the Mother Hips & Jackpot

High expectations can lead to immense satisfaction. They can just as easily bring disastrous disappointment. Word of mouth and truth of ear don't always coincide. Last Friday's show at The Senator Theatre had definite high points, but most of these occurred before the second band took the stage.
Watching Jackpot is the freedom of a cherry red Cadillac convertible, a full tank of gas and a hundred miles of desert stretched out in front of you. Once they start playing I just see cacti whizzing by at 75 mph. Their music comes from a near-forgotten time before rock 'n' roll was associated with spandex.
With his pill-popper shades, Epiphone hollow body guitar and whiskey-torn voice, Rusty Miller is the quintessential aloof rock frontman. Miller's great sense of timing had him singing, "Forget about your finals / let's get naked" ("La La Land") - appropriate given that many in attendance had final exams the following week.
Their show kept chugging like a determined locomotive. Mike Curry and Sheldon Cooney (drums and bass respectively) kept the momentum churning by beginning their solid, steady backbeat immediately following the preceding song's final note. Lee Bob's supportive rhythms on keys and guitar added a thick layer to songs like, "Fleas on the Tail of Time," and "Big House," the latter to be released on their next album (due in August). If you haven't seen Jackpot yet, don't you dare miss their next show.
And then came the Hips. I've lived in this sleepy borough for four years and had never seen the Mother Hips, and I was eagerly awaiting this local favorite. As a projection of 2001:A Space Odyssey loomed overhead, displaying humanity's primal beginnings, Mother Hips echoed the movie with their own primordial entrance.
Mildly perplexing, their bassist began the show without a backpack, put it on early in the game, and then took it off towards the end. Fashion statement? Their tunes have a definite California country-fed vibe, but also encompass '60s mod and '90s Brit-pop influences. At first I found their two and three-part harmonies charming…then they became predictable. Falling back on the same patterns and arrangements, their set began to lose distinction. At one point I was convinced that they were replaying a tune from earlier in the set. As a band, they were definitely tight and their songwriting is fair, but it was as if they took Greatest Hits albums from Tom Petty, The Kinks and other classic rock essentials and just mixed and matched stolen riffs. However, a few tracks such as "Sarah Bellum" let the beauty shine through unfettered. The Hips weren't bad, but for me, they didn't live up to the hype. I can't tell you how their set ended...
- Maurice S. Teilmann
- Photos By Jeff Shaner

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