The Antlers - Cafe Bourbon St., 3-26

Depending on their subject matter, concept albums have the potential to alienate listeners. Even the term “concept album” sounds a bit pretentious. But the truly great ones transcend story-line, using the thematic material to communicate ideas, questions, truths, emotions--or all of the above--common to the human experience. In other words, you don’t need to be a deaf, dumb and blind pinball champion to appreciate the Who’s Tommy.

The Antlers’ new album, Hospice, uses a fractured relationship between a hospice worker and a young, terminally ill girl (Sylvia) to muse about mortality and all its repercussions--loss, loneliness, anger, empathy, guilt and the like. Singer/songwriter Peter Silberman, whose lyrical and compositional maturity belie his age (23), switches vantage points throughout the album, allowing glimpses into each character’s inner workings.

Complicating matters--in a good way, it turns out--is the patient’s condition. She apparently has cancer, but it’s her mental illness and the resulting nightmares and visions that make the relationship so antagonistic and heartbreaking. In the liner notes, Silberman explains (in character of the hospice worker, it seems) that “something makes her sting, and something makes her want to kill. It made her crawl under that house, and stick her head under the stove.”

The Antlers punctuate the interactions with huge swells of sound that wouldn’t be out of place on a Sigur Ros record, and subdued sections anchored by a gingerly tapped piano or lightly strummed acoustic guitar along with shimmery, atmospheric synth textures (see “Kettering”). It’s in those quiet portions that Silberman employs his greatest attribute--a beautiful, alabaster falsetto that’s more hushed than Jeff Buckley but less wispy than Antony and the Johnsons.

Ah yes, but this is supposed to be a live review, right? The Antlers did, in fact, play Cafe Bourbon Street last Thursday as a three-piece, though few were there to see it. (Our Cat Philip, however, did not open the show, to my disappointment. Bourbon Street’s website is notoriously inaccurate. Get on the ball, Bobo!) The mostly empty bar lent the show a vibe that was more flat than intimate, and the band hasn’t completely figured out how to replicate Hospice live yet. The climaxes were even more powerful when heard at arm’s length, but the subtleties weren’t quite as subtle. And I missed the acoustic.

The hardest thing, Silberman sings on “Wake,” is “letting people in.” He wisely jumped that hurdle with the Antlers, beginning Hospice as a solo project and gradually adding contributions from others until the Antlers became a real band, not just a nom de plume. It’s a potent combination on record, but the band needs some more road-testing to match that chemistry onstage.

Still, despite those shortcomings and an incredibly short set, I’m glad I ventured out. I particularly enjoyed “Shiva,” as well as the sheer epic-ness of “Atrophy,” with its desperate coda: “Someone, oh anyone, tell me how to stop this. She’s screaming, expiring, and I’m her only witness.” Haunting, but really pretty.

So yes, the Antlers are worth seeing live, but more importantly, go pick up or download Hospice. And when you do, listen from beginning to end. It’s a concept album that demands and rewards your attention.

Photos from the show
mp3: The Antlers - Two
mp3: The Antlers - Bear
The Antlers WOXY Session

Times New Viking, Psychedelic Horseshit - Cafe Bourbon St., 3-22-08

Recently I was listening to Psychedelic Horseshit through headphones, and halfway through the song there was no sound coming through the right earbud. Normally, this would cause me to check my headphone connection to see if the jack had become partially unplugged. But I didn’t. I just assumed it was purposeful, and I didn’t realize it was a faulty connection until the next song started.

The fact that I didn’t check is telling. Horseshit’s sound is messiness to the max, the exact opposite of a headphone album. On the band’s Siltbreeze full-length, Magic Flowers Droned, and on Columbus Discount Records seven-inch Who Let the Dogs Out, it’s as if every instrument, including singer Matt Whitehurst’s voice, was dragged across sandpaper before being recorded in low fidelity. Every song is scratched and scraped, a jumbled muddle of fuzzy guitars, synth organ and brittle drums.

At Cafe Bourbon St. on Saturday night, it was the same story. But what makes the band compelling, along with headliners and fellow shitgazers Times New Viking, is that cloaked underneath that scarred exterior and disaffected aesthetic are pop tunes.

One of the best examples is Horseshit’s “Bad Vibrations,” a song the Bourbon St. crowd chanted along to as Whitehurst spewed the refrain with a snarl: “I’m picking up bad vibrations everywhere that I go. I’m picking up bad vibrations from everyone that I know.” It’s a purposeful reference to the Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations,” a clever way of revealing the band’s intentions for taking simple pop songs and deconstructing them almost to the point of obliteration, but still leaving that scrap of a hook that you may just barely decipher once, but with a little patience and willingness to damage your eardrums, will begin to reveal itself more and more.

A fair amount of the band’s short set felt improvised, as bassist and kindred spirit Kevin DeBroux--also the sole static member of Pink Reason--followed Whitehurst’s lead and occasionally banged some notes on a Korg that teetered on top of a stack of milk crates. Drummer Rich Johnston held the beat (usually) on a stripped-down kit that featured a cardboard box with a cinder block inside instead of a bass drum, as is his custom. Not surprisingly, it was barely audible. Johnston also stuck a mic inside a saxophone at the end of the set and squealed for a bit too long.

Times New Viking is like Psychedelic Horseshit’s older brother, a band in the same fuzzy vein, but with more of a pop sensibility and a record on super-indie label Matador. The show was a sort of homecoming for TNV, playing its home-base venue after weeks on the road. The place was full for Horseshit, but it was absolutely packed to bursting capacity for Times New Viking. The entire front section of the bar turned into a giant mosh pit that had frightened girlfriends retreating back to the safe zone.

“We are not Vampire Weekend,” drummer/singer Adam Elliott announced as the band took the stage, just in case there was any confusion with the other blogosphere buzz band. TNV sounded at home at Cafe Bobo, keeping its set loose and its chemistry tight while favoring mostly older songs, including one the band hadn’t played since 2005. I’ve come to love Rip It Off, so I was a bit disappointed with the lack of newer material, but the fervor of the band’s performance mostly made up for it. On vocals and keys, Beth Murphy looked and sounded entirely more comfortable than she did at the recent Wexner Center show. The trio are bonified Columbus rock stars, and it showed.

There’s a reason some people prefer the term “shit-pop” over “shitgaze” when describing Times New Viking’s sound. “Devo and Wine,” “Teenage Lust!” and “DROP-OUT” were perfect examples of crowd sing-alongs that easily get lodged in your head for days.

Yuppies from Omaha screamed with an intensity I haven’t seen in a while, but it wasn’t contagious. The trio mostly took turns screaming, and I’m pretty sure the guitarist’s voice hadn’t changed yet, so these guys will have plenty of time to refine their sound. There’s plenty of potential and passion there, but I’d like to see them develop some tunes that are a bit less predictable.

I never caught the name of the second band on the bill, but it didn’t matter because it sounded like a high school band playing Against Me covers. Openers RTFO Bandwagon were obviously unrehearsed, with at least two false starts, an inordinately out-of-tune guitar and Horseshit’s borrowed drummer, who seemed perpetually lost. But despite all that, the band was the most impressive of the openers, playing jittery, catchy tunes with playful yet earnest vocals. With some more practice, this band’s art pop could take off. The sheepish-looking tambourine player probably isn’t needed, though.

More photos here.

mp3: Psychedelic Horseshit - New Wave Hippies