- {The Manhattan Love Suicides}
The Manhattan Love Suicides open with their hit, “Keep it Comin’.” A driving, catchy little tune, I’ve been singing it in my head for months now. Apathetic and cool, The Manhattan Love Suicides are a fuzzy coke-addled sonic diesel truck, plowing down a dirty, sexy highway. Lead singer Caroline brings a gentle, sultry disregard and high yet mid-mixed vocals to contrast the static-drenched guitar sizzling powerfully beneath her.
True to form, they gaze at their shoes. This is the third time I’ve seen The Manhattan Love Suicides, and they always enter like they don’t really care, play a short set, and depart. Darren the guitarist strums furiously at his heavily effected guitar. He reminds me what electricity is REALLY for. Bassist Adam and drummer Rachel lock with straightforward rhythms, giving a Misfits-esque 1950s pop form to the mash of feedback, static, fuzz.
The set seems to end before it begins. And off they go, wearing sunglasses into the night.
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- {Peter Bjorn and John}
Am I the only person who thinks it’s funny that their name abbreviates to PBJ? In any case, PBJ play a complex, thoughtful, boring set while we sip tequila, waiting for our Grizzly Bear brothers to emerge from their noisy pit to channel the God and Goddess for our listening pleasure. I really loved that Peter Bjorn and John single, but I feel like they are a bit too gentle (albeit spectacularly talented in the studio) for this crowd. By contrast, I predict that Grizzly Bear will rock the house, in spite of also being a somewhat ambient post-rock group.
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- {Grizzly Bear}
Grizzly Bear takes an inordinately long time to set up — testing mics, sound checking, talking to the sound guy. Eventually, they say, “Ok sorry, I think we’re ready,” and the crowd cheers. “Oh sorry,” they say, “we don’t have a sound crew,” and we all feel a sense of equality which begets a sense of community.
The dense pancake of people into which I’ve squeezed would be a shock to your delicate sensibilities, dear reader! It’s astonishing how many people have crowded stomach to chest to back. All of my friends talked of seeing either this showcase or the Tricky/Devo showcase tonight, so it’s clear that this is one of the hottest shows in Austin tonight. I’m amazed that I got in (with a winning smile and tip for the doorman, but that’s a different story)
And they’re off with four-part harmonizies a blazing! Grizzly Bear is the most amazing "ambient-harmony" group I’ve ever seen. Period. They sing tender, melodic, and powerfully emotive songs of love and hope; battle cries in the war for peace!; soldier ballads in the eternal battle between good and evil — while at least a zillion eager fans crowd into this tiny square to serve as witnesses. The scent, the warmth, the sweaty touch of pure pressing humanity is almost overwhelming, but sometimes the whole amorphous mass begins to bounce with the slow, steady drums, and it all seems very worthwhile.
Noisy, reverberating, ethereal, transcendent, angelic, magical — they bring in the singer from Beach House to sing on “Two Weeks.” She sings on the album version, they tell us. “This is the first time we’ve ever played this live with her.” And we’re moved that they would showcase such a performance just for us.
The drummer is quirky and charmingly weird. He says, “Thank you very much,” with an Elvis-style drawl after one of the songs. It’s a har-har kinda funny, but it reminds me that these are just some playful friends from Brooklyn who really, really like to make beautiful, beautiful harmonies and tones.
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- {Dinosaur Jr. (with original Lou Barlow, J Mascis, Murph lineup)}
And then there’s Dinosaur Jr. J Mascis is almost white-haired now. He looks like the crazy, old, four-eyed witch that I think he’s always wanted to look like. Oh wait, one of his other bands is actually called Witch. Maybe he is a witch!! Aaaaaack!!!
Again, the crowd crowds in like so many curds in a vat of cottage cheese. Someone says, “You’ve never seen these guys live? They fucking KICK ASS!” Another audience member comments on the five Marshall full stacks crowded on stage with them. Lou Barlow says, “This is a song off of our new, old album,” and they’re off to a loud, rockin’, reminiscin’ start.
I’m reminded as they play that Lou Barlow (who plays through a mere two full stacks) strums his bass like a rhythm guitar to J Mascis’ raaaaging lead guitar wizardry. In an awkward moment, Lou Barlow says to the sound guys, “You guys blew up my amp! No one ever blows up my amp!!” And everyone stands around uncomfortably while sound guys flutter and scratch their heads around Lou Barlow’s two enormous full stacks.
More on the amps (they’re just really prominent): J Mascis’ three huge, dented, mix ‘n’ match Marshall full stacks look like they’re come straight from the pawn shop and/or some old rocker’s garage. It’s cool. They’ve got “integrity” written all over them (not literally).
They play “Feel the Pain” and I want to cry. Watching them, I get the feeling that Lou Barlow has always resented J Mascis a little, because he’s so shy, stoned, soft-spoken yet unimaginably talented. Mascis is the quintessential indie musician. His delicate lack of self-confidence is NOT a cutesy little act to mask his demonic ego like it is for so many of these other bands. Remember when feeling unloved and insecure wasn’t an indie rock commodity? Remember when feeling unloved and insecure was just a reality of being weird and playing a less popular style of music? Remember when you played that music anyway because you fucking believed in something larger than yourself? Well, that’s what J. Mascis does, and it’s fucking holy. He is a quiet little saint on a hilltop in a hermitage somewhere. And we are LUCKY to hear him quietly sing his gentle tunes while that army of amps cry his bashful message loud enough for everyone to hear over the din.