When you're going to see Death Cab for Cutie, it's a fair bet that it's going to be packed, but for smaller bands on the rise, it can be tough to tell. I remember going to a show in the Entry last February that featured Tapes 'n' Tapes and Voxtrot, and it was pretty far from sold out-- I doubt that would happen if the same bill played the Entry now.
Midlake are pretty terrific, and I'd learned by lesson with Grizzly Bear last week, so I got there on the early side-- early enough to post up in front of that box that sits just in front of stage right at the Entry. A place to sit, a place to put my coat, and great access for photos. Bingo. Up first, Elk.
The joint was already fairly jumping, I think in large part thanks to Eric Luoma's new project. Bellwether (Luoma's other band, who are always in a sort of gloaming-esque state of barely existing) have always been one of my favorite local bands, so I was really looking forward to hearing him in a new context. I had been promised a more poptastic sheen by Martin Devaney, but that turned out to be a pretty relative pronouncement. The sound was still signature Luoma, with his beautifully wounded voice the cynosure, as well it should be. Luoma's voice is a truly unique one, the kind of effortlessly mournful croon that's just begging to be harnessed by movie soundtrack producers. Luoma mostly stuck to a 12-string guitar, which gave him some tuning problems, although he also picked up a handsome Gretsch hollowbody for a couple songs.
I'd love to tell you exactly who's in the band, which included a woman on keyboards, the dude who's been playing bass with Bellwether and whom I totally recognize, a drummer and the only guy I really know, Brian O'Neil, on pedal steel, but there's very little info out there on the band right now. Not even a MySpace page, I don't think. The stage was simply jammed with gear, much of which would turn out to belong to Midlake, and Luoma's guitar was in constant danger of smashing O'Neil's knuckles on the steel. Elk turned in a very laidback, casual set of fairly short length, the highlight of which was the second to last tune, a lovelorn ballad of the type that Luoma's just aces at called something like "Somebody Else." There might be another word in the title-- I couldn't quite see the bottom of the setlist from where I sat. I have no idea how seriously Elk is taking their life as a band-- they might start playing lots of shows, or they might end up playing once every six months. I hope it's the former.
A considerable gap followed Elk, during which time St. Vincent dealt with all kinds of technical problems, including getting shocked by the vocal mic, which, let me tell you, is not a walk in the park. I had thought that it was going to be a duo, but it turned out the bespectacled and bedreaded guy setting stuff up onstage was only there to set stuff up on stage. Thus, St. Vincent is just Annie Clark, a young woman from Texas. As you can see, she had a distinctly Jennifer Beals look to her, and sported huge glasses of the type beloved by my mother circa 1985. Yeah, I was pretty much prepared to write her off, as was the crowd, who began to grow antsy as the delay stretched to nearly 45 minutes. It wasn't a promising start, but the instant she started playing, everyone shut up. She began with a strident and aggressive, yet slinky and cabaret-esque murder ballad that you couldn't help paying attention to. The mic you can see to her left in the pic is some kind of super-old microphone that she used to good effect as a scratchy filter that lent her voice a gramaphone quality. There were shades of Jeff Buckley's solo stuff in her performance, her voice and guitar skills showing an equal level of virtuoso talent. The most affecting song was the one she played on the keyboard, which was hidden behind a false front. It was a tender ballad that stretched and meandered, smoldering with sexuality, a quality shared by the acoustic piano version of Sarah McLachlan's "Posession" that comes after the last track on Fumbling Towards Ecstasy. Everything Clark did within the performance was fantastic, and she resoundingly won the crowd back over to her side, but I'd suggest cutting down on all the bells and whistles with the stage set-up, especially as an opener. Less to go wrong.
Midlake made their wway on stage to set-up the gear, and the only clean-shaven one was the roadie. When was the last time you saw that happen? The only photo I'd seen of the band was from a bit of a distance, so I was having a hard time picking out which one was singer Tim Smith, whom I'd interviewed for my article in Pulse. I knew from speaking with him that he wasn't a big fan of touring and the whole scene, so I pegged him as soon as a lanky and, of course, bearded guy with ear buds in got on stage. Don't anybody tell David Stern. Keyboards were moved back into place (lots and lots of keyboards-- beside the dedicated pianist, who also had a synth on top of his keyboard, the bassist, guitarist and Smith all had keyboards they played at various time), mics were adjusted and away we went.
The Trials of Van Occupanther is such a layered and nuanced album that I wondered how they were going to pull it off live, but clearly, that's what all the keyboards were for. Like Grizzly Bear, transplanting the songs into a live setting gave them a toothier quality, but unlike GB, the arrangements were mostly intact. They opened with "We Gathered in Spring," appending an extended intro that slowly gave way to the proper song, and over the course of the set, played nearly every song from Trials, save for "You Never Arrived," and they even played a couple of older songs from their debut album, Bamnan and Silvercork. It's an album with which I'm not familiar, but "Balloon Maker" was great, showcasing the more keyboard-based sound of that record. At least, I've heard it's more keyboard-oriented. I'll have to pick that one up.
The band shifted around the tiny stage nimbly, trading off instruments, including one song where Smith joined the pianist and they both played piano. It's hard to pick one highlight-- one of the best qualities of their album, which was duplicated ably live, is how consistent and of a piece it sounds. I know, I know: It's not a concept album, but it still has the feel of telling different facets of a single story, and the entire set mimicked this consistency. Their single, "Roscoe," was greeted warmly by the crowd, and in the silence that followed, one fan yelled out, "That's the best song ever written!" to which Smith replied, "That'd ridiculous." Calls for "Head Home," a rolling Fleetwood Mac-inspired track, were answered with the information that that would be the last song they'd play before they came out for their awesome encore. They finished as promised before coming backout for a pair of songs, closing with "Branches," which they stretched out just a bit, giving the drummer free rein to indulge in some quietly impressive fills. Despite Smith's obvious leadership, the band really seems like a platoon of likeminded souls bent to a single goal, and their humility, combined with an absolute confidence in their own music, make for a compelling and satisfying concert-going experience.
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