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)

The Walkmen - The Basement, 9-15

The Walkmen have always fascinated me. Yeah, I like their music, but it’s more that I’m inordinately drawn to a voice that just doesn’t match its supplier, and Hamilton Leithauser fits that bill.

I mean, just look at that name. Doesn’t it sound like a signature of sweater-clad privilege? Usually, Leithauser’s appearance furthers the case: nicely coifed blond hair, bright blue eyes and clean, nice-fitting clothes. On Monday night at the Basement he even made a black leather jacket look upper-crust preppy instead of bad-boy, sort of like Ralph Macchio’s nemesis in The Karate Kid.

For all I know, Leithauser was wasted Monday night, but he sure looked stone-cold sober and serious, which made the wild, drunken squall that emerged all the more shocking, even when you know what’s coming. Wrenching those notes out looked and sounded like a painful exercise, as if Leithauser were giving birth to the songs sans epidural, lobster-faced and sweating.

That voice is the defining characteristic of the Walkmen, and it was front and center at this show, as it is on the Walkmen’s recent album, You & Me. The band opened the show with that album’s “New Country,” a great song with only vocals and echoey guitar. Even when the other instruments kicked in for the rest of the night, it was a no-frills setup. There’s no wall of sound here, just each instrument playing its role in the whole while also remaining distinguishable. (Credit that to the sound guy, too.)

The band played a lot of new stuff, which was fine by me. “Canadian Girl” had a nice, very un-Canadian island vibe, and the horns on the ballad “Red Moon” were an essential, forlorn counterpoint to the keys and guitar; I never thought of the Walkmen evoking Calexico, but they did on that tune.

Some of the slower numbers began to drag a bit as the night went on, but the inclusion of “The Rat” gave the crowd a new burst of energy with its post-punk beat and insistent guitars propelling Leithauser’s scratchy howl. The song was also a reminder that the Walkmen can explore all sorts of styles, from post-punk to lazy island songs, yet still sound unmistakably like the Walkmen. Credit Leithauser again.

The band wasn’t consistently engaging all night, but I blame the venue more than the band. The Walkmen’s popularity, combined with music fans itching to get out of dark, electricity-deficient houses and apartments, made for a packed house, and that sucks at the Basement.

I remember that the first few times I went to at the Basement, I thought it was a great venue. Then I went to concerts that were better-attended, and the Basement’s absurdly awful sight lines obscured everything. Support joists obstruct views for all but about 50 people. And watching the band on the TV screens behind the bar is just a continual reminder of what you’re missing just a few yards away. This venue needs an extensive renovation to make big shows worth the price of admission for more than the people up front.

I don’t think I’d buy an album from Monday night’s opener, Golem, but the band sure was entertaining to watch (which I actually could, since there weren’t as many people there yet). The Brooklyn group played klezmer, a type of music that’s often played at Jewish weddings and other occasions where dancing is involved.

The musicians were all immensely talented—brass, violin, drums, upright bass and accordion—and the songs were all in Yiddish, but the band often provided quick summaries. Even without the synopses, it was quite apparent what was going on, especially when Aaron Diskin took lead vocals. The mustachioed Diskin, decked out in a ruffled pink shirt, acted out the emotions in caricature form, theatrically gesturing, laughing and crying when the song called for it.

Though not quite as gypsy or punk as Eugene Hutz’s merry band, fans of Gogol Bordello should take note. As should anyone looking for some good bar mitzvah music.

Ra Ra Riot - The Basement, 9/9

I figured I’d enjoy the Ra Ra Riot show at the Basement Tuesday night just fine. I thought I’d walk away from the show thinking the band’s polite pop songs would result in a pleasant enough experience, but nothing to exclaim about.

Instead, I was completely surprised by Ra Ra Riot’s terrific live show. The Syracuse six-piece transformed the Basement’s stage into a living, breathing organism. All of the band’s inexorable energy existed only to serve the songs, and it created a collective charisma that was impossible to look away from.

Part of that magnetic force was due to cellist Alexandra Lawn and violinist Rebecca Zeller, neither of whom ever felt superfluous. Aurally, their gorgeous chamber contributions were not merely flourishes but essential components of nearly every song. Visually, the women anchored each side of the stage, their fluid movements an organic product of the music.

There’s some obvious overlap with Vampire Weekend on Ra Ra Riot’s debut, The Rhumb Line, which came out last month. (The two bands are apparently chummy, too.) Singer Wes Miles even sounds strikingly like VW’s Ezra Koenig at times, especially on “St. Peter’s Day Festival.” But Ra Ra Riot has far surpassed its preppy friends when it comes to a live performance.

Miles proved his smooth tenor wasn’t doctored up in the studio, either. It’s a little more yelpy live, but that didn’t hurt things. I would have liked to hear some of Lawn’s vocal contributions, too, but unfortunately her mic was virtually inaudible the entire night.

It was a well-attended show, especially for a Tuesday night, and the crowd responded especially well to “Ghost Under Rocks,” which Miles said was “the first single.” It was a good tune, but the “single” designation could have gone to any number of the band’s songs. The post-punk drumbeats, Sting-ish bass lines and tastefully sparse guitar ensured each song’s groove was a foot-tapper. The volume and intensity of the drums also gave the live songs more urgency than their album counterparts.

“Oh La,” “Too Too Too Fast” and “Can You Tell” were particularly compelling, as was “Dying Is Fine,” though that one has also felt haunting ever since the band’s original drummer and co-founder, John Ryan Pike, went missing after a party in Rhode Island last summer and was later found dead. The song’s lyrics are mostly taken from the e.e. cummings poem of the same name: “Death, oh baby/You know that dying is fine, but maybe/I wouldn’t like death if death were good.”

Ironically, the most cathartic song of the bunch was one the band didn’t write. The Kate Bush cover “Suspended in Gaffa” got a wonderful string treatment on the chorus, while cymbal crashes punctuated the purging. The song revealed the rare balance that Ra Ra Riot has managed to strike: The band is sincere without being haughty, emotional without being gushy and dramatic without being theatrical.

mp3: Ra Ra Riot - Suspended in Gaffa

(also at The Other Paper)