For someone who’s absolutely brimming with dirty jokes, Marnie Stern has certainly cleaned up her act with the release of her newest and fourth album, The Chronicles of Marnia. The esteemed shredder/finger-tapper/guitar virtuoso/patron saint of goofiness has pared back a layer of two of her signature noise collage to reveal choicier progressions, a more discernible rhythm, and more of her really real vocals. The latter may or may not have been the production equivalent of pulling teeth for Stern, who didn’t hesitate to let interviewers know that it was never really her idea.
I’m happy to say that the reluctant vocalist sounded a lot less commercial than she reportedly feared at the Music Hall of Williamsburg on Thursday. After a spirited but mostly forgettable opening by Speedy Ortiz and a Yeah Yeah Yeahs-style shamanic seance by Talk Normal (!), Marnie let ‘er fly with an enthusiasm and spunk that would belong exclusively to the Marnie Stern brand, if she were even remotely the kind of person to conceive of herself that way.
To be sure, it was all rock and roll and jokes about vibrating the band’s van back to life with her vagina. She’s only been playing with drummer Kid Millions for a hot second (her previous collaborator, the also-phenom Zach Hill, helped define the era of furiously involved sound that Stern moved away from a bit in this album), but there’s no issue when it comes to imploring him to “take it off” between songs. She threw off one glittery layer of her ensemble in solidarity.
Together with bassist Nithin Kalvakota, the Marn Machine ardently blazed through a thorough set list involving most of her new songs and a couple oldies at the end (including “For Ash” and “Transparency is the New Mystery”). In a way, all the silliness was completely on point: maybe Marnie’s fixation on everyone getting naked was her way of blowing off steam after months of her producer, band, and ex-boyfriend imploring her to do the same. To strip down her frenetic sound, bare her voice, and let the dizzy, bubbling riffs come through in curated selections that nest even more deliberately within the sounds of her rhythm section.
The powerhouse kept it real all the way up to Kid Million’s staggering drum solo at the end (delivered, at last, in his boxers) – part fireworks grand finale, part air raid, but exacting in a way that neither can ever be. This prompted him to immediately exit the stage, probably to dry-heave from all the exertion.
Indeed, Marnie Stern’s music is as much a pep talk to herself as it is to the rest of us: a reminder that we’re doing it, and it’s now, and that every one of us is riding a momentous wave, and that no one’s ever too old for a dick joke.
Review by Steph Koyfman