Last Friday, November 6th, The Motet kicked off their two-night run at Brooklyn Bowl, with NYC natives Chromatropic starting the night right.
Chromatropic began in a lulled g minor rubato flow. Instantly, the rage zombies marched forward in a fashion no military would approve. Two by two they walk toward the front, as the band stands high above on stage. The quintet begins to add noble gases necessary to the atmosphere they’re pushing.
A disco beat begins non-chalantly, “You Should Be Dancin’” is ringing in the subconscious as this air noise turns into boogie fodder. They’re totally at home opening for The Motet, and I daresay they would be for Jamiroquai and Tony Williams, too (just to give you a spectrum).
To generally describe the sound they have: picture Jazz guitar over house beats, progressively arranged, all in the final form of a jam band. The band went from a 7/8 groove, flawlessly into the drumless intro of “Bitch Don’t Kill My Vibe” by Kendrick Lamar. That’s when the march of people turned into a run. Every note was right on, and the guitars were in the tone zone. It’s almost like listening to a remix.
Chromatropic is well versed and well rehearsed, they were thoroughly prepared yet unpredictable. This was based on intangible agreements all musicians make on stage with each other, sonically. The groove was impeccable. It’s egoless; the instrumental ensemble never steps on its own feet. Its unassuming, and sexy 20somethings, middle-aged lovebirds, and stoic bouncers all are tempted to move by the songs they play. Every moment is the time of their lives on stage.
The band could have that sort of mighty ubiquitous following within the decade; keep your eyes and ears open. If you like House, Electronica, Funk, and Jazz Fusion and are looking for a group who does it all and each, here you go.
To be quite honest, it’s difficult to take notes at a Motet show. It’s difficult to stand in front of the bar waiting for a drink, too. It’s really difficult to do anything but give them your undivided attention while onstage. Their funk is insatiably filthy yet pristine. They have all the trappings of any worshipper of rhythm.
The Septet and its intercontinental palate took us from the Brooklyn Bowl to Harlem with its backbeat, to the Caribbean with its tumbao, and all the way back to Africa with the almighty groove. The Motet fans the fire bequeathed to all us listeners by The Famous Flames, The Meters, and Fela Kuti.
There is a caliber to their musicianship that makes the ticket you pay for feel like a bargain. Each player is master of their frequency, they never get in each other’s ways in melody or harmony, and everyone’s got a smile on their face.
Even their front man, Jans Ingber, plays tambourine, congas, and a shakere throughout the set. He does so not as a singer who doesn’t know what to do with his hands, but as a class act of a percussionist. Everyone on stage had an instrument, and everyone mesmerized. This was my first Motet show, but it won’t be my last.
[Photos by Patrick Hughes]