We Saw This: Nite Jewel and Peanut Butter Wolf

It was 4 a.m. in 2006. I sat slumped, sweating in an ancient swivel chair behind the board at WVFS-Tallahassee 89.7. I was fucking starving. In a fit of boredom, or vanity, or being 18, I mindlessly typed in my current craving to the catalog's search bar: "PEANUT BUTTER." I fetched one of the first titles appearing in the results, Peanut Butter Wolf's My Vinyl Weighs A Ton, and fed the disc into the buzzing machine. My little impressionable mind forever warped with the discovery of Stones Throw Records. I consumed Charizma, Madlib and all the other fantastic, drug and cartoon-adled weirdos from the label by the fistful.

When I saw PB planned to hit Le Poisson Rouge, I begged VICE to let me cover it, secretly fulfilling a long-standing dream of mine to see that dude spin. He was to play with Nite Jewel, someone I felt vaguely intrigued by, but just that. Only on the actual day of the show did I see that the whole night was aimed to pay tribute to Krautrock pioneers, and complete weirdos in another sense, Kraftwerk. The two artists were to join a DJ who someone told me works at Other Music, to play Kraftwerk's 1987 album Computer World. So I went to LPR last night with brave photographer Aimee Dodds. And stuff happened. I took notes in my iPhone, following a tip from a fellow writer, which made me feel like a tech wizard. Until my thoroughly busted phone called it quits just this morning as I rose from bed to recount the show. This is last night as I remember it, according to my hot sauce-soaked memory.

Brooklyn band Chrome Canyon opened. (Apparently they live in my neighborhood! Which is likely the most interesting part to you, dear reader, AMIRITE?) For the most part, the band looked like a bunch of Brooklyn kids—nondescript, bored and equipped with shiny gear. However, the lead—I feel reluctant to say singer because I didn't hear much actual singing/vocals so let's just say—person, was Bowie Incarnate. Or at least Bowie In Toms. I braced myself to be annoyed by his blinding silver blouse but the wormhole electro-dance spiraled into my twitchy right foot before I could hate a bit of it. At one point, two girls hopped on stage and lent some vocals. At another, a guy falsely raised spirits when he bounded before the audience with a cowboy hat and sax. I expected rumbling, soulful goodness to join up the current space voyage. But it was mixed too low and fell flat. I still plan to look for that saxophonist at parties in Greenpoint though, regardless.

PB and Nite Jewel's set-up took kind of forever. I thought I was going to involuntarily pass out while waiting, coming to the cheerful realization that I might be an early joiner to The Old Club. I might mention now that the crowd last night was a major mixed bag. Stylish Nite Jewel dance ravens alongside hip Stones Throw disciples (I'm of the unhip congregation) and über Kraftwerk nerds. Nite Jewel is impossibly tiny, looking even more so swaying between Wolf and the other guy (guessing that's DJ Scott Mou, the only unaccounted for name listed on LPR's page for the event). Wolf took on the Kraftwerk role full-throttle, beneath a chunky black wig. It shined like the plastic from which I imagine it was made. Last Halloween my ex-partner slacked and dressed as "a French man," putting on a striped shirt and asking me to mark his lip with an eyeliner mustache. Imagine what that mustache may look like. Now imagine it on PB's face combined with said offensive wig. People were dancing, which I think means approval or at least drunken approval. As a casual Kraftwerk fan, I thought the set sounded pretty good. All the laser beam sounds made sense, and the general lack of smiles on stage did, too. On the 6 Train platform following the last song (I think an encore might have happened, but as previously mentioned, I'm vying for a membership with TOC [The Old Club, please keep up] so I left at the hard set end), I ran into two serious Kraftwerk junkies and asked what they thought of the show. Both complained that the trio performed a little sloppy, an aspect the actual Kraftwerk so vigilantly fought against. But it was a fun, undeniably unique experience. Not sure if I'll ever get why two L.A. artists from such different musical worlds decided to collaborate and pay homage to those old-school, avant-garde Düsseldorfians. It was weird but good, something I've come to expect as a rabid Peanut Butter Wolf fan.

Photos by Aimee Dodds

@becagrimm