Lonely Jetpacks

As soon as the band started testing their mics and tuning their guitars I began to regret having forgotten my earplugs. “Whoa. That’s loud,” said the person next to me to no one in particular. And when The Lonely Forest started into their set in earnest, I was forced to retreat from my position directly under a bank of speakers to the far reaches of the club to try and find some ear protection. Neumos — thankfully — is happy to oblige anyone who wants to protect their ears from the insane decibel levels being pumped out overhead.

Returning to the floor with my ears plugged, I settled in for the remainder of the Anacortes, Washington band’s set. I’d heard the name Lonely Forest before, most likely thanks to KEXP, but I would have been hard pressed to come up with the name of a song or an album. It turns out that wouldn’t matter, as the band proceeded to play almost an entire set of brand new songs. The capacity crowd was decidedly uninterested as the band got underway, but it didn’t take long before we all came around, attention rapt. Halfway through their second song, “Tunnels” from the band’s forthcoming new album, drummer Braydn Krueger was allowed to perform a minor miracle on his kit. His solo was a beautiful thing. Based on that performance alone I would have called the band’s opening set a rousing success.

With lead singer John Van Deusen’s vocals mixed to a level well above those of the other instruments, I was reminded of a few bands where the vocals play an unusually loud part of the mix. A friend of mine said there was more than a little Death Cab in there, but to me it was more refined than that — a sort of Harvey Danger meets the Dismemberment Plan. While his voice wasn’t as melodic as Sean Nelson’s (nor his prose as unique), it was definitely equal to if not better than Travis Morrison’s (at least during the Plan’s heyday. He’s taken a different vocal path with his solo career). And while the clear-as-day lyrics were a bit clichéd at times, Lonely Forest is young enough that with time I’m confident they’ll come around to deeper, more original lyrical fare. As the middle act for this leg of the tour, they set the bar quite high for the headliner. I’m confident they have a long and fruitful career ahead of them.

After months upon months of touring around the globe, Adam Thompson of We Were Promised Jetpacks is a man of very few words. It’s not often you see a band headline their own sold-out tour less than six months after their stateside debut as opener for an established act. But here they were, four men from Glasgow, a bit mystified at their own success. “All of you guys are here, and we’re just a little band from Scotland — we’re not quite sure how this has happened.” Considering the band’s set was less than an hour long, I was thankful he didn’t say much more than that.

It took the band a couple songs to get warmed up. Starting off with the extreme build-up of “Keeping Warm,” it appeared as if they were just going through the motions. You can’t blame them for looking and playing with limited exuberance, given their never-ending tour schedule and the high level of energy that each of their anthemic songs demands, but I had come to see the band I saw open the show in October, damn it. A song and a half into their set, and it was quickly turning out to be more like a handful of overworked, exhausted young men.

Thankfully, after the crowd’s massive cheer following their biggest hit, “Quiet Little Voices,” the band visibly loosened up and settled in to perform most of the remaining songs from their amazing debut, These Four Walls, along with a couple songs from their newly-released tour EP, The Last Place You’ll Look.

The highlights of the show were the couple of songs that got the crowd really worked up. So much so that the floor started bouncing, similar to something I’ve only experienced at the Crystal Ballroom in Portland. “It’s Thunder and It’s Lightning” and “Short Bursts” both forced the crowd into this fever pitch, bringing along that unsettling feeling that the floor is going to give out because everyone is rising and falling in unison to the thump of the bass drum and the drone of the guitars.

But we survived, and the band finished up their short set, opting to stay on stage for their final song rather than pretending to have a “final” song and then come back for an encore. I’m a big proponent of this move — the Long Winters used to do it, too. It’s probably a gimmick for those bands with fewer playable songs than are necessary to carry a full headlining set. Why bother stretching it out when you know your fans can name exactly which song you’ll come out and play next because they’ve heard all your other songs already?

I’m dying to hear more from We Were Promised Jetpacks. Their debut and the follow-up EP just aren’t enough. I’m a bit concerned that they can’t carry this momentum forward into new territory. I really, really, hope they prove me wrong.

(Originally posted at Click & Dagger.)

Falling in love with The Rural Alberta Advantage

I wish I had had the Vera Project when I was in high school, growing up in Oklahoma. I surely would have developed good musical taste and consequently used it to my advantage to rise above the “perfectly average” persona I had diligently built for myself. Actually, it probably wouldn’t have done any good. I just wasn’t ready to form my own opinions about anything back then. And now — well, just go ahead and try to shut me up.

What a great thing kids in Seattle have. Too bad only a handful of them even know about it. The Vera is a safe haven, where mom and dad can drop you off without fear of you damaging anything but your hearing. And you get to see some great touring acts play in a venue that doesn’t cordon you off in a corner (or keep you out completely). So cool.

And so, during the opening bands, this is where I found myself: distinctly “that guy,” the one I used to see at shows and say to myself, “who’s dad is that?”; in a venue where clearly the only people older than me are indeed somebody’s dad (or even granddad), enjoying their son’s band; standing in a large group of kids who are literally less than half my age; thoroughly enjoying the opening bands I’d never heard before; generally having a blast.

Eastern Washington’s Yarnowl got things started off in the right direction, with a set of original music that hinted at a love of the headliner, as well as other similar acts like Page France and Noah and the Whale.

Blunt Mechanic were the middle act, and while they are clearly influenced by a lot of Northwest indie rockers, the band is doing a good job of creating a space all their own. Led by Ben Barnett, the Music Director of the Paul Green School of Rock, and mastermind behind the now defunct Kind of Like Spitting, Blunt Mechanic has a lot going for it but also has a lot to prove. This was their first show together, and while it was a little rough around the edges, they really did rise to the occasion. The highlight of their set was when a student of Barnett’s named Dylan, clearly still in or just out of high school, came on stage to play rhythm guitar and keys. He looked like a natural, flicking the long, scraggly hair out of his eyes while playing like a seasoned pro.

As Blunt Mechanic and the gaggle of younger kids filed out of the space at the end of their set, the Vera started to fill up with the usual Seattle show crowd, and I started to feel a lot less “old.” I did have tinges of oldness, though, when noting things to myself like: they don’t serve alcohol here, and this crowd is more mellow and jovial than a crowd that had been drinking since dinner time would be. This is a good thing. (OLD!) This space isn’t packed with people, and I have room to stand and watch without being bothered by anyone. (OLD!) The headlining act is going on stage at 10:40pm — on a Saturday night — and I’ll be home by midnight. (OLD!) But all those thoughts melted away when the Rural Alberta Advantage came on stage.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this compelled to shout from the heavens “YOU MUST HEAR THIS BAND!” Noting near the beginning of the set that this was their final show of the year (nigh, decade) and they were going to be off for 3 weeks, Nils Edelmann, the lead singer, guitarist, and seemingly all-around nice guy, declared that he was going to go all out at this show. His singing style has got to be hard on his vocal chords, and after playing 100 shows this year he felt he was sounding a little hoarse (but I can’t say I heard it myself). But “all out” is exactly where he took the band, pushing his voice to the limit at more than one point during the hour-long set, evoking emotional highs similar to that of Neutral Milk Hotel’s Jeff Mangum.

Playing all but one song from their debut, Hometowns, a handful of new songs and a cover (of the theme song from the 70s/80s Canadian TV show “The Littlest Hobo”), it’s difficult for me to pick one highlight from the show. A pleasant surprise throughout was the insanely extreme drumming. It was truly one of the most inspired, original and exciting drumming performances I’ve ever witnessed. Seriously. Benjamin Weikel from Helio Sequence, John Stanier from Helmet and Battles, and now Paul Banwatt from the Rural Alberta Advantage. You’ve got to see it to believe it — listening to Hometowns, you get a small sense of it on “Don’t Haunt This Place,” but what I didn’t catch until seeing the live show is that that same intelligent, fast-paced drumming is prevalent across the entire album. Pay attention to the drums the next time you listen to the album all the way through (you can hear the album in its entirety on this CBC Radio site).

Not to be overlooked, Amy Cole, the band’s xylophone, tambourine, maracas, keyboards and percussion expert, created beautiful harmonies to match Edelmann’s strained leads, and played fantastic beats to complement what Banwatt was doing on the drumkit. She rounded out the melodies with her myriad of talents, filling in with keyboards what was originally recorded as a cello in the studio. If I had to pick a single, solitary disappointment, it would be that there was no cellist touring with the band. The strings on the album are well-placed and surprising, and would be a welcome addition to the live performance.

After playing their full set and coming back on stage to finish with one new song and two favorites, the band did something surprisingly fresh. As they were finishing their “final song,” Hometown’s “The Dethbridge in Lethbridge,” the band picked up their instruments and walked off the front of the stage and into the center of the audience. They announced that they had one more song, and it’s a special treat for them that they try to perform from time to time. They decided to share the song with us because we’d “been so attentive and into the music” — to which someone shouted “Because this place doesn’t serve alcohol!” And indeed, they weren’t able to play this song the night before in Portland because the audience was so rowdy. So they performed their “goodnight song,” completely unmiked and in the round in the middle of the venue floor. It was the perfectly intimate end to a perfect set. It made the small audience at the Vera feel special.

Doing their part to ensure the “all Canadians are really nice people” stereotype, the band came out into the lobby after completing their set to talk with the fans, shake hands and accept the gratitude heaped upon them. And I was right there with everyone else, saying “nice set!” and “great show!” like a dumbfounded idiot. But I didn’t care. The band had taken me to a place I’d forgotten existed. And now I find myself counting the days until their next visit so I can get back there again.

(Confidential to the band: please come back to Seattle after your date in Vancouver in February 2010!)

(Originally posted at Click & Dagger.)