Indefinable

The Slip delightfully elude simple categorization

by Bob Gulla

Some people play music and some people are played by music . . . OK! OK! (My Italian guilt is kicking in.) I didn't actually think of that line, though I wish I did because then I'd sound at least a little erudite. Anyway, I like the line because to me it makes a lot of sense -- it separates the people and artists destined by fate to play music from the ones who merely rehearse it in front of their friends. The Slip, formerly from Providence and now unofficially a Boston-based band, qualifies as the former.

This past summer I reviewed the Slip's second and latest album, Does, released on Allman drummer Butch Trucks' Flying Frog label, and said something like this: "Does is a tactile, exhilarating disc, and answers the question: `What kind of album does a band make when they do exactly as they please in the studio?' " Though, after listening to Does a few more times, I invoked the wrong inspirations on their behalf -- I said Phish, the Meters, and Wes Montgomery and should have said Ornette Coleman, acid jazz, the Meat Puppets, and Sun Ra. The truth is the band is a complete mosaic of so many influences they're virtually impossible to pin down. Which is one reason why they're so absolutely enthralling to so many of their fans.

"If you were to look at our record collection you'd see roots reggae, Ravi Shankar, Tom Waits, AC/DC, Bob Dylan, and Joe Pass," says guitarist/singer Brad Barr, who along with brother/drummer Andrew and bassist Marc Friedman make up the band. "I can't settle on a particular style I wanna play. I write the songs I write from day to day and they all vary in their approach. Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't be better off had I been born in Peru and listened to Peruvian mountain music all my life or had I been raised on the blues. But the music I hear today has to be put it into this process and it comes out this way. It's nice to go from a stretched-out avant-garde sound mesh to a simple folk song. There's a nice tension release. Sometimes I think when I hear it well it gets funneled through the three of us and it's a new unique sound; other times when we fall shy you hear these separate styles that don't quite fit."

But doesn't that make the Slip's art a rather selfish mode of expression? I mean, most songwriters hear a lot of music but rarely indulge more than a fraction of it when they sit down to write. "Part of forming one's own style demands that kind of selfishness," says Barr, "even if it takes us a little while before we can come by one. The flipside to not indulging those sides would be to deny a certain element of who we are and that's not right either."

The Slip has come a long way since the Barrs moved to Boston and found bassist Friedman. At first they began playing in a neighbor's basement, at sort of impromptu parties they set up, opening the doors to friends and family. At the time the Slip concept was just beginning to germinate. The basement accommodated 75 enthusiastic fans. "We called it a coffeehouse, and we served coffee and tea. Some of the activities in the basement weren't legal, but the night was." When their appeal outgrew those environs, the Slip sought out bigger venues. But realizing most bars in Boston wouldn't book a local band for real cash, they decided to rent a place called M80 and put shows on themselves. "We'd put up $500 to rent the place and end up breaking even," says Barr. The nights were so successful Andrew Stahl of Gamelan Productions began booking the band at the Middle East and the Slip finally began making some money.

Today, the Slip has cultivated one of the most enthusiastic fanbases in the very enthusiastic world of jam-oriented music. (And we mean "world." The band is headed to Japan for a gig as you read this.) "The folks who come to hear us seem to be linked by a desire to really listen and let the music have its impact," says Barr.

It's every band's dream -- having an audience who appreciates you not for what you might represent but for what you actually sing and play. "Certain people are probably attracted to the individual sound," says Barr. "As you listen to each of us you can hear the dedication to the instrument and that's an attraction. At the same time, the majority of people who hear us aren't musicians themselves so they're not coming from the same background [Berklee]. It's not so much how good a musician is but how well they transmit emotion and experience. Transmitting music and emotion is what our show is about. Our instrumental skills facilitate that."

The musicianly element to the Slip's presentation began in 1996, when the Barr brothers found bassist Friedman to complete the whole. "We got a feeling it was gonna work out when Marc came on board. We got comfortable with the trio and started to become comfortable with our roles of filling up the space and leaving a lot of space. There was an even balance of music in each piece distributed to each player. Mark was writing. I realized I could play chords while Mark could play the melody on the fretless bass. It didn't always have to be the conventional way."

Of course, the Slip is anything but conventional. Unlike other enthusiastic instrumentalists -- please refrain from referring to them as a jam band -- the Slip is never in a hurry to get to where they're going. The songs "A Crack In the Sundial" and "Hey Worrier" are almost maddeningly, but ultimately satisfyingly, mid-tempo. It's that meticulous patience that separates the Slip from its improvisatory brethren, and it's what makes Does so exquisite.

"When you gear yourself to limitations, you help define yourself," says Barr, in an apparent contradiction to what he said earlier about not having "stylistic" limitations. (This is one complicated band.) "It's nice when the person experiencing the sound doesn't recognize a lack of anything. We could add a keyboard or a horn to our lineup but there's something integral about the trio that makes the band. We all agreed to keep it simple."

Even though the Slip can be described as anything but.

WANDERING EYE. As I mentioned a couple of months ago, David Silva over at Wishing Tree Records is releasing a benefit album for the Amos House, entitled The Amos House Collection, Vol I. Here's the track listing: Departure Lounge's "Straight Line to the Kerb"; "I, Aquarius" by Bridget (a side project by Frank Mullin of Purple Ivy Shadows) ; the Aluminum Group's "Love to Know"; Purple Ivy Shadows' "Acre"; Death Cab for Cutie's "Lowell, MA (tiny telephone version)"; Idaho's "Stayin' Out In Front"; the Clearing's "Water Spout"; the Ladybug Transistor's "The Swimmer (Live in Sweden)"; Aden's "S&F-ish Song"; the Lilac Time's "Back In the Car Park"; Wheat's "New Boyfriend"; Spoon's "I Could See the Dude"; and Delphine's "Swear That I Swear." Each song was generously donated by the artist. Modou Dieng, who recently moved to Providence from Senegal, contributed the cover painting; Jeff Lipton of Peerless Mastering in Boston donated his time to master this record. Frank Mullin of PIS donated much of his time to work on graphic design; publicity and press is being donated by Holiday Matinee, and Flydaddy is helping with distribution. You can hear MP3 samples of The Amos House Collection, Vol. I at www.wishingtreerecords.com. There are also three CD release parties to kick off the series, in Providence, Boston, and New York, but no dates are scheduled yet.

On Friday (the 8th), Ben McOsker over at Load Records will throw a big rock release party featuring Mystery Brinkman and Pleasurehorse at White Electric on Broadway in Providence. The venue's located right next to Leon's On the West Side. Good music and good fun.