Steppin' Out With Stephen

Relationships may come and go, but they never stop the music. Except, that is, when musical relationships are in question, and one bad breakup leads to still more codependency.

Stephen Malkmus' amicable-enough split with Pavement heralded the end of indie rock's most darling lyrical provocateurs; no band with equal parts wit and pure rock power has come along to take their place.

But give Malkmus credit for trying. His new outfit, the Jicks, already have an album out (under Malkmus' name) and it's an admirable, albeit more polished excursion. Still boasting Malkmus's off-the-cuff lyrics and laced with a few well-placed hitmaking hooks, the Jicks aren't quite Pavement but they're close enough that the average record-buying music boob won't even notice. Its songs are a bit more glossy, a bit more easily anticipated; you get the sense that the new band isn't ready to drift into Pavement's looser, more jammy territory.

The distinction becomes more murky in the live setting. Once Malkmus gets in front of an audience, it seems he almost can't help but screw around a bit. The band's show last week in San Francisco was a prime example: Along with having the band introduced by his dad, Malkmus' performance echoed Pavement's ramshackle style. Sometimes soloing like a hair-metalist, other times mumbling as if totally disinterested, Malkmus didn't always hit every note. In fact, he flubbed one song enough to have to restart entirely, and his band seemed tentative when it kicked off others. Still, compared to his album's overabundance of poise, it was a welcome change to see that Stephen Malkmus still doesn't sound stilted. And he was having fun, wisecracking that his band's name, "is a combination of 'Jerks' and 'Dicks.'"

Perhaps the silly feel in San Fran came as a result of the onstage presence of girlfriend Heather Larimer, who, like a bad combination of Yoko Ono and Linda McCartney, added both an overbearing personality and a dose of horribly off-key vocals to the otherwise worthy mix. Worse yet, Larimer's spunky cheerleader routine (she looks like a 14-year-old brat) distracted attention from the man everyone was there to see. It looked like Malkmus had hopped from one codependent relationship to another.

By the time the band got to Austin a few days later, the girlfriend was securely offstage and the mistakes weren't being made. It seemed like Malkmus wasn't having as much fun-the set was tighter and less error-ridden, much more album-like. It's possible that Malkmus tightened it up to impress the record execs in the house. Or, more likely, being in front of an audience of industry types made him a little nervous.

Well, those types are hardly in abundance in Carrboro, so the band's show this Tuesday should be an unpredictable-but good-bet.