all photos: Lexie Moreland
Monday. Post-Sunday karaoke and conga line bliss. Post-epic-weekend shenanigans. Prequel to week long game of avoiding work whilst seeming productive. Definition of buzz kill. Found myself hopping on the Metro at 9:03pm on Monday night, prepared to do my best to keep the weekend spirit alive. Dirty Projectors and No Kids were at the Black Cat, and I’ll be damned if I wasn’t going to enjoy some rock and roll this evening.
I walked into the Cat with a serious mental focus. No alcohol for me, thanks, but yes, I will stand here amongst fellow music lovers and friends, and groove ‘til the cows come home. Or at least until 11:40 when I have to head to the subway to catch the last train headed south.
No Kids’ set perfectly embodied the Monday night mood. The trio, visiting from the rainy, maritime-climate town of Vancouver, BC, seemed to find inspiration in those wet winter days and played songs reminiscent of modest hopes and cool summer breezes. Their patiently evolving synthesizer soliloquies revealed a forced restraint and deliberate focus on subtle build-and-release song craft. Channeling two keyboards, one drum-set, and a sweet windbreaker, these non-children blended the tenderness of indie-pop with the sincerity of what may very well be called blue-eyed neo-soul.
As I fulfilled my own self-prophecy of grooving on some sweet soul music, the Kids’ kicked off a song grounded in an off-kilter Samba-esque rhythm. I, for one, am thoroughly enjoying the recent non-western music rejuvenation in the indie-pop community. Everyone from the Dodos, to the Ruby Suns, to Vampire Weekend seem to revel in flossin’ their cross-genre-cutting skillz and afro-inspired polyrhythmic aptitude. Internet transmission of wide-array of free music anyone? Whatever the impetus, shit is ill.
At this point, the smaller Backstage @ the Black Cat was chillin’ out and maxin’, in full effect. And I mean full! Just standing off to one side of the packed room made me perspire a bit from our collective body heat. Plus I was wearing some flannel type shirt. But even the sound guy was yelling for “one more!” Mild-mannered and bespectacled front-man Nick Krgovich obliged with not one, but three more tunes. Upbeat and danceable, falsetto peaking, the final ballad ended with Nick saying what a “really pleasant time they’ve had,” and I couldn’t think of a more appropriate descriptor.
I think Black Flag’s “Damaged” was the first punk record I bought when I was 16. I feel like this paragraph should contain something insightful and reflective while remaining sufficiently self-aware and, of course, include some sort of glib witticism tying in the album’s relevance and Dave Longstreth’s project of covering its songs. I’m too tired to think of it. But thinking about being a teenager again reminds me of the sweet mohawk I had and the way I would describe the Dirty Projectors back then (and probably now): Rad.
Starting off with drone-like finger picked arpeggios which developed gradually into a fun-filled full band crescendo, the Projectors “Spray-paint the Walls” with considerable gusto and harmonic delight. Comprising of two young ladies with church-choir-like voices (who also play guitar and bass), lead singer and lead guitarist Longstreth, and a drummer with a seriously elevated crash cymbal, the band worked jagged guitar lines, beautiful backing vocals, and Longstreth’s distinctive strumming and crooning into their own sonic interpretations of Black Flag’s classics.
Throughout the set, Longstreth’s seemingly improvised intros reminded me of Captain Beefheart’s deliberate but dissonant explorations of delta-blues guitar rhythms. But with a progressive-punk sensibility. When combined with sparse but potent drum fills and splashes, and the girls’ interwoven harmonies, the songs had an almost gospel-like tinge to them. It was as if they should have been playing at an AA meeting in a Cathedral. Nonetheless they held the Cat’s audience spiritually captive for their hour-plus long set. Following some real barn-burners and foot-stompers, I couldn’t help but jot to myself: “This guy wails!” And he did. And so did my Monday night.
Great shots Lex
April 10, 2008 at 11:23 am