“How long before we set each other free!” bellowed the eternally joyful/diabolical Kenyon Phillips to the furrowed faithful. All were blissfully gathered to pay r-e-s-p-e-c-t to the singer’s latest and most formidable incarnation of Unisex Salon on a rainy Monday night when no avowed hipster would brave such inclement weather - lest they ruin their Prada boots or Burberry leathers.
If there ever was a Pope of Greenwich Village (or Manhattan’s Lower East Side), Mr. Phillips fits the bill and then some. Ornately tattooed, sinewy sculpted, scantly bearded, and brazenly showing off his mad Rasta locks and ripped abs, Phillips indeed is the last true rock ‘n’ roll artiste left swaggering in a once vital neighborhood now besieged greedy developers, trust fund frat brats, hedge fund studs, and grumpy hangers-on.
(Case in point: rather than show additional proof of my AMPLIFIER credentials when hassled by door security, I simply dropped a crisp twenty on the guest list and respectfully snarled “this piss hole will be a Trump Tower in six months, you’ll need the cash more than I do!”)
Yet to spend just one more evening in the presence of Salon was well worth the trouble despite the fact that the venue’s sound engineer did a pitiful job of mixing the vocals. Rather than complain, folks gladly pressed the stage as Phillips graciously sweated and salivated over them. This ain’t rock and roll, this was genocide - or so the saying goes.
Phillips has wisely enlisted former Spacehog bassist Royston Langdon to anchor the group. Smartly attired in black leggings, white shoes, and a snazzy powder blue jacket zipped to the neck, Langdon stroked his signature Rickenbacker like an old lover (no disrespect to Liv Tyler).
Guitarist Elliot "Beard" Glass provided the Bowie/Ronson push/pull that is essential to Salon’s patented glam/dance cannon, serving the song and providing muscular riffs when necessary. Ex- Spacehog drummer Johnny Cragg worked the skins furiously and unobtrusively whilst backing-vocalist Laine Rettner played her sexual foil role to the hilt.
Rendering cuts from their new Like A Bitch EP, produced by The Strokes knob-twiddler Gordon Raphael, Kenyon and his partners in crime submerged themselves in a groove that would have given Prince a hard-on had he showed.
The staccato power chords of “Don’t Look Down” inspired fist-pumping responses from the Loungers. “Nowhere” afforded Phillips ample opportunity to exercise his debauched snarl - was he taking the piss out of Scott Weiland? We’ll never know. The descending chord pattern and ominous tone of “How Long” evoked thoughts of Depeche Mode before they went all sober and soft.
With nothing left to lose, Salon ripped through a blotto reading of Jimi Hendrix’s “Fire,” re-inventing the tired 60s anthem as a punk tour-de-force.
As Nero fiddled whilst Rome burned, thus does Phillips, as Manhattan sinks into a Starbucks fueled artistic slumber. Long may he rock - make mine a double.
--Tom Semioli
Photo: Clay Patrick McBride
