Comedy Special Review: Marc Maron’s Thinky Pain

Aging Gracefully: Marc Maron’s Thinky Pain
by Blake Madden

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Thinky Pain

Marc Maron was once the clean-shaven, shorthaired guy with the snarling wit and small bifocals. He donned the standard open sports jacket issued to male comedians of the era. He was the skinny, wiry, angry guy.

That’s the Marc Maron I remember from my youth, but that wiry combative comedian is mostly gone – washed away with the drugs and alcohol that nearly derailed his life. Today’s Marc Maron – now 50 and starring in the new standup special Thinky Pain – is shaggy and sports a bushy moustache. He’s dressed as much for a walk in the woods as for stand-up comedy. His movements and words are less taught; the hard-edged antagonist has settled into the role of slow-moving curmudgeon.

Of course the anger is still there, but the object has changed. All of Maron’s petty anger is ultimately subsumed by his meta-anger, the one aimed at his own nature and his inability to escape it – or at the very least – tame it. It’s comedy as open-ended therapy, with Maron as both patient and shrink. Bits don’t begin with segues, they begin with declarations like “Let’s work through this.” Maron is Richard Lewis if Lewis also did podcasts with Jack White and cared about tube amps and bought Captain Beefheart records.

A story about doing a morning radio interview begins with a quick meditation on waking up at 5:30 AM (“5:30 is bullshit. I mean is it day? Is it night? What the fuck is that?”). It wades into a tangential flashback of late nights and early mornings from his coke-possessed past. It morphs into a story about calling a hotel lobby at 5:30 in the morning for a toothbrush, getting no answer, and immediately assuming he’s one of the few survivors of a zombie apocalypse. Finally, it becomes a clinical dissection of his odds of surviving that zombie apocalypse given his self-classification as a beta male.

Maron’s stories expand or contract given his mood or the mood of the audience. They spring from a word, a thought, or theme: hypochondria, atheists, vegans, pornography. At one point he tells the audience “I didn’t prepare. Did you want me to prepare? Preparing is for cowards.”

Maron may not script his performances beat-by-beat, but his experience in the past decade – from hosting liberal talk shows on Air America radio in the mid 2000s, to interviewing on his popular WTF Podcast during the last four years – he has honed his skills as a conversationalist. Even when he’s not specifically talking to someone, he’s moving a conversation along. After twenty five years, Maron is still a standup at heart, though; Thinky Pain is filled with plenty of well-timed verbal jabs, disguised jokes, and callbacks to keep it from ever falling into the pure narcissism Maron so often accuses himself of.

Self-indulgence is a danger for an observational humorist that mainly observes himself, but for Maron that danger must be part of the appeal as well, the “juice” as he calls it. The only thing Maron pursues with religious zeal is closure. Almost every story has an undercurrent of “now vs. then”. In the titular bit, grown-up Marc gives advice directly to his pudgy child self after an attempt to catch a fly ball in a baseball game ends with him falling down and the ball bouncing off his face. “There’ll be no more chance of physical pain from here on out, only ‘thinly pain’. . . It’s gonna take a lifetime to walk this off.”

Maron is still walking off his disappointment and baggage, but he’s found a way to enjoy – and create entertainment – out of that process. He’s at his most honest now, which is when comedians are at their best. And he’s found a way to control the ride without white-knuckling the wheel. His WTF Podcast continues to grow in popularity and season 2 of his television show, Maron recently debuted on IFC.

As Marc Maron would say, he’s working through some things.

Photos: Rodrigo y Gabriela @ Paramount

Rodrigo y Gabriela played at the Paramount Theater on Sunday in support of 9 Dead Alive, their first album in 5 years. The appreciative crowd was on their feet for most of the show as they watched the amazing guitar work by both of them. They played together for most of the show, but each had his/her own time in the spotlight playing solo. Rodrigo commented that while most tour stops are determined by others, Seattle was one of five cities they selected for the tour.

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Show Review: Jherek Bischoff/Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra @ the Crocodile

Jherek Bischoff/Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra @ the Crocodile, 5/1/14
Review by Nick Nihil

Seattle seems to be THE spot in the U.S. – the current cultural and economic axis; Macklemore, Mary Lambert, weed, Super Bowl, socialist councilperson and the $15/hr wage debate. At least that’s what it seems to a Seattle dweller. Truth be told I don’t know much of whatever the fuck else is happening in the rest of this country aside from shitty weather everywhere east of all the mountains. Hell, our experimental jazz scene was written up in The New York Times (and with good cause). Lost in the cacophonous buzz of this, our latest banner year, is the talent that is Jherek Bischoff. Check his credentials – Seattle should be trumpeting Jherek as loudly as anything else. His solo debut, Composed, is a 36-minute orchestral pop masterpiece that puts most other bands labeled as “orchestral” to shame, due in part to the fact that his record actually sounds like a fucking orchestra playing. The man recorded each instrument one-by-one over the span of a couple of years and lured in the likes of David Byrne, Nels Cline (of Wilco), Carla Bozulich, as well as a slew of Seattle instrumentalists. The record sells at the Frye and netted him a Genius Award nomination next to Eyvind Kang.

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Jherek Bischoff – photo by Angel Ceballos

Long-winded exposition finished; how the fuck was the show? He focused mostly on new material, some of which was conceptualized with recorded improvisations in an abandoned cistern, commanding his mic’d up chamber ensemble consisting of two violins, viola, clarinet, cello, and himself switching between bass guitar, drum, ukulele, and conducting. He began with an urgent rocking number driven by his percussive bass playing and punk rock count-offs, his bobbing and shaking unbinding his coiffure and giving him the air of an unraveling tuxedoed eccentric. The next piece was where he really captured the room. Putting down his bass and kneeling in front of a rack tom that he somehow made sound like a timpani, his expressive and sensitive percussion kept time behind an ensemble that also sounded much larger, unfurling a beautiful minimal piece that recalled Phillip Glass and Arvo Part. He deftly shifted from humor to solemnity throughout the set, at one point successfully setting out to, as he said, take a major key and make it sound like the saddest thing in the world. For the first minute or so of the piece, I chuckled as, while he was clearly pulling it off, the novelty still amused me as he staggered stepwise diatonic descending lines against roots that moved separately, imparting multiple tonalities with each passage. And then I lost myself, forgot about the concept, and fell into its morose hypnotism.

Perhaps the biggest success was attempting and successfully executing such a set in a rock club with the audience, many coming in after protests and gatherings, anticipating one of the most intensely anarchic bands in North America. He held the growing audience rapt throughout the duration, proving that “classical” is a really terrible term to attach to music. Steve Reich made the point that it’s really only “composed” music or music communally learned and collaborated upon. To me, when phrased like that, everything seems on equally compatible ground capable of existing across vast tastes and subcultures. Jherek is among the composers today breaking antiquated and divisive labels. Give him a fucking shout out, Seattle!

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Admittedly I stopped taking notes for this set because I was on crutches and it was getting tiring. First thing I noticed was they were at a much more comfortable volume than I had expected from listening to their records. You see, I was anticipating this show. Breathing problems anticipating. The band, arranged in a semicircle instead of a more traditional rock band lineup featured guitar/voice, two violins, bass guitar/double bass, and drums. Singer/guitarist Efrim Menuck kept things light in the first third of the set, spinning anecdotes about encounters with sensationalizing, sub-intelligent Seattle reporters acting like they were “in a fucking war zone” as protesters marched peacefully nearby. Still, his demeanor was never vicious or angry, just puzzled and bemused. In between the first couple of songs he fielded questions from audiences ranging from Rob Ford to his favorite dog (spoiler; he doesn’t have one). They burned through some of the heavier tracks off of their last two albums, but Efrim’s light humor, while welcome and endearing, may have initially undermined the intensity. Or maybe they weren’t quite in the zone yet. It happens. But, boy, did they find that zone on “’Piphany Rambler.” Consisting of all acoustic instruments except Manuck’s guitar (bassist Thierry Amar had moved to stand-up double bass), they sounded gigantic, spacious and more dedicated to the sounds and their meanings than they had until that point. That’s when the jaws dropped, the jocularity of the crowd ended, and everyone seemed to find themselves swaying, singing, and weeping. And, from that point until the devastating penultimate “What We Loved Was Not Enough,” they held on and never let up.

It was at that point that a surreal veil seemed to hang between the stage and the crowd. This became a band that didn’t seem like it should be people playing on a small stage in a small rock club. They seemed infinitely distant even though I was about 20 feet from them. This became a band whose sounds and voices needed to surround us as ghosts, as abstractions, as voices in the ether, echoing the ideas of our better selves.

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Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra

Photos: Young the Giant & Vance Joy @ Showbox at the Market

Young the Giant played two shows at Seattle’s Showbox at the Market in early April. The group’s second album, Mind over Matter, had Justin Meldal-Johnsen (Nine Inch Nails, Ima Robot) at the helm of production, plus saw their move to record label Fueled by Ramen. Young the Giant will be touring all over the place this summer with Kings of Leon. Australian singer-songwriter Vance Joy opened the Seattle dates. All photos by Dan Rogers:

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Photos and Review: NeedToBreathe with Foy Vance @ Neptune

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My assignment last evening was to photograph the amazing folk/blues singer, Foy Vance, from Bangor, Northern Ireland – near Belfast. Foy is an incredible talent who is a must see.

Imagine my surprise when I found that he wasn’t the headliner. I asked who was, and I was told a Christian Rock group. Oh great! Now I get to hear some preachy boring Christian band. . .nice.

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I could not have been more wrong. NeedToBreathe (Bear Rinehart, Bo Rinehart, and Seth Bolt) was a hard hitting alt-rock band with a South Carolina flavor. They have so much energy and charisma that I was completely sold. As a matter of fact, I bought a CD at the end of the show.

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NeedToBreathe had the all ages crowd dancing all night. They have been performing together for 15 years but recently took some time off to regroup. They shared their heart felt experience with the crowd conveying a sense of renewal and rediscovery. The message I took away was – don’t take yourself too seriously and be kind to those around around you. Good words indeed.

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Knowing that Foy Vance has performed with Bonnie Raitt and Pete Townsend, I expected quite a lot from him and he more than delivered. Solo artist, Vance has a wonderfully bluesy voice with a gravely folk sound and tons of soul. Vance had such a grip on the crowd he kept them singing until the roadies were done and NeedToBreathe walked onto the stage.

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Photographer: John Rudolph