Violent Femmes

Phaedrus or no Phaedrus, fables have always existed throughout humanity's journey. Ours stars three street musicians from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. It's August 1981 when fate, dressed as James Honeyman-Scott (better known as the Pretenders' guitarist), decides to kiss a trio of oddballs named Violent Femmes. In other words, how to go, with no half measures, from a street corner to opening for Chrissie Hynde's band.

Let's make one thing clear from the start, though: Violent Femmes never reached mass popularity. Ours isn't a fairy tale like that of U2, but an underground journey into the most remote corners of American musical tradition. And if we really want to talk about fame, suffice it to say that their stunning debut album, "Violent Femmes", is the only album that managed to go platinum ten years after its release and, above all, without ever entering the Billboard Top 200. Not a bad result for a band that has always been deliberately rough and amateurish.

Deep down, Gordon Gano never abandoned his nasal drawl, nor did Brian Ritchie ever give up his exotic, wacky multi-instrumentalism. It's just a shame that what, in the beginning, was their wildly original way of interpreting traditional acoustic folk through a punk lens ("Violent Femmes" and "Hallowed Ground") later shifted toward a more mainstream direction, as in the flat cover of Culture Club's "Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?". Not every fairy tale, after all, keeps its spirit intact along the way. But perhaps that's exactly what sets the stage for a sweet, passionate comeback.

Brian Ritchie, halfway through the show: "It's been a while since we've been to Rome. Maybe 23 years have passed." And, as they say, revenge is a dish best served almost frozen. So, in the small, tropical Alpheus, the "revenge of the tender loser" played out. Opened by the excellent Zen Circus and their folk-punk-rock and roll blend, the reunited trio of violent femmes (drummer Victor DeLorenzo back after a long spell of solo activity) seemed less intent on giving a concert than on staging a full-blown exorcism. For one night, a return to that old, dear, playful and entertaining popular spirit. Back to true small-town garage sound, celebrating the new arrival of the angry, sexually frustrated American kid. Somewhere between Freud and the usual teenage ravings, three men playing at being women turn into three children banging on instruments that look like toys. The first shy smiles appear when they launch into the syncopated intro of "I'm Nothing" in unison.

And it's true that Gano takes the stage dressed like an Ugo Fantozzi in the middle of a home-football-match daydream, but in the end what matters is the spirit inside the robe. The punk sketches of "Prove My Love" and the Beatles-esque pop of "Please Do Not Go" are sonic proof that the trio simply wants to play. The Rome show is a genuine sonic party, and when the dazed ensemble of the Horns of Dilemma takes the stage, the usual mixed-age crowd starts heating up, air shortage be damned. Who knows how many of them noticed that the old guy on saxophone had played on part of "the dark side of the moon". Thanks to this makeshift band, a relentless musical whirlwind kicks off, starting with the ghostly country of "Country Death Song", continuing with the wild Salvation-Army-band rhythm of "Jesus Walking On The Water", and ending in the free-jazz-style sonic chaos of the brilliant "Black Girls".

DeLorenzo can't keep still with his brushes, as if he were John Bonham, and only surrenders to the achingly sweet melody for lovers of "Good Feeling". It's just a tender flicker of violin, because Gano goes back to electric guitar for the dark neuroses of "Confessions" and the Patti Smith Group-style ode of "Hallowed Ground". Ritchie plays a Hendrix-like bass on the gorgeous version of "Gimme The Car", and the crowd erupts in a roar you wouldn't expect. After all, Violent Femmes are a fully-fledged cult band, and the "few but good" philosophy works like a well-oiled engine. Because you can't ignore the explosive chorus of the ramshackle "Add it up", or the natural magnetism of the xylophone on "Gone, Daddy, Gone".

The violent femmes' revenge is, by now, complete, but neither the American trio nor their audience have had enough. The predictable encore of the evening arrives, and after an unlikely solo performance by Gano singing opera-style in Italian, the room explodes at the opening chords of "Blister In The Sun" (which Ritchie sits out due to the recent controversy over licensing the song to a Wendy's Hamburgers ad). Watching DeLorenzo mimic the bass line with his voice, however, isn't quite as glorious. Definitely better is the closing anthem "Kiss Off", which soars through the air with that old-time countdown.

One, one, one for the long concert... Two, two, two for the emotions... Ten, ten, ten for everything, everything, everything!

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