Reid Paley at Meow Mix Friday, Sept. 28, 2001

Reid Paley

I ambled into a rather empty Meow Mix on Friday, September 28, 2001, to hear the Reid Paley Trio – Paley on guitar and vocals, Robert Lee Oliver on bass, and James Murray on trap kit. Paley walked up to me and stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Reid," he said almost overtly glad to see me (or, perhaps, anyone besides his band and the staff). I shook Reid's hand and decided that he sort of resembles Anton LaVey (founder of the Church of Satan), with a shaved head, thin goatee, peaked eyebrows, and dark eyes. There was something really sexy about him, too. The band wore black jackets, black pants, and white shirts. They looked like dejected groomsmen, or, better yet, the wedding band for Jack Daniels and the Camel cigarette lady. Before getting on stage, Reid ordered a double of the strong stuff. He tips well.

Put simply, the Reid Paley Trio knows how to get down. Elements of hell-raising rock 'n' roll, swinging punk, and bitterly charming rockabilly flew like sparks. "Give me one chance, I'll fuck it up," Reid assured everyone with the jaunty "Lucky's Tune." He's got mischief in his eye, Elvis in his joints, and booze everywhere else. Wrapped up in a frenzy of swagger-drenched rock, he spit off the side of the stage. The goober landed on the opening band's equipment. Reid laughed, apologized, and did it again a song or two later. With the jangle and swing of the guitar, the beat of the drums, and the smooth bass lines, it was hard not to tap your foot or shake your stuff. It was harder not to smile.

Go ahead. Compare Reid Paley to Tom Waits – everyone does, including yours truly. They both have deep, rugged voices and ravaged livers, and they write songs by and for the weary man. But Reid is more aggressive, less worn down than Waits. Reid enjoys irony. He makes you laugh, and he makes himself laugh. His voice is gruff, murky, and full of bravado. But Reid is not one to brood, unlike the guy he's compared to. His lyrics are simple and downtrodden, but amusing. "It'll only make a mess/ to get it off my chest/ I'll take a little something for the pain," he yowled on "The Anesthetist's Song." There were plenty of references to drinking, being drunk, losing, dealing with your shit, and (inevitably) dealing with other people's shit. But he's not worried about it. He's not bent out of shape. On "Lazarus in Brooklyn," he sings, "You know I never win/ Just take it on the chin/ Why settle for a fantasy?"

Paley's live performance made an earnest connection with the crowd. A real rascally character, he was quick with a smile and a laugh. The man was aware that he was the show, more than his music. Whether he wrenched up his face and barked out his lyrics, or widened his eyes and rolled his head, Reid played with all his brusque might. For all the crestfallen memories evoked in his songs, he was playful, not serious ("It's not as if it's anybody good/ It's only me," he sings on "What You Deserve").

During his set, Reid tossed out self-deprecating remarks about his musicianship, though I must say, I love the guy's guitar playing. He tried tuning his guitar for a full five minutes, and returned to the mic a defeated man. But he didn't dwell on it. "Incompetence shouldn't be a hindrance," he said.