Andrew Russo

Everyone loves mixtapes

The pianist Andrew Russo, who I saw last night at the super-chic new West Village venue Le Poisson Rouge (the name, I believe, is French for “what a ridiculous thing to call ourselves”) lives in Syracuse, which may be one of the only reasons he’s not currently one of the darlings of the NYC underground contemporary classical scene. Last night, he gave one of the most exciting concerts I’ve seen in a long time. He was supporting his new album, Mixtape: Classical Arrangements of Pop Hits. The “classical arrangements of pop hits” tag on the title might bring to mind a “string quartet tribute to the Beatles” sort of elevator music-pablum thing (you know, like Christopher O’Riley), but it’s mischievously misleading. First of all, the roster of composers Russo has managed to score for this comp is nothing of amazing, a serious “Who’s Who” of the NYC Downtown classical scene. Phil Kline, David Lang, Glenn Kotche (who has a pretty decent side gig as Wilco’s guitarist), Marc Mellits, Evan Ziporyn, and others.

These guys have taken wildly divergent tacks on the “pop hits” part of the assignment, choosing songs as disparate as Jaco Pastorius’s “Portrait of Tracy,” Common’s “The Corner,” or (gulp) James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful.” Last night, Andrew, dressed in sleek black that made him look oddly like Britt Daniel’s well-mannered classical-loving brother, ran through nearly half the CD for us.

First was JC Sanford’s take on Billy Joel’s “Rosalinda’s Eyes.” Sanford transformed the song into a pistonlike pounding of two or three gnarled chords, with only odd peeks of the Long Island schmaltzmeister’s hammy touch peeking through here and there. The piece is pitch-black, and the few bits of Joel’s sappy original melody that snuck through unmolested seemed almost bitterly mocking: it reminded me that Joel once tried to commit suicide by drinking furniture polish. Russo HAMMERED the piano on this one, and treated the sudden sforzandos (in which a huge forte leaps out of nowhere, clobbers you, and then disappears immediately) like ambushes.

After the Sanford, Russo introduced Marc Mellits’s take on King Crimson’s “Three of A Perfect Pair,” which was more or less one of the most edge-of-seat live performances I’ve seen in awhile, as Russo played an insanely convoluted, lightning-speed duet on synthesizer with another pre-recorded synthesizer line. He never even so much grimaced with concentration: he just ripped through the piece, which seemed to shift time signatures, tones, timbres, and synth settings at least every three seconds. When it was (abruptly) over, he looked up and gave us a wolfish, shit-eating grin, and got some audience “whoop”s in return.

Then he played Daniel Felsenfeld’s reworking of “Play That Funky Music White Boy,” which takes the almost comically over-the-top vamp of the famous funk bass line and drains it of every ounce of “funkiness,” leaving only a brittle, nervous yammer in its place. I’m guessing this is what it felt like to be at Studio 54 after doing some bad coke: clammy, queasy, heart hammering, fighting off rising panic.

The other highlights were a version of Iggy and the Stooges’ “Search and Destroy” that recast the batshit howl of Iggy’s lyrics (”I’M A STREETWALKIN CHEETAH WITH A HEART FULL OF NAPALM”) as a part for a wobbly, untrained boy soprano. The effect was indescribably odd, especially when coupled with echo-y drum track and slightly mournful piano part. Russo finished with David Lang’s version of “Born To Be Wild,” which for me was the only non-starter. The piano line was (there’s a theme here, somehow) very Spoon-like — clipped and rhythmically emphatic. Russo recites the lyric in a bored Ben Stein-ish monotone, which is either an elaborate knee-slapper (get it? He’s SO NOT BORN TO BE WILD!) or some inscrutable gesture. Either way, it didn’t make for revelatory listening. Russo closed with “Rash,” a work by an Australian composer whose name I am unfortunately not recalling. Russo shared with us that he believed the piece to be about a pianist who wants to be a disco dancer, a description that made perfect sense when he fired up the neon roller-disco backing track. The piece was broad and unafraid of silliness, but also seriously rocked: when he was done, there were a bunch of spontaneous catcalls.

Overall, great concert. Le Poisson Rouge has admirable, even quixotic, cross-genre ambitions: I noticed, on the way in, that a possible Jay Electronica/Dead Prez show had been cancelled. It remains to be seen whether or not they can actually pull off everything they are earnestly promising, but for right now, it’s a fascinating place to be, sometimes muddled and confused as what it is, but always a worthwhile trip.