Dr. Dog, Golden Boots, The Lost Revival - The Basement

The original plan Monday night was to check out the Cave Singers and Golden Boots, both slated to open for Dr. Dog at the Basement, then skip the headliner and shoot up north to see San Diego buzz band Crocodiles take the stage at Cafe Bourbon Street. It’s not that I dislike Dr. Dog. In fact, I quite enjoyed the Philadelphia band’s 2008 release, Fate. But I saw them at CD101 Summerfest last year and they didn’t blow me away. Plus, the strength of Crocodiles’ upcoming Fat Possum debut, Summer of Hate, coupled with rumors of stellar SXSW performances, had me jazzed for that show.

But Crocodiles canceled. Then the Cave Singers canceled. And yet, it turned out to be a pretty good night.

I walked into the Basement as a band I assumed to be Golden Boots was playing, but was pleasantly surprised when I saw eight people crammed onto the stage and realized it was the Lost Revival. The local band apparently was asked to fill in for the Cave Singers just a couple of hours earlier. I’d have enjoyed the Lost Revival even if I hadn’t known that the band a.) had to throw everything together in a matter of hours, and b.) played almost all brand-new songs. Singer/songwriter Kevin Collins was just born to be a front man. His throaty singing, interspersed with a strong falsetto, gives the folk-inspired, synth-laced epics a primal texture that’s missing from so many bands that use Americana as their undercarriage. And the man has charisma to spare.

My only complaint with the short set was that the female background singer was consistently flat and too loud, which at times detracted from Collins. But mostly it was good, chaotic fun. It’s encouraging that after the Lost Revival’s strong debut, Homemade Confetti, the new songs are more focused, with even stronger hooks (see “Cotton and Lace” and “Mayqueen”), yet still grand and gutsy. The addition of saxophone was cool, too.

Next up was Dr. Dog labelmates Golden Boots, a band I’m more impressed with on record. The group incorporates southwestern sounds from its hometown of Tuscon, Arizona, but on the recent Winter of Our Discotheque, there’s more experimental, fuzzy psychedelia. At the Basement, the band played the songs pretty straight, with little deconstruction or even slightly fractured pieces. Neither of the two singers drew me in, and having two drummers seemed completely superfluous. I’d still recommend picking up Winter of Our Discotheque, but skip the live experience.

Dr. Dog, on the other hand, was in its element, feeding off the energy of the sold-out crowd. At Summerfest last year, the band seemed a little lost on the huge LC Pavilion stage, but the Basement’s modest digs proved to be more comfy. It was the difference between a sprawling storm system dropping scattered thunderstorms here and there and a funnel cloud concentrating its delivery with consistent ferocity.

(I’ve gotta say again, though, that though the Basement seems like a good venue for bands, it’s a horrible venue for every concertgoer except the 50 to 75 people up front, and a sold-out show only re-emphasized that. There’s a reason stages are usually above the audience, not below. No one should pay for a show and end up having to watch it on a lousy TV behind the bar. So it’s a good thing the band used the venue to its advantage, because there’s virtually no advantage for the fans.)

Dr. Dog has had more time to tour behind the the new material, and it showed. I still enjoy bassist Toby Leaman’s singing best, especially in a live setting. Songs like “The Ark” and “The Beach” are groovin’ head-nodders, due much in part to their bass lines, and Leaman’s sandpaper howling was the fuel for the fire. The band’s other singing/songwriting half, Scott McMicken, was on, too, especially during “The Old Days” and encore closer “Ain’t It Strange.” All the vocal harmonies were dead-on, too.

So despite my disappointment at the evening’s outset, the band reclaimed my affections. Dr. Dog had its day.

(Also at The Other Paper)