Even though he may be one hell of an angry guy, Brendan Lynch would have had to light tear gas bombs to motivate crowds on Monday night. His appearance at the over-publicized, black-walled Viper Room required more energy than any performer should be asked to muster.
Especially since his set followed two unheard-of groups, Love Revival and the comparatively mellow estrogenically led combo, Tarnation, who created a (......) unlikely to comprehend Lynch's (....) lyrics and power-studded(...) Especially at 11:30 on the first night of the working week, when the droves of haggard office slaves need more than a cold brew and amplified sound to make it through a less-than-famous club act's set.
Yet one has to wonder what kind of impact Lynch would have had even on the most kinetically explosive of nights, performing in the most coveted of time slots to a burgeoning audience of Lynch groupies, squirming like larvae in the summer heat. Screaming exuberantly into the microphone as though he, the god of sardonic musings, held the tame crowd in the palm of his hand, Lynch seemed more of a mid-show clown than the evening's main event.
As he melodramatically clutched the mike stand and fell to his knees in pools of sweat, he appeared as the oft-mocked media image of what rock stars have become today: exhibitionists who take themselves way too seriously. And his lead guitarist only managed to further propagate this vision, holding his phallic extension with the gusto of a batallion commander, his face contorting as though cannon balls would soon shoot straight out of his powerful machine had he not the strength to hold on and play just one more reverberational riff.
However, it seems obvious that hust this kind of over-the-top performance style is what attracted promoter Glen Ballard, the music executive who brought Alanis Morissette's vengeful lyrics to the limelight. Ballard's co-production of Lynch's debut album, a self-titled package, may propel the comically intense musician to the front stages of sold out amphitheaters the world over, which, as Monday night's smpling revealed, would probably not disturb Lynch in the slightest. And, for the record, may no disturb the likes of pop and rock radio junkies to a large extent either, once they warm up to Lynch's scratchy flounderings. But then again, they got used to Morissette, so anything's possible.
Some of the catchier tunes, which had the audience of made-up Melrose Place stand-ins still bopping their heads as they left the cubby-hole sized room, included "Get Over Yourself" and "Ride" Both tunes involve more insightful lyrics than the snappy choruses allowed the crowd to appreciate, which the typically high-volume setting and the background instruments helped drown out.
Yet like any band, it only takes those first few listeners to buy the album based on a few memorable phrases, then after repeated play, pick up on the meatier text to become established within America's pop culture. Despite Lynch's generic stage presence and typically angstful three to four word recitations which bop around in listeners' heads for days afterwards, his knack for poetry cannot be denied. His songs mention "swimming naked in Listerine" and a girl clad solely in body paint and acupuncture.
With this kind of lyrical talent and Ballard's backing, it would be difficult to imagine Lynch's success constraining itself to the Viper Room on Monday nights for long.
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Last modified on 10/20/97