Norbert Leo Butz

Girls, Girls, Girls

54 Below, NYC, March 10, 2025

Reviewed by Alix Cohen

In October 2024, I watched Norbert Leo Butz convincingly play the part of a Russian media official under siege in Vladimir. Tonight, he bounded onstage like a man half his age and sang the hell out of rock songs.

“I’m having an issue with women” he remarked immediately, up front and personal. A rambunctious demeanor and casual attire seemed to make him one of “us,” albeit with the kinetic energy of a pinball machine and a wellspring of heady talent.

Butz has three daughters, three sisters, a wife, an ex-wife, mothers-in-law, 17 nieces—in fact, he has immeasurable estrogen in his life. “Even the dog is a woman.” They all kept telling him he didn’t get it. He read us the transcript of a recent distaff dinner exchange worthy of Saturday Night Live.

When a savvy friend suggested the Butz look at archetypes, “common denominators based on preliterate myths,” he researched Greek goddesses and Carl Jung. This show reframed iconic legends in millennial vernacular, each one paired with an unexpected musical number. What may sound academic was, in fact, a mesmerizing tsunami of storytelling and song.

Butz began with soldier/goddess Athena. “Her name is Yoshimi/She’s a black belt in karate/Working for the city/She has to discipline her body” (“Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Part I” by Wayne Coyne, Steven Drozd, Michael Ivins, David Fridmann). Yes, the show was that eclectic. Butz bounced, kicked, jerked up his knee, and practically uprooted the microphone stand while one arm gestured.

Queen Hera, goddess of marriage and family followed. Apparently, temples honoring Hera are older than those honoring Zeus, which indicates the existence of a formerly matriarchal society. “Expecting her husband to be productive, kind and faithful, she instead got a spouse who couldn’t keep his lightning bolt in his pants.” The tale was reflected by “Mrs. Leroy Brown” (Loretta Lynn) about a man who said he wanted babies but instead was a philanderer. It was a hard-charging, rockabilly hoedown. Butz stamped, screamed, growled, went down on his haunches, and leaned out as if ready to launch into flight.

Aphrodite, goddess of love and sex, had a weakness for military men. “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town” (Mel Tillis) contained the fervent plea of a wounded veteran. Performed with a thumbs-in-the-pocket two-step, the song was poignant. There was a tinge of the south in Butz’s enunciation. MD/pianist Michael J. Mortitz, Jr. ably sang back up (on this and several other songs).

“In This Heart” (Sinead O’Connor) signified the wail of Demeter for her daughter Persephone, who at 13 was pulled into the Underworld by Hades. “This is my grief for you/for only the loss of you.” Butz imbued the story with spoken, dramatic heft between wrenching verses. The melody was sweet, but it was torn from the gut. Hermes went down to Hades to negotiate, which resulted in the girl’s return except for four months a year during the winter.

“Tecumseh Valley” (Townes Van Zandt) arrived with Butz’s soulful, acoustic guitar and slow, emphatic drumming by Billy LaGuardia that swelled into a “rage against the dying of the light.” (Dylan Thomas). Jimmy Leahey added his super-resonant guitar. Butz leaned back and scrunched up his eyes. “She must’ve suffered debilitating depression. I’m convinced she drank.”

Exhausted, he took a break from Greek research and turned to Carl Jung’s major archetypes: Maiden, Mother, Crone. “This has always been my favorite Maiden,” introduced “Come On, Eileen” (Kevin Rowland/Jim Paterson/Billy Adams). With one hand on his heart, Butz conduced with the microphone, and his movement seemed electrically puppeted.

This performer is a consummate showman. None of it felt forced. A song took over as he submitted to it. Leahey played haunting electric banjo and acoustic guitarist Khaled Tabbara worked up wind. Out came 54 Below’s mirror ball!

The Jungian archetype of Mother was represented by Patty Griffin’s “Mary.” But was somber and respectful when he sang as if from a pulpit “Oh Mary she walks beside me/She leaves her fingerprints everywhere,” and he ended with the lightest intonation of her name, like a prayer.

Butz stated “One feminist article called the Crone/Sage the lowest cast because characterizing mortality, she terrifies us.” “From Galway to Graceland” (Richard Thompson) described an old Irish woman who walked out on her life and who traveled to Elvis Presley’s home to be with her (deceased) sweetheart. Leahey’s solo guitar was like angels crying.

Butz came to the conclusion that womanhood is not easy. “Wig in a Box” (Stephen Trask), a trailer park blues— “suddenly I’m Miss Beehive 1963”—was delivered with bite, spit, and gumption and segued into a cacophonous manifestation of internal turmoil.

Each of these selections contributed to this skillfully structured and written show. A couple were wielded with a detonated vocal that might have been better tempered, but as a whole, this smart, enthralling piece grabbed and held us from the get-go. “I feel like I’ve always been an ally to women, but I’m still struggling with this very male idea of gender.”

Norbert Leo Butz showed a stylistic range of which one was hardly aware. He could inhabit sorrow from a convincing emotional core, charm with wit, or let loose elemental wildness that felt palpably unconditional. The band was textural, tight, and vigorous, and the arrangements were terrific.