Arts & Entertainment

Galactic excels with swampy sounds

By Chris Goodier
The Daily Cougar

No lover can pull off climax after climax. Even the most sensual experience needs a reference point. Slow sedation to creep up against surprise is a necessity. Leave it to New Orleans funk fusioners Galactic to try it, though, as assembled jammers beckoned an evening of swampy soul through Numbersi J.B.L.s on Saturday night.

Following the opening dawn of D.J. Sun and the thoroughbred lap steel of The Greyhounds, Galactic began three hours of a mostly instrumental sound forum. By trawling the gumbo of Crescent City sounds, the headliner culled together the vibes of The Meters and Dr. John blues while adding a pinch of seasoned cover songs. 

Organist Rich Vogel took the helm of a B-3 to draw out chords within ominous vamps. Supported by the tight pocket of drummer Stanton Moore and Robert Mercurio on bass, solo fills leant to an onstage panorama of trade offs between the guitar and sax. 

A pause allowing Ben Ellman to switch from alto to baritone sax provided a formula for mid-setis subterranean crawl. Melody was up for grabs by then, as the Leslie-driven Hammond battled a Univibe-laden hollowbody for vibrato supremacy, which could be blamed for serving Vogelis rotating speaker up to audience eardrums as a flying object. This contact met with fansi more fundamental aspect of freedom, where subtle campfires illuminated the backs of various university tee shirts. 

Numbersi security should be applauded for such tolerance while the inattentiveness was ultimately responsible for the reek of road kill throughout the club. Such enhancement encouraged gregarious benefactors to cheer the saxis goose-like honks atop the bassistis low end.

Taking advantage of an intermission between sets to grab refreshments and hit the john revealed Numbersi biggest weakness: There are four spots to buy a beer but only one bathroom per gender. Such neglect of accommodation spurned women to join the menis line while the guys took advantage of trashcans and sinks. 

Using the opportunity to escape to a glassed-in observatory of the second floor revealed diminished head bobbing as the second set dragged on. The jams never strayed far from a peak, hovering around a constant summit. 

No doubt talented and able to energetically entertain through good-natured fun, Galactic might do better in offering a little perspective to the repetitious intensity.

Galactic

Numbers

300 Westheimer

The verdict: Donit fake the funk on a hasty drunk.
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