Toetry In Motion: Foot Patrol & Movin' Melvin @ the White Swan

We realized upon arriving (and trying to order a drink at the bar) that the event was BYOB, so we headed over to the walk-up convenience store across the street to get some beers. On the way back into the club, two police officers joked to the doorman, "You guys trying to rustle up some new clientele?" The doorman, who reappeared later to escort an over-zealous lover of God to the patio, simply smiled. "Soul music has no color," he joked nonchalantly, peeking inside briefly to make sure the woman taking the cover charge at the door wasn't getting any grief. The officer turned to us puzzled and asked, "Can I ask you something? What makes you ladies want to come down here? Don't you know these people don't want to see whites around this place?" We explained that a friend of ours was performing, and that we were here to check out the headlining act, deflecting the almost accusatory tone by adding, "Besides, the dancers dress up like cops."

Our insistence that the venue's physical location should be a non-issue when it comes to live music, the realization that it isn't segregated Mississippi in 1955, and the simple idea that it's completely wrong to assume there would be problems didn't phase the officer. For a moment, we were immersed in Charles Bronson's Death Wish 3, and as the policeman uttered something about the "cockroaches" returning as soon as the red and blues disappeared, we were reminded of Paul Kersey's battle against the unbelievably antagonistic gang from the film ("It's like killing roaches: you gotta get 'em all or what's the point?"). Suddenly, we were helpless, vulnerable old women just trying to protect our moderately valuable tea cup collection, when blam-o, cackling ruffians swoop down and shake their clubs at us, then shoot our dog just for laughs. If that was what the night had in store for us, the next scene would have been our hero officer, spinning the knob of a safe that contained a couple of M2 Brownings and a .475 Wildey Magnum. Yesterday, young concert-goers had everything to live for. Now, suddenly, they've got nothing to lose. Heaven help whoever crosses their path.

But here's the kicker: that's not what we had in store, and despite the authority's sage advice, no one really gave a shit that we were there. No one really gave a shit that a boatload of people who aren't regular attendees were there. The kid in the kilt with a Mohawk was dancing right alongside a S&M chick, the regulars were swaying together, and we were sipping Shiners by the pool table tapping our toes and grinning as the opening act, Movin' Melvin Brown crooned "Your love is lifting me higher..." The story is a non-story: inside the club, there was an unspoken agreement that everyone was there to enjoy themselves, it was only out on the street that this pact seemed unrealistic.

Movin' Melvin's set was a joy. Singing karaoke style to a playlist of hits ("What a Wonderful World," "Higher and Higher," and a purely dance interlude to Michael Jackson's "Jam"), and he lived up to his title of "The Hardest Working Man in Entertainment." Melvin Brown is one of those people who is good at whatever he tries, and his range as a vocalist was nothing short of astounding. He's a sort of untapped well of talent here in town, as he's worked with everyone from Willie Nelson to James Brown in his lifetime, and travels around the world performing (he's a singer, tap dancer, comic and more) to promote his Change This World Project. We stood in awe as he shimmied across the stage, removing his suit jacket to give room for more mobility. His set, though without a live band or someone to fan him, was electric.

Our first instinct when finding ourselves in the presence of some hidden gem always begins with a wish for a wider audience. "I can't believe this guy isn't filling Stubb's once a month," we thought initially. Moments later, we felt somewhat guilty for assuming he'd even want that. Maybe this is exactly where he's needed, or where he'd have the most fun performing. Visiting his website and learning about his causes (he wrote a book called As a Man Thinketh, espousing "His belief that our thoughts create our reality forms the basis for his writings about life, peace, happiness, and most of all love."), his vision for change and his devotion to uplifting the downtrodden almost solidified that sentiment -- then again, he'd probably have an equal amount of enthusiasm for your bat mitzvah, he's clearly a man that loves to perform.

He performed a brief encore (revisiting a song he sang earlier in the set!) and we shifted our attention to stage two, which happened to be the back corner of the venue behind the pool table, exactly where we were standing. The transition act was Thor and Adam, a duo (accompanied by a man playing percussion on a nearby table) specializing in experimental drum'n'tuba jamming. We quickly moved our beers and bags out of the way to make room for their performance. Because of our position, we were suddenly front row center, and we were lucky: the minimal drum kit actually allowed Thor (Harris, a solo artist as well as regular drummer for Shearwater and Bill Callahan) to flex a bit, and the set was so out we were lucky we got to watch that closely.

After a brief break in the action, Foot Patrol took over the main stage. Hung Nguyen and TJ Wade, the masterminds behind the project, have concentrated on hardcore music in the past, but to those who have had the chance to see Foot Patrol in action, it's clear that their true calling is a unique brand of "'80s Minneapolis funk" (that means it sounds like early Prince) focusing on a dizzying synthesizer horn section, fast-paced rhythms, a disarmingly talented live drummer and, well, feet.

With song titles like "Toah's Ark," "Golden Arches" and "Toetry in Motion," Foot Patrol openly embraces the shticky side of their approach: the costumes create a courtroom scene, complete with gavels and sexy cop dancers, and the entire production plays out like a theatrical performance. But just like the dichotomy between our physical location in town and the absolute joy that a performer like Melvin Brown exudes, the internal conflicts in the Foot Patrol set rise to the surface in gorgeous complexity. Every pun lands on the eager crowd (the same people who boogied to Melvin, a glorious mix of misfits and legends) with complete seriousness. There are no knowing glances, no break in the act: the entire joke is delivered with a complete disregard for the irony involved in it all, and it ends up making the show that much more enjoyable. The absurdity of it all, even the choice of feet as the centerpiece to the joke, is completely forgotten thanks to how professionally the ensemble executes. The appeal is not unlike local hip hop artist and rape fetishist Black Nasty's: when submerged in a predominately self-conscious scene, what better way to refuse it than to not acknowledge your own refusal?

We left the White Swan after Foot Patrol's set walking through the front of the club, which was still operating like it normally would, as a R&B lounge and dance club. The woman at the door waved goodnight, the manager who unlocked the bathroom door for us earlier grinned, probably remembering our request for Vodka and Sprite earlier, though the party was BYOB. We shuffled out onto 12th street, almost expecting the cop to still be there, waiting for his predictions to come to fruition. Yet there were no reds and blues in sight, no cops around, and maybe to that officer's chagrin, no immediate danger, either.

Foot Patrol doesn't have any upcoming shows listed on their MySpace, but you can count on us to let you know next time they're out -- it's not to be missed. Their performance at Scoot Inn over the summer is well documented with video, but it's hardly enough to watch those clips, you really need to just go watch them live. For that matter, someone convince Melvin's management (is it just Melvin?) to get a MySpace so we can keep track of his appearances. Either could play in a sidewalk crack and we'd do our best to show up.

Foot Patrol: [MySpace] [YouTube]
Movin' Melvin Brown: [Official] [YouTube]