Mission of Burma – Case Western Reserve University – 9/5/09

(Editor’s Note:  Going into Mission of Burma’s performance on the campus of Case Western Reserve University, I figured that if we heard five canonical songs from Signals, Calls and Marches and Vs., we should count ourselves lucky.  I was expecting a lot of new material, given that the band’s got a record coming out in a month or so, and hoped that we’d be able to pretend it was 1981 at least five times over the course of the evening.  By my count, Mission of Burma played no less than seven songs that made it seem that they’d stepped out of a time machine.  I had impossibly high expectations for the show, given my almost slavish devotion to Michael Azzerrad’s Our Band Could Be Your Life and its description of the band’s incendiary live work.  All the factors tonight (the venue, the crowd, the weather and, most importantly, the four musicians on the stage) made the show a perfect capstone to the summer and, without doubt, one of the best shows I’ve seen in a good long while.  Add in the fact that I felt all night like this is my last chance to see Mission of Burma (who the hell knows when they’ll shut it down again?) and that there was a good bit of whiskey involved and you’ve got the recipe for one hell of a night.  For simplicity and clarity, we’ve structured the review today around those seven songs that you’d play for a Martian if you wanted to explain post-punk.)

1. Academy Fight Song – We (Brian and Rob, for the record.  The other dicks were, sadly, either out of town or consumed with non-awesome-rock-show duties.) rolled to Case Western on the train, pockets stuffed with bottles of whiskey, brains filled with visions of concert greatness.  We missed the first eight bands at WRUW’s annual Studio-a-Rama due to other Labor Day weekend duties (my god-daughter’s birthday party, Rob’s obsession with Buckeyes football), but did hear good things about many of them as we wandered through the crowd.  We strolled into the Mather Memorial Courtyard, a dramatic place to see a show, just as Mission of Burma was wrapping up their soundcheck.  The courtyard, framed by a large neo-classical building that reeks of upper-crust ivory-towerishness, was filled to the brim with eager fans, milling about under the moon that Roger Miller would soon point to and wonder at the largeness of, basking in the glory of a perfect late summer evening in Cleveland.  As a WRUW figurehead introduced the band, Bob Weston (Martin Swope’s replacement knob spinner) fed his words into the loop and pushed them to weird extremes as Miller idly laid down creepy chords.  The duo built tension through their introduction with the haunting, echo-laden manipulation of the host’s words.  It was sweet.  As the figurehead wandered into the wings (after yelling exultantly “put your hands together for Mission! Of! Burma!”) the band immediately laced into “Academy Fight Song.”  I was so stunned that they opened with it that I didn’t recognize it for two or three bars.  When I did, I about lost my shit.  Clint Conley’s snarling delivery and Miller’s pummeling ax-work signaled to all present that there would be no messing about; dudes are fifty but, from the first note of “Academy” it was clear that they still have the fastball.  We were excited to see what would happen next.

2. That’s How I Escaped My Certain Fate – The band went into two or three songs from Obliterati and one or two that I didn’t immediately recognize.  When they pounded out “That’s How I Escaped My Certain Fate” things got a bit rowdy up front.  It was one of the songs that I had pretty high on the list of things that I wanted to hear, and it was absolutely bad ass.  Miller is consistently amazing on the guitar and the manipulations from Weston add a layer of depth to the sound that really has to be heard to be understood.  Azzerrad harped on the difference between the band’s live and recorded output, due in their first iteration to Swope’s work, but seeing it for yourself really contextualizes what’s going on.  “Fate” was the first time during the show that I was glad we were outside; put these dudes indoors and the show would have been painfully loud.  (Duh, given Miller’s well documented tinnitus, but it had to be said.)  The outdoor venue gave me the ability to chat with Rob when something struck one of us and to not go deaf, both of which were bonuses.  (Quick aside: the running joke for the evening was to try and identify Case students in the crowd (we put the number at somewhere around 15%) and then to imagine the venereal disease you might catch from them, as in Goodatmath Simplex B or Richparentillys.  I mentioned there was whiskey involved, right?)

3. Fame and Fortune – After a string of new songs that included “1,2,3 Partyy,” drummer Peter Prescott joked that, as a crowd we should be rewarded for listening to a bunch of old dudes singing new songs.  (Prescott was a barrel of laughs all night, later saying that seeing Burma now was the same as seeing Journey, given their similar ages.)  Sensing that that might imply some classic stuff, I prompted Rob to start filming.  They ripped into “Fame and Fortune” just as Rob hit record.  (You can hear me hollering “yeah” as the song starts.  Whiskey.)  It was a clear highlight of the evening; the breakdown was sweet and the band’s lockstep precision coming out of it bespoke their level of professionalism.  Watching the video this morning reminded me how savagely Miller plays the guitar and how visceral the band was throughout.  It can’t be said enough: I can’t imagine seeing these dudes when they were in their 20s; it must have been some serious scorched Earth stuff.  (Rob and I hammered out some things about the post through e-mail today; the best comment to come out of that discussion is this one:  “It was hard to zoom and keep the camera steady with a bottle of whiskey in my hand.”  Good times!  Also, the guy with the frizzy blond hair was doing what he’s doing in the video all night long.  Impressive stamina.  Also, the idiots talking behind us ought to be punched in the neck by Woody Hayes.)

4. This is Not a Photograph – Seriously, how good is this song?  Listen to it on your itunes, then imagine it five times louder and ten times more emotionally delivered.  Miller has serious chops and his solo here was top-drawer. (There were about six times during the set that either Rob or I pointed gape mouthed at something Miller was doing with a guitar.  If they’re in your neighborhood, start paying really close attention when he picks up the slide.)

5. That’s When I Reach for My Revolver – I don’t have to write much for this one, do I?  Everybody was singing along at the top of their lungs, the slam dancers up front picked up their game a notch and Mission of Burma took no prisoners.  This song’s, more or less, the invention of modern rock, right?  It was (to use one of Kevin’s phrases), the cat’s ass.  We were 100% sure that the show couldn’t get any better after this and almost flirted with leaving early.  You ever get those feelings at concerts?  The rush of a song is so powerful that you don’t want to see anything else, afraid that you might lose that wave of adrenaline and good feeling from seeing something amazing?  We obviously didn’t leave early, at least partially becuase Mission of Burma is the kind of act that makes you think there’s always another level to step to.  If “Revolver” was a 9.5 (and it was) we felt that Burma could get to a 10.  It’s not a lot of bands that inspire that kind of confidence.

6.  Ballad of Johnny Burma – They opened the encore with this one.  Thank God we didn’t leave.

7. Max Ernst – “Max Ernst” wasn’t on the setlist (more on that in a minute) but when Miller sounded the opening chords, I about lost my mind.  I was already singing “dada, dada, dada” in my head.  A very stout, apparently very drunk dude approached the center of the stage, seemingly from out of nowhere just as the song started.  It soon became clear that he was planning to dive into the steadily growing, but relatively tame group of young fellows pushing each other around.  It was also clear that he was at least fifty pounds to heavy to pull off a stage dive without causing serious harm to himself and others.  He went anyway.  It did not look to turn out well, but we didn’t see an ambulance or a body when the show cleared out, so it must have nothing more than some bruises.  Soon after that, the band abruptly stopped “Max Ernst” and huddled around Prescott’s drum kit.  After a minute, Prescott said something like: “Sometimes we stop songs in the middle and talk to each other.  We’re old.”  Then they launched into something else entirely.  Rob and I strayed to the front of the crowd to relive out youths with a little pushing and shoving and the set soon concluded.

Postscript: We didn’t get the setlist, cause the kid in the picture was way more opportunistic and spry than we were.  I did get a photo of him holding it though, so that counts for something.  (I considered sucker punching him and taking it, but I’m a vegetarian and, by nature, non-violent.) As Rob and I left the courtyard, it became clear the building that served as the stage’s backstage area was unlocked and unguarded.  We strolled in, immediately saw Conley packing up his gear and walked over, stars in our eyes.  Journalistically, I blew it.  I turned into a fan, shook his hand, said it was a great set and asked for a picture.  (I made a horribly lame joke about this actually being a photograph and immediately rejected it.)  Rob got a picture as well.  Neither of us said we were from a blog or that we were writing a review or asked any critical questions, we just paid our respects and went on our way.  Conley was super cool and immensely gracious . It was a perfect ending to an amazing live show.  If Mission of Burma are within two states of where you are, go there.

Mission of Burma – That’s When I Reach for My Revolver – Live, 2004

Mission of Burma – Academy Fight Song – Live, 2004

Mission of Burma – Trem Two – Live, 2004

Mission of Burma – That’s How I Escaped My Certain Fate – Live, 2004