poorly-executed jam session. Ten minutes in, the packed crowd started to disburse. By the time they stopped, there were less than a hundred of us left. “I hope you realize how fucking special that was,” Anton croaked. “We just wrote a fucking song for you guys.”

Things went downhill from there. After the “new song,” Anton explained that he couldn’t sing. But damned if he was going to go out without a fight. His solution? Karaoke. He solicited the audience for guest lead-singers, warning them all that if they fucked around and messed up his music, he would have them thrown out of Trees and onto the street. At one point he actually did just that, to a drunk girl who butchered the lyrics to “Vacuum Boots” and loudly proclaimed during the chorus that she was getting married. That was probably the highlight of the show.

By the time South by South West 2006 rolled around a few years later, I had almost given up on ever seeing that mythical Great BJM show. I’d written them off as a loss, focusing instead on catching Belle & Sebastian, the New Pornographers, Art Brut, Morrissey, Bob Pollard and all the rest of the other shows. But somewhere along the way, the lines for one showcase were too crowded and I found myself nervously standing in the crowd of another Brian Jonestown show at Bourban Rocks. How would they fuck it up this time, I wondered. Maybe Anton could arrange to overdose while onstage or something. Someone yelled something onto the stage as the band was getting ready to start. “Hey. Hey,” said Anton. “Don’t fuck with me.”

And before I knew what was going on, I was in the middle of one of the top three concerts of my life. They fucking killed. They played from “Take it From the Man,” “Bravery,” “Satanic Majesty’s,” and more. It was amazing. When their mandated hour of playing was up, they refused to stop playing and leave the stage. SXSW twenty-somethings scrambled around on the sides and back of the stage, trying to take back their show. One kid in a STAFF shirt got Anton’s attention and frantically traced a finger back and forth on his neck, feeling miming “kill! Kill!” Anton smiled wickedly and kept right on. Every few minutes some announcer would hop on the intercom. “The Brian Jonestown Massacre! Give ‘em a hand, everybody!” he’d shout, hopping they’d get the clue and wind down. They completely ignored him. Finally after about thirty minutes of non-stop playing, they wrapped it up just when it looked like the venue was about to cut power to the mics.

Above: The poor sap who tried to shoo Anton and Co. off the stage at SXSW 2006.

In retrospect, it was kind of a shitty thing for them to do, seeing as the extra time they stole was actually taken away from the rest of the night’s lineup. But that was the last thought on anyone’s mind at the time. It was plainly evident that every single person in that crowd wished they would just keep playing.

The BJM put another album out in 2008. I haven’t got around to listening to it yet, but I hear it’s pretty damn good. Jeremy said the band’s current tour is one of their strongest in a long while. Anton’s behaving himself, there are no crazy outbursts or fights. I was especially pleased to hear that they’ve often been closing with my personal favorite BJM song, “Swallowtail.” And then there’s the fact that Matt Hollywood, original guitarist and singer of several gems like “Not if You Were the Last Dandy on Earth,” has come back to the band.

Apparently they’ve already come and gone in the Seattle area on this tour while I was busy being poor and not paying attention. They originate from the Portland-Seattle area though, so I’m sure they’ll be back soon enough. If you get a chance to see these guys, I highly recommend it. Good or bad, a Brian Jonestown Massacre show is always, at the very least, memorable.