the Mother Hips & Jackpot

Mother Hips & Jackpot
at Harlow’s in Sacramento
January 21, 1999

If you're looking for a place where you can feel swanky, Harlow's is your best bet within two hours' drive. Harlow's has it all: the dark, wooden interior, elegant decor and decadent cigar bar upstairs help make it the kind of place you'd expect cool jazz played by dudes in suits, or maybe hot swing sounds from hip hounds in zoots.Appearances aside, Harlow's has a kicking sound system and intimate feel, and it has been the venue for the Mother Hips' last half-dozen or so shows in Sacramento; some of their best of the last several years.In such a lush setting, the imp of the perverse in me was delighted that Jackpot, the openers, was like a straw-covered cow-patty on a red velvet cushion as they rocked on Harlow's stage.

(Jackpot's lead singer, by the way, is depicted on their web page as a side-burned-Elvis-rockabilly-splayed-leg-icon. Thursday he had on a lightweight plaid shirt, scruffy face and low-slung mesh and foam hat. Maybe he did grow up in Marysville with cars in the yard, but maybe he's like Dr. Dre, the rapper who once spit: "Yo, I don't smoke weed or ses/ Cause it's known to give a brother brain damage/ And brain damage on the mic don't manage/ Nothin'/ But makin' a sucka and you equal" then formed his whole image around blunt smokin' to sell records.)

Jackpot was a sure-shot for openers, packing the floor and warming up the hometown crowd early on. There weren't many fireworks, just some pretty decent rock music with a dash of moo thrown in. Of note were Jackpot's tune "Freakin' Out," a jubilant celebration whose lyrics read like an indie-kid's letter home, and a couple of AC/DC covers. Now, when a band covers AC/DC, all fucking around is over—either play it right or eat it. You just can't half-ass an AC/DC cover, and that's scary territory, 'cause to play it right, you've got to feel it like biting into a two-inch-thick mainline power cable. Jackpot got close, but ate it with a less-than-demonic "Hell's Bells," a song requiring that you mean it when you scream: "I won't take no prisoners/ Won't spare no lives/ Nobody's puttin' up a fight/ I got my bell I'm gonna take you to hell/ If it don't get ya, Satan gets ya!" No suburban child has the requisite gusto for that; that's why we all own AC/DC records. Still, Jackpot deserve praise for the bit they did to tarnish the chic scene. (However, they need to change their Web page photo—imagine Elvis doing "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap!")Soon enough the room began to tingle with excitement as the Hips took the stage. The boys looked in good health, although it seemed Tim Bluhm's head of hair had a recent close-call with a pair of scissors. Greg Loiacono looked like maybe he'd been pumping iron or something; don't be surprised if they show up one night drinking creatine supplements onstage. Harlow's was third in a new slew of tour dates, an eagerly-awaited three-month trip that will send the Hips up and down the Golden State, then swing them through the western U.S. The perennially travelling band has spent rare time rehearsing, polishing up some old songs and learning new ones, a nice surprise for some Mother Hips fans who lamented that shows in 1998 were too similar, too often. And while the Hips indeed brought out a couple of memorable new songs, most of the material was standard fare.The most notable exception was a poppy new tune by Loiacono called "Delmont Station," which climaxes in a Bee Gee-like harmonic explosion during the chorus. Street word says the song was inspired by a fearsome, mean gridironer of the ‘60s and ‘70s, whose career was ended by a suspicious freak accident. Other stand-outs were the ironically beatific "Song In a Can," a sizzling "Smoke," and a strong version of "Rich Little Girl." That last song earned my disfavor when its long, jamming intro was cropped a while back, but I finally realized why they cut it down - it's a doozy of a rock song that needs no introduction.With their legions of web-surfing, bootleg-trading, connoisseur fans, it's a wonder the Hips don't get lost in the jaded world of hype. Those hungering for new scraps of genius from the minds of Bluhm, Loiacono and Co. got just enough to whet their appetite, but the Mother Hips played a rock-solid rock set that showed why they are one of the best touring bands around. Despite a couple rough spots the band was in fine form, healthy, hungry and ready to travel.-- Matt Meyer

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