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Info/Personnel
NOWHERE CALLING
steuart liebig/the mentones
the
mentones
Tony Atherton : alto saxophone
Bill Barrett: chromatic harmonica
Joseph Berardi : drumset, percussion
Steuart Liebig: contrabassguitars
chatterbox - - 4:17
double-blade axe - - 3:58
coal - - 4:41
back seat, white cadillac - - 7:08
hardcase - - 2:30
iodine cream - - 4:10
manchild hustle - - 3:16
way high lonesome - - 4:55
the single-double two-step - - 1:58
rocking chair - - 6:29
angel city dust - - 3:47
daisy man - - 2:00
rooster rocket - -1:53
© 2006, steuart liebig/sisong music (ascap)
photos/montages by steuart liebig;
band photos by amparo fernandez;
inside photo from david witham video, processed by joseph berardi;
layout by steuart liebig
recorded at newzone studio, by wayne peet; mixed at newzone studio,
by wayne peet and steuart liebig, mar vista, california, 2006
gear thanks:
fodera basses, thomastik-infeld strings, rick turner and raven labs;
pat missin; paiste cymbals and attack drums heads
Liner Notes
by Nels Cline:
The Mentones. The name conjures up some preconceptions: a sort of retro
outfit, maybe a blues/rock or R&B thing. Dudes. Maybe Texan dudes.
Or Oklahomans. The kind of band dudes get rowdy to, or maybe even couples
shake their tailfeathers to. Interestingly, although the name is derived
from bandleader/composer/bassist Steuart Liebig’s street name in
Los Angeles County, there are shards of truth in these preconceptions.
But they certainly don’t tell the tale. The Mentones—and yes,
they ARE all men— actually do play a kind of blues boogie, though
their brand of this is calculatedly skewed in a kind of Bartokian way.
This is an all-instrumental thing, so already we’re talking some
kind of FUSION band, right? The kind men might dig, since the rumbling
roots of the band’s concept are blues, boogie, and some kind of out
jazz freakout. HOWEVER: I have watched women groove mightily to The Mentones!
I've heard them applaud their taut, economical solo workouts! And it’s
not because these guys are working the image thing, OK? Not a hipster hat,
no sharkskin, no stage presence is in evidence (sorry, cats)! What, then,
IS this SoCal combo all about? Why are these hepcats and hepkittens in
major DIGULATION MODE?? *** If one follows the prolific and mercurial output
of CONTRABASS guitarist Steuart Liebig, one quickly gets dazzled—if
not fully bogged down—in the myriad projects he has formed and for
which he composes. I have truly lost count of how many bands Steuart is
doing concurrently— it’s well over five—and each one
operates within tight conceptual parameters. The Mentones is Herr Liebig’s
rockingest combo, and it is specifically created to simultaneously refer
to and mangle elements of blues, R&B, and, to my mind, surf and the
old “instrumental hits” idea, particularly as it played out
in the mid-60s. I am also repeatedly reminded of the early quartet music
of Ornette Coleman, not stylistically, but in the tight and focused ensemble
statements. There are no 5-minute solo forays here. Each piece is highly
compressed, and some are over before you even know they’ve started.
There appear to be other tightly controlled parameters. For example, it
all seems to be about meaty vamps and unison or octave melodies between
alto saxophone and harmonica. It’s a thing! I know this because I’ve
known Steuart for 30 years! It’s how he thinks and works. His writing
for octets, chamber trios, is rife with neo-modernist harmonies. But not
in The Mentones. I cherish a fantasy (apologies in advance to Oliver Reed):
Lee Marvin, looking for a out-of-the-limelight spot to have a drink or
five, stops into a Salvadoran joint like Culver City’s Club Tropical.
On the dance floor, The Mentones are at it, pounding out the mighty Liebig
salvo, “Hardcase.” Marvin walks right up to the band, his towering,
manly frame blocking the view of many of the reverent denizens. As they
WHOMP! the song’s abrupt conclusion Marvin, a few Patron Silvers
into his evening asks, to no band member in particular, “What are
you guys supposed to be, some kind of LOCRIAN BLUES BAND?!” Too bad
Lee’s joined his ancestors, but man, he’d be right! With melodies
derived from obscure modes (Steuart is positively besotted with flatted
fifths) or completely chromatic, the CHUG and CHURN of the bass and drums
ram the solar plexus while the peculiar (and totally singular) melodies
dance like satyrs in the cerebellum. *** A few words about the men of The
Mentones: On alto saxophone is Tony Atherton. Sure, he sounds like he’s
sucked up plenty of the toxic stench in Naked City, or perhaps worshipped
at the feet of Big Satan. But the maniacal frothing of his playing is totally
ROCK ’N ROLL. If he was around in the late 50s, he’d have been
the kid in high school who hung out with all the older nighthawks, jamming
into the wee hours—or at least as long as the benzedrine in his inhaler
lasted. His imposingly tall frame and gentle demeanor barely mask what
is obvious: he is a TOTALLY GONE CAT. After negotiating the written material
to a tee, he then uncorks the reedy gusher of his horn/psyche. Bill Barrett
plays the harmonica. Simply stated, he is one of the most cogent and arresting
soloists ON ANY INSTRUMENT playing today. I kid you not. Listen to this
shit! He goes from classic blues harp to fucking campfire memories to ghostly
shakuhachi rushes without ever losing the moan and shriek of the blues.
His playing is consistently haunted. It haunts the music like a spectre,
imbuing each moment it inhabits with what David Briggs called “The
Spook.” Drummer Joe Berardi has credits longer than the ‘thank
yous’ on a Mariah Carey record. I’ve seen him in so many situations
spreading his excellence around that it’s dizzying. Do some homework
on this man. In The Mentones, Joe really GETS DOWN. Whether playing prepared
drums, a tin can, or just laying it down normal-style, this is a BURNER
for Joe (and beautifully recorded, I might add). There remains one question:
how can a man so consistently well dressed SHRED like that? As for the
fearless leader himself, Steuart Liebig here eschews his effects pedal
dazzle for a virtuosic though never out-of- the-pocket piledrive through
the lexicon of bass and guitar. You see, Steuart bought one of those 6-string
basses right when they came out. These things were the fulfillment of a
dream, much in the way the MiniMoog was the fulfillment of a dream for
Jan Hammer. If only these select individuals were the only ones to bring
these instruments to light! Anyway, now Steuart has 3 or 4 of these monster
basses. One fretless, one fretted/flatwound, one fretless, one fretted/roundwound,
all customized, stickered, slathered with the foam of the mad scientist
he is. He plays slide, digs deep into involuntary bowel movement frequencies,
and skitters around in the guitar’s range like a musician version
of the Manster. AND OH YES, he writes all these neo-Peter Gunn, Locrian,
Willie Dixon jams. When The Mentones perform, Steuart name checks his bandmates
about 23 times—per set! But I hope that you, the holder of this fine
CD, can take a minute to let the names of these men seep into your over-stimulated
brain. *** By the way, this disc really starts to ramp up around track
9 (programmers take note!), so all you kids put on your crash helmets and
don’t miss the exciting conclusion of Nowhere Calling! Cowabunga!
Nels Cline—Glendale, CA, April 1, 2006
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