Brightest Young Things

all photos: Francis Chung

The bottom-line, up front.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the Dears live. If you haven’t yet, please do, as soon as possible. You don’t know what you’re missing, and my feeble attempt to describe it undoubtedly will fall short.

If you have, but you weren’t there at the Cat on Thursday, May 7, you’ll probably want to know right away, with a minimum of foreplay. The answer is, wow, yes, absolutely, a thousand times, yes. New songs, new members, new dynamics, and wonderfully, soul-enrichingly amazing. Also, at least one of the openers (Great Northern) was awesome. Kick yourself. You missed out.

Ready? Okay, let’s go.

Now that I’ve dispensed with all that, please allow me to describe to you my experience of seeing the Great Northern and the Dears play a show at the Black Cat on a weeknight last week. There were three bands on the bill, and, well, I failed to make it for the first band, Eulogies. Shame on me, and I’m sorry to the band. I heard you were wonderful.

Great Northern

I arrived at the venue on a gorgeous night just in time to see Great Northern take the stage and play their intro – taped – of a gorgeous cello/string line. I was still settling myself at the bar, reporter’s notepad in hand, so I was caught off-guard when they launched into a fantastic, dark and rich guitar track, with strong female lead vocals and a more ethereal male backing vocal, both playing guitar. Right. So far, so good. On the second song, the lead singer’s increasingly-strong voice coalesced with the waves of guitar in an arresting fashion, evoking Red Heaven-era Throwing Muses. I was struck by the similarities, but they clearly diverge – here, this was the second song they played, it’s called “Houses.”

Click it to listen. I think it's the first song, but they should all be labeled.

At this point, I was smiling enormously. The band was just spectacular, and a welcome surprise. Keeping his word (see my interview), Murray Lightburn of the Dears had chosen a band that was kindred in spirit, but quite different in sound. With big tom-drums dominating the percussion, a solid bassline, two guitars and a keyboardist, the dueling vocals had the backing necessary to make some truly memorable sounds. They're from Los Angeles, but I don't hold that against them - any more than I blame Vampire Weekend from being from New York or the superb Love Language for being from North Carolina.

The lead singer used the opportunity of the pause between the second and third songs to admonish the audience to move closer, “we’re all in this together, so you can move up – get close to us! It’s more fun…” The audience, whom were pretty well won over, obliged, and the massive rock-bubble that is the mainstay of so many shows disappeared. She sprinkled the show with some more banter, alerting us that the fifth song was an oldie, asking how we were doing, telling us how much fun she was having, demanding some louder applause from the audience (and getting it, enthusiastically), and finally, quite graciously thanking the Dears for the opportunity to play.

There were a couple highlights, but they didn’t have a setlist to steal. I bought the record, so I’ll try to parse it out later. Still, tambourines, big guitar lines, slow builds, perfect vocals and driving toms made each song wonderful. I particularly remember one where the line, “this is us, coming down, this is it,” made me shake my head in wonder. The final song ended in a full freakdown, with a heroic guitar line by Solon Bixler, an extra drum for the keyboardist and a beautiful, delicate, acoustic ending that had the audience in raptures. And, well, if the night stopped there, I’d’ve been pretty happy.

Enter Murray Lightburn, showman extraordinaire.

Murray Lightburn has been singing for a long time. He knows how to build a moody album; a dramatic-sounding song – how to build a sense of anticipation, and, ultimately, of release. He’s a professional. So, when I was talking to some friends, telling them what they could expect from a live Dears show and enjoining them from leaving, I became conscious of a beautiful song being played over the sound system.

Uh oh.

“Listen, this is them! This is the Dears! I don’t see them playing their instruments, so maybe it’s kind of an intro – isn’t it great? You should stay,” said I, and, right then, a friend punched me in the back and pointed in the center of the crowd. There, stage center, back inside the audience, was a black-leather jacket-clad Murray, waiting for the build up to “Saviour” to reach *that* point and begin to sing. It’s the final track from the new album, Missiles,” and it gave me quite a shock. It’s a direct plea for forgiveness (“You have to forgive me. You just have to forgive me. I'll make it right. I'll make it through. I'll make it right.”) and introduces the devils/demons theme that haunts the album. His willingness to put himself in the center of the crowd, though, is a bold move – away from the band, at our mercy, asking our forgiveness (or the bands’?), as they came on from backstage, in groups of two, to back his vocals with a “whoa,” repeated, before taking their instruments. Whatever the meaning of the opening ritual, Murray is granted forgiveness in the form of tumultuous applause, and mounts the stage.

What an intro.

“Money Babies” is not my favorite song from the new album, but live, it comes across very effectively and dispenses with any doubts I might have harbored about the new band coalescing around what seems a very private album. The collaborative spirit is on display, and the song builds to perfection. We’re in!

I would have thought “Demons” would be a little too intense to come up so early in the set, but Murray started at 9, went up to 10, and, predictably cranks up the wonderment to 11 with the third song. I mentioned his coat before, but it’s worth mentioning that he’s clad in black head-to-toe, down to his socks, and this song matches his “On the Waterfront” sense of menace note-for-note. He’s slightly terrifying as he sings, “I’m not stupid…” and follows with “There Goes My Outfit,” a decent song from the prior album, “Gang of Losers,” segueing directly into the magisterial “You and I Are a Gang of Losers.” Ah, now this is more like it. It’s sad to hear this song from a new band – they really were the most marvelous gang of losers I ever saw – but it’s still a beautiful work by a band in full flower. “You and I, we have the same heart,” is slightly heartbreaking in this context.

And then.

I was not ready for “Lost in the Plot” to come six songs in. I mean, let’s face it, as an encore, this song could reduce the most stoic among us to histrionics. And I’m not the most stoic among us. I’m afraid I was *that* guy, up front, singing my guts out with each, “oh, it’s the SAME OLD PLOT to these things,” and when he sings, “oh, I promise not to cry,” the deep irony comes through because it’s next to impossible not to well up with tears EVERY DAMN TIME. The acoustic outro left me shaken, but we were less than half-way through.

On with the show.

Murray thanked the Black Cat, “thanks to you for being such great hosts on Anarchy Day,” (note: did they move May Day? I missed that!), “and for treating us with such kindness.” He went on longer with an effusive but succinct and modest kindness that seemed shocking and emotional and perfect. It was quite a moment in a night full of extraordinary moments.

Including the next song, “Berlin Heart,” by far my favorite from the new album. They caged and controlled the incredible heart of the song, and when it ends with a, “count down from one hundred to one,” I was tempted to take the advice. “A Disclaimer” was next, with a placid but gorgeous wall-of-noise guitar and keys, the clapping in time and the false ending (which no one fell for) – perfection. Natalia kicked off “Crisis 1 and 2,” before Murray joined her in a lovely duet as they sang, “and I’m dying to know how much you care.” “Dream Job” was next, and I had to repair to the bar to try to put myself back together. Fortunately, Chad America chose that opportunity to attack – and can I mention that he is not only a fabulous bartender, but a wonderful human being as well? – and maroon me in a river of whiskey, which, to be fair, is just about right for the Dears.

“Whites-only Party,” was silly and fun, and then, another of my favorites, “Hate, then Love,” with Murray conducting the audience into a sing-a-long, chanting, “I swear, I swear, I swear to you.” There was a synth-keyboard, like from bad ‘80s videos, sitting on stage. Like a gun introduced in the first act of the play, the final act had started, and on “Meltdown in A Major,” it came out, followed by a more delicate “Lights Out,” which builds to a huge crescendo – a Flash Gordon-esque breakdown, followed by Murray taking control with his electric guitar – and then calm again – but when another of the guitarists picks up a cubist-looking shiny, metal guitar, the whole thing turns prog-y, and I remember that sometimes, the Dears can be just a bit much.

Fortunately, the break here is nice, and we can breathe long enough for someone in the crowd to make a request – somehow, I think Murray’s formidable reputation for control hardly lends itself to requests, but hey, knock yourself out – “Bedtime Story,” they yell, requesting a song from the first album. This elicits a quiet chuckle from Murray, who shoots back, deadpan, “how about ‘Jazz Waltz No. 3 for B-flat’?” – an obscure b-side – out-geeked by the master, himself, and thence into “We Can Have It.”

I could write an essay about this song – the first track off the monumental, “No Cities Left” album, but instead will say that it was perfection, as it has been every time I’ve seen them do it. The decrescendo from the full band playing the song, singing the key line, reduces to just the band repeating the key line, more and more softly, until it’s Murray and Natalia, the lovely couple, singing it alone, “Somewhere someone says they got it all, but that’s not even what we want - not even close. It won’t ever be what we want,” to such devastating effect. It’s harrowingly beautiful and sad and takes me to a dark, if lovely, place as the band leaves the stage.

One encore: an apocalyptic rendition of “22: The Death of All the Romance,” and the guitar freakdown at the end is a cruel but beautiful end to the night. I left, my heart full, ready to empty myself into my sheets and hug my pillow as close as I could. And my description of the night – does it come close? The band already answered: “no, not even close. It won’t ever be what we want.”

Previously in Live DC:

• 2/14: PHOTOS: Art Soiree's Love Masquerade
• 2/14: LiveDC: Sharon Van Etten/ Shearwater @ Black Cat
• 2/14: LiveDC: Die Antwoord @ 930 Club
• 2/13: LiveDC: George Clinton & The Parliament-Funkadelic @ 930 Club
• 2/13: LiveDC: Veronica Falls/ Brilliant Colors @ Black Cat
• 2/13: LIVE DC: Steve Aoki/ Datsik/ Alvin Risk @ Fillmore
• 2/13: LiveDC: The Darkness @ 930 Club
• 2/9: LiveDC: Theophilus London @ 930 Club
• 2/9: Best Weekend Bets
• 2/8: LiveDC: Kathleen Edwards @ 930 Club