Urban gutbucket.
These words pop into the writer’s head as the perfect pithy description of Sex Mob’s music. The phrase captures the quartet’s intrinsic duality: a New York-based ensemble steeped in avant-garde jazz and the experimentalism of the “downtown” scene, but one that evokes a barroom bawdiness more associated with roadhouse blues.
It remains to be seen, though, how Sex Mob leader and slide trumpeter Steven Bernstein responds to the writer’s brand-naming of the group’s style (seeing as most forward-thinking musicians evade category).
“I love it,” Bernstein announces by phone from his home in Nyack, N.Y.
The writer beams.
“Can I use it?” Bernstein asks.
“As much as you like — without attribution,” the writer responds.
“Urban gutbucket,” Bernstein repeats. “It’s good ’cause it doesn’t use the words “avant’ or “jazz,’ both of which keep people away.”
More than most jazz-based groups, Sex Mob music invites people in. This is a quartet that knows how to throw a party. The basic modus operandi involves “mobbing up” a familiar pop tune, recasting it into an untidy, brassy affair with smears of dissonance and over-the-top attitude. “I like to dig inside a song and figure out why I like it, then put it back together again,” Bernstein says, “but not put it back together right.”
Bernstein’s regular co-conspirators are Briggan Krauss, an alto saxophonist who can make his ax sound like a raspy car horn; drummer Kenny Wollesen, who can lock into a funk groove or play helter-skelter free rhythm with equal aplomb; and acoustic bassist Tony Scherr, whose muscular work both anchors and cuts through the bracing sonic brew. Bernstein is widely understood to be the world’s only purveyor of the slide trumpet, which can give his sound a slurry, stripper-blues feel. The foursome has mobbed up such songs as the Rolling Stones’ “Ruby Tuesday,” Prince’s “Sign o’ the Times,” Paul McCartney’s “Live and Let Die,” as well as tunes by Nirvana, James Brown, the Grateful Dead and others. Hell, Sex Mob even deconstructed “The Macarena.”
“One summer night when I was touring Greece, we were walking through the city and everywhere it was blasting “The Macarena,'” says Bernstein, who recently turned 40. “It was 4 a.m. and I was on a rooftop and I kind of realized, “This is an amazing song. How can I help other people realize how amazing I think this is?”
It’s important to note that Bernstein is sincere about the way he fucks with a song. “A lot of critics see it as neo-kitsch, but I don’t see the music as satirical at all,” he asserts. “I see it as respectful. This is who I am. I think all jazz is a reflection of a person. What you’re hearing is a reflection of me. I’m playing the music the only way I know how. Humor is definitely in there. I’m a funny person. That’s who I am. It comes out in the music. But that’s different than satire.”
Sex Mob’s recently released third album, Sex Mob Does Bond (Ropeadope/Atlantic) is something of a departure for the band. Most of the source material is derived from John Barry-penned “incidental” music from early Bond films, along with familiar themes like “Goldfinger,” “Nobody Does it Better” and “You Only Live Twice.” As such, it’s more a concept album than a woozy groove-fest, with downtempo and spacey sections countering the rave-ups. Playing to the music’s orchestral influence, Bernstein added John Medeski on Hammond organ to flesh out the sound. And in spots, Bernstein added his own “porno beat” sections to up the sleaze factor a bit.
In a way, the Bond project brings Sex Mob full circle. It was in 1995 that New York’s fabled Knitting Factory asked Bernstein to curate a “house band” for its Tap Bar. The trumpeter did not have high expectations or plans for the group; he had none. Bernstein was a busy arranger, was the musical director for John Lurie’s Lounge Lizard for a number of years and led an ensemble called Spanish Fly that was causing a buzz internationally. “We put together a few guys and I only brought my slide trumpet,” he recounts. “It was a hundred bucks for two sets, 11 ’til 2. We didn’t start off with covers.”
One night for a kick, Bernstein and company played his arrangement of the Bond theme. “The whole bar goes crazy,” he says. “I was not used to people yelling and screaming. I thought, “Maybe we can make people feel like they do at a rock or gospel show.’ That exalted feeling. I think that’s extremely important — to make people really feel something.”
This article appears in Oct 18-24, 2001.
