Operation: Over Benefit
An Orgy of Fun in Five Acts
By Jake Holmes

Nate Lescovic of Baby Seal Club. Photo Credit: Alex Billig

Have you ever politely declined an invitation to a benefit concert? Was it because you heard the word “benefit” and immediately envisioned spindly fingers reaching into your wallet? Indeed, a benefit concert is usually not an easy sell. With a tendency to degrade into a folk sermon or else swell into an equally insipid, Live 8 media spectacle, this form of fundraising is more often associated with disappointment than entertainment. However, on March 24th, Operation: Over, a direct-action, horizontally organized campaign against the war machine and the social injustice it engenders, proved that a benefit concert, when done right, can be a terrifically satisfying experience.

Walking into the venue at 45 Mt. Auburn St. in Cambridge, I prepared myself for what could have been a night of mediocre bands and long-winded political diatribes. I reminded myself that I was there in solidarity and that the admission to the event was only $3-7, a completely reasonable price for a night out in greater Boston. Little did I know that Lady Fortune had grander plans for the evening.

The first act was Old Kids. Imagine Jello Biafra doing his spoken word stuff to the accompaniment of a cello and a fuzzy guitar and you’ll get a close approximation of Old Kids’ sound. I found the singer’s lyrics amusing and felt that the instrumentalists provided a capable, melodious backdrop to his raving.

One of the highlights of their performance was when the band quieted down to do a dramatic rendition of Alan Jackson’s “Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning).” The vocalist, who had been ceaselessly bouncing through several songs, took a chair to croon the solemn ode to 9/11. The cellist, who had built up a sweat feverishly drawing her bow back and forth in earlier, up-tempo tunes, took off her shirt to reveal, to the applause of many, a Nike sports bra.

To end their set, the guitarist threw down his instrument in mock violence and trampled its smashed and feedback-bleeding body. Old Kids was the sort of strange ensemble I half expected to see at an Operation: Over benefit, but they served their eccentricity with zealous flare.

The next act was Baby Seal Club. After Old Kids finished, people left the room, as they are wont to do, in search of food or cigarettes or whatever it is that keeps people in a constant state of flux. Having just eaten and a little tired from staying up late the night before, I was content with just sitting around for the next act. Some new equipment was brought in, but a band didn’t materialize. In fact, the only person in the stage section was a guy privately playing with cords and pedals at his feet. It was only after he had laid several tracks on his phrase sampler that I and everyone else realized he was the act.

The loops just kept coming. A universe of riffs and beats jibed into a complex mesh of sonic energy. Old Kids was fun, but this was downright interesting. After some time, a guitarist joined the one man band and proceeded to complement the intricate, raga groove with bluesy rhythm lines.

After settling into life as a duo, the two went on to cover Black Uhuru’s “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.” With a trombone thoroughly augmented by effects modulators, they built up the hypnotic bass line. With a few beat-boxed rimshot snicks and bass drum crushes, they constructed a virtual drum kit that oozed reverb. The entire song was drenched in that authentic dub sound. For a few moments, Baby Seal Club transported the audience away from the Babylon of Boston politics and delivered them to the summit of His Imperial Majesty’s hallowed Zion.

After Baby Seal Club wrapped, The Clichés took the stage. The band was apparently sans its usually percussion section, but they, nevertheless, offered the agreeable sound of stripped down acoustopunk numbers. Their set included several ska classics which the lead singer rendered in a gravelly, yet articulate voice. Imagine a young Bob Dylan in a ska band with a less wheezy style of enunciation. On second thought, don’t imagine that; that’s a horrible comparison. Take my word for it, though, The Clichés successfully executed their minimalistic songs of rebellion.

The next act was Dieselhoürse. Honestly, I wasn’t particularly excited about hearing this band when they took the stage. I had noticed the guitar-playing lead singer, a man of discernibly small stature, erratically dancing to the previous acts. I had mistaken the gentleman’s spastic fisting and full-body quakes for the Saint Vitus dancing of a drunken fool. This man was no fool, however. This man, as I would soon learn, was a genius.

Dieselhoürse immediately launched into a country number, surprising many with their adroit musical ability and even more impressive sense of showmanship. The crowd raucously danced as the band progressed from one earth stomping, honky-tonk song to another. How was this happening, I wondered? Could this be the best band playing, at this moment, anywhere on the planet? Having had some time to digest the experience, I can now say that it probably was.

With ebullient slide guitar quavering and funky, thunderously rumbling rhythm licks, Dieselhoürse led the audience through songs worthy of overhead, arena rock hand clapping and absolute, gyrating submission to the music. Soon everyone emulated the convulsive dance moves of the lead singer. Nothing less than pure, glorious insanity swept over the crowd as Dieselhoürse carried them from the rowdy world of Elvis’ jailhouse to the shores of some obscure Russian lake. (Don’t ask; this thing must be experienced firsthand.) In short, Dieselhoürse was the greatest dark horse entry a concert hall has ever seen. Don’t be fooled: Dieselhoürse is motherfucking awesome.

The final band was The Lumberjacks. Dieselhoürse was a tough act to follow, but The Lumberjacks held their own, delivering high energy rock and roll. The band was tight and the lead singer embodied the spirit of Friday night revelry. With tunes about space madness and Nazi whores, The Lumberjacks displayed a knack for expert songwriting. One number, a love song sung from the perspective of a house intruder was, without question, more soulful than any of R. Kelly’s best material. With time-honored rock theatrics, The Lumberjacks rounded out an evening of unconditional fun.

The Operation: Over benefit show effectively redefined the benefit concert as a pleasurable event. Don’t get too disenchanted with the fundraising concerts of other groups: they’re PBS telethons that pretend to entertain. Operation: Over knows what a benefit concert should be: a show that benefits all involved.

Don’t miss the next one they throw.

Other articles by Jake Holmes.

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