100 Shows of 2010 - #97: S. Carey/White Hinterland @ Rock'n'Roll Hotel, 12/14/10

We've all got countless choices to make, each and every day. Some are pretty dang hard, while others are no-brainers. I made one of the latter decisions not long ago, when faced with the terribly sad news of the postponement of the Steve Mason show. I had two options: stay home and mope, or go out into the Baltic chill and see some pretty daggum good live music. Fear not, friends, common sense prevailed, and I was soon out and about enjoying an evening filled with good tunes by S. Carey and White Hinterland. Sometimes those changes of plan turn out to be a little bit of alright.

MINI RECAP: White Hinterland = Winsomely Haunting! S. Carey = Somberly Cuddly! Overall Score: B

Despite the slap-in-the-face cold of the evening, all was warm and cozy at the Rock'n'Roll Hotel when I arrived. I'd like to think White Hinterland had something to do with this. I must confess, when I first walked in I had to sort of test myself as to what year it was, because coming from the stage seemed to be a nouveau trip-hop sound (a trend repeated in several songs during the set). The beats were slow and hypnotic, trancelike and sultry and a perfect backdrop for the majorly haunting voice of Casey Dienel. Dienel's voice proved breathy, playful, come-hither, and forlorn all at once, sometimes even during the course of one song. An unexpected and awesome cover of Monica's "Don't Take It Personal" was given a smooth, silky treatment, and made for a great choice for the set. The music of White Hinterland is rather atmospheric, perfect for trying to warm up on such a bloody cold December evening.

Given the Bon Iver association, you'd expect Sean Carey (AKA S. Carey) and his band of friends to have a little bit of a rustic, woodsy sadness to them. Well, they definitely did. There was more to the band than that, though, which surprised and cheered me. Full of pretty gentleness, S. Carey could just as quickly build hulking, noisy crescendos with more than a little aggression. For his part, Carey's voice is nothing short of lovely, honey-thick and very magnetic. After a couple songs I felt much better about not seeing Steve Mason, and really began to enjoy their set. "Mothers" showed off the pervasive sweetness in the songs, as well as some glorious harmonizing. Their pitch, my friends, is pretty much perfect. And the sudden rocking out at the end of the song was quite a pleasant surprise. Sentimentality coursed through their songs, with no short supply of nostalgia and wistfulness. Forays into random instrumental meanderings were much appreciated. There was something rather charming about them, very honest.

Though I was (and still am) bummed not to see Mr. Mason, these two bands definitely helped ease the pain. From the almost stark beauty of White Hinterland to the lushness of S. Carey, it was a night well spent.

mp3: In The Dirt (S. Carey from All We Grow)

mp3: In The Stream (S. Carey from All We Grow)

100 Shows of 2010 - #69: Field Music @ Rock'n'Roll Hotel, 9/25/10

I'm sure y'all will know exactly what I'm talking about when I say this, but I have this group of bands that I just for one reason or another have cruelly, and rather unjustly, not given enough due diligence to. I've talked about it before, I'm sure. The bands that, sure, you've heard of, maybe heard a song or two and pretty much thought it was rather good, but just haven't quite managed to make a staple in your listening rota. Well, add Field Music to this list. My lack of anything other than complete and total adoration for them has been, truly, remiss, especially when you consider that a) they're English, and b) know how to grow some mighty fine mustaches. So when my friend Carolyn offered up her extra ticket to this show, I thought it best, prudent, even, to take her up on her kind offer and venture out for what ended up being one surprisingly excellent show.

MINI RECAP: Field Music = Fucking Magic! Overall Score: A

The band, resplendently-mustached (well, half of them), threw out a set of incredibly well-crafted, interesting songs. Dynamic and angular, yet with a certain hint of pastoral sensibilities. In my notes I equate them to a much less cynical and abrasive Young Knives (who, if you're not familiar with, amend that immediately). There was keyboard goodness! There was jauntiness for days! There were even hints of some golden, funky 70s rock that crept in every now and again, adding even more to a sound that already offered so very much to love.

It didn't take me long to realize that I had been oh so shamefully negligent when it comes to Field Music. Not only was their music astounding, but they won serious points with their banter. They went on about Sunderland being near Washington's ancestral home, and having never played a Washington, be it city or state or ancestral home. It became a recurring joke betwixt songs, and caused many a chuckle from the crowd. They're punchy, those Field Music lads. They'll sing you a song in a cheerfully droll tone, with the accompanying guitar riffs so angular and lean they cut right through you. It was like watching a finely-tuned musical machine, so on-point was this band. And think of it like this: Spiky guitars, a kicky little drum beat, and the occasional falsetto. What's not to love??? Not a damn thing, that's the correct answer.

This is a sophisticated band, with quite a lot of texture to their songs. But when you get right down to it, friends, Field Music fucking rocks. Simple as. Go see them!

mp3: Measure (Field Music from Field Music (Measure) )

100 Shows of 2010 - #63: Best Coast/Cults @ Rock'n'Roll Hotel, 9/8/10

In which your two favorite Terribles set out once more on a playdate, and end up witnessing an abundance of the following: LOTS of hair, lots of rock, and lots of sweltering heat. Undoubtedly, Cults and Best Coast brought most of the first two, and while they definitely brought a whole lotta hotness, I think the cramped quarters can be blamed on the latter. To quote my beloved partner, by the time the show was over, things were smelling a "little ripe" up in the Hotel. Chris has brought up the issues with this particular show already (bad lighting, bad smells, bad sound), so I'll nod in agreement and skip on over to the gushing. And...go!

MINI RECAP: Cults = Cultishly Captivating! Best Coast = Bestest Coastest! Overall Score: B+

I've decided that Cults, awesome band #1 of the evening, has more hair on their collective head than any band I've ever seen, outside of the Richmond metal scene, that is. I dug them lots and lots, finding their boy-girl vocals delightful, with the grounded boy balancing the spritely, somewhat ethereal lady. Very jaunty, very shimmering, with a hearty dose of lollipops and candy drops. Yes, I said it. "The Curse" was a favorite of mine, a spooky little song sung by a spooky little girl. 'Twas very nice indeed, as was their entire set. I found their sound to be very appealing, and when I heard a xylophone, well, be it programmed into the keys or no, it earned my eternal love and devotion for Cults. In the end, they left me wanting more, and I guess that's precisely what you're supposed to do, eh? Leave us starry-eyed and clamoring for more?

So then, after some pungent downtime, it was Best Coast's time to shine. Which I'm sure they did, we just couldn't see it thanks to the pretty bad lighting going on at the Hotel. But thankfully, Best Coast could be heard. And that was very, very good because I loved them. Loved, loved, loved. Basically, I'm already predisposed to like bands that do some serious California dreaming, and if you throw in that retro surf thing I'm yours for life. Bethany and Bobb totally rocked my world, with their combustion of lo-fi fuzziness swapping spit with upbeat jauntitude. Those are definitely some great tastes that taste great together! Bethany has quite a strong, sassy voice on her, though she keeps it sweet and girlie, too. The venue's sonic shortcomings somehow worked for the band, in my opinion, adding to their fuzztastic noisiness. Kinda like, at times, throwing girl group songs into a blender with My Bloody Valentine and a Beach Boy or two. Which, as I'm sure you'll agree, sounds pretty darned fantastic. I like to think of bands like Best Coast (and Cults) as a sort of popgaze, where you can close your eyes and see home movies of summertime picnics and afternoons in aging houses, soundtracked by this most splendid post-shoegaze poptasticness. Well, I thought it was poppy. My partner might disagree, but maybe he just couldn't hear it (wink wink nudge nudge).

In short, venue issues aside, this was another one of those well-planned bills. Cults and Best Coast were purrfect together. It was all sorts of ramalamadingdong, y'all. I look forward to seeing both of these bands again soon. Just perhaps not in summertime.

mp3: Boyfriend (Best Coast from Crazy For You)

100 Shows of 2010 - #61: Hot Hot Heat/22-20s @ Rock'n'Roll Hotel, 9/3/10

Nothing says Friday night quite like a good rock and roll show. Well, unless perhaps you live in the state of Texas and are obsessed with high school football, that is. For the rest of us, there's good old fashioned rock. And that's exactly what I got when I witnessed the combined forces of the 22-20s and Hot Hot Heat. And while history will remember that we Yanks invented rock and roll, those Brits and Canadians can still give us quite a run for the ole money. Thanks to two seriously swaggering, thoroughly raging sets, this was one heck of a way to start off a long holiday weekend.

MINI RECAP: Hot Hot Heat = Hotly Hot! 22-20s = Humidly Hot! Overall Score: B+

The absolutely adorable 22-20s were up first. Cute as can be and accented to boot (yes, yes, my Anglophilia is a well-established point), I immediately loved the band. They got me so very excited within a minute of their first song that I went and dropped my pen. A little old school in their sound, the 22-20s layed it on thick with the rough, filthy riffs and the blues overtones. I dug virtually everything about them, from their smoky, backroom vocals to the come-home-with-me slyness in the guitar. There was definite naughtiness in that scuzzy noise they were making. While not quite as blatant as the "Spit or Swallow" tee I caught a glimpse of in the crowd, the 22-20s are nearly as obviously rock. The band is currently promoting new record shake/shiver/moan, which I suspect I will soon get my hands on, and which perhaps might elicit all three of those titular sensations. Thumbs up for damn sure.

After a brief intermission, it was time for some Hot Hot Heat. It's been quite a few years since I last saw these neighbors from the north on a stage, and I was oh so happy to see them once again. "Hello, we are Hot Hot Heat," they began, before immediately launching into a set full of awesomeness. There are few bands I've seen with the energy level of HHH. Steve Bays, with that wonderfully big hair and his equally big, slightly nasal voice, proves quite the pied piper given an audience. I was pretty pleased with Hot Hot Heat's set, the newer stuff sounded just as vibrant and alive as did older material, just perhaps a bit more grown up. And it was one heck of a treat to hear "No, Not Now" live again, that's for sure. "I can already tell," Bays cooed, "this is a good fucking crowd!", a sentiment that caused a minor eruption amongst the happy persons down the front. The kids were going nuts for Hot Hot Heat and their feisty, kicky songs, and I have to say that I was, too. "Get In or Get Out" was another treat, reminding me of just how much I used to listen to the excellent record Make Up The Breakdown. When it comes to Hot Hot Heat, I'll quote those excellent Animals, and say that the boys can't help it, they were born to please.

What a night, what a night. Friends, make sure to add these two bands to your list of must-see bands. They took a regular ole Friday night and went and rock and rolled all over it. Hallelujah.

mp3: Bandages (Hot Hot Heat from Make Up The Breakdown)

100 Shows of 2010 - #53: The Deadmen @ Rock’n’Roll Hotel, 8/14/10

There are times, though relatively few and far between, when I see a show that makes me really, really glad to be alive and present in that particular time and place. Oh sure, I’m a pretty lucky gal and I go to a bunch of good shows, heck a lot of them probably even qualify as great, but the ones that really, really stand out don’t come along too often. I’m talking about those shows that you feel from your head to your toes, from your head to your heart, and of course, in your soul. The special shows. I had the privilege of one such show, ringing in the fourth birthday of the Rock’n’Roll Hotel to the beautiful, beautiful sounds of DC’s latest band to make me swoon, otherwise known as The Deadmen.

MINI RECAP: The Deadmen = Tremendous Troubadours! Overall score: A.

Going into the show, I was already a big fan of the singing and the songwriting done by Justin Jones. I have often opined that Jones possesses one of the purest, soul-heavy voices I’ve ever heard, and so was fairly confident that anything he had a hand in would be good as gold. As often happens, I was right. As all and sundry swilled cheap PBR tallboys (making me almost miss Richmond) and munched birthday cupcakes, the foursome took control of the stage, leaving their hearts and souls and sweat in an all-out blitz of beauty.

Their sound was lush, at times throwing off hints of The Band (well-constructed, intensely layered songs – just don’t ask me which one gets to be Robbie Robertson), Bruce Springsteen (down home, homespun, Americana drenched songs with bite), The Byrds (dashes of sunshine with elaborate licks), and just about any country slash blues slash folk great you can think of. There was an impressive polish to their performance, though they managed to lock in the appealing grit that one might expect from a band from around these parts. The shared vocals of Jones with Josh Read of Revival proved a great pairing, each one bringing a particular fire to his respective songs.

They were nearly done with first song “Sons and Dogs” when I wrote in my notes that “I think I just found me another favorite DC band.” The wallop of guitars and shades of bluesy folk were like a flame to me, and I felt rooted to the spot as the boys played on. I found “Angels” particularly noteworthy, with the harmonica and Justin’s heart-wrenching, force of nature voice, it was hard to resist. “This freedom don’t satisfy me,” Jones sang wryly in the excellent “Money”, a feisty little song that further exhibited just how special this band can be. Their sound, especially given the short time they’ve been together, was at times majestic. “Old Stone Bridge”, for instance, was undeniable, ever so lively and catchy as all get out. They didn’t let up once (well, ok, so the singing of “Happy Birthday” to the club and to Justin was a little sub-par, but that’s the worst I can say about the whole night). And covering “Casey Jones” was a stroke of genius, that song just fit them to a T.

I expected a whole lot from this band, and they gave me even more than I had hoped for. All I can say, really, is that this band is knocking on the door, my friends. They’ve shivered my timbers, and they’re just getting started. I can’t recommend them to you enough. I’m gonna be damned cranky until they get some music released, I can tell you that. DC friends, consider yourselves lucky to be here now for this band. I sure do. Consider yourselves warned: The Deadmen is on the way.

100 Shows of 2010 - #44: Wye Oak @ Rock’n’Roll Hotel, 7/22/10

This show was, in a cruel, cruel way, a wee bit ironic. I can’t remember the last time a show at the Hotel started at a time even close to the scheduled start time. But of course, on a night when it takes me nearly half an hour to park the car, the show naturally starts on the dot. The end result of that unfortunate promptness was that I missed the daggum amazing Gamble House, but it wasn’t all gloom and doom. I did witness a pretty darned triumphant set by Baltimore’s own Wye Oak, and that turned my little frown right upsidedown. Hot diggity dog, indeed.

MINI RECAP: Wye Oak = Shiver Me Timbers! Overall score: A.

There I was, sulking away in the corner as Wye Oak set up. And then they started to play, and my little black cloud of a mood was instantly mollified. They totally caught me off guard with the sheer awesome of their live sound. Starting off with a big, beefy swell of noise, they kept things turned to 11 for the vast majority of their set. Jenn Wasner’s voice absolutely blew me away, steamy and smoky and alternately sultry and slightly snarling. The driving beat of the drum and that voice together made for quite a pairing, this is a band with big time bite. At times the band veered wildly between ethereal beauty and threatening darkness, and lord knows I love a little dark/light juxtaposition. The noise was extreme, and I loved just about everything about it. Wye Oak, on this night, was a lot more raw than the recorded material I’ve heard of theirs, and the ferocity of the set sounded some kinda wonderful to me.

I must confess, as bummed as I initially was, if I had to miss Gamble House, Wye Oak was certainly more than ample as a runner-up prize. I’d never been much of a fan, but after seeing this set, I might be more inclined to pay due diligence to Wye Oak from now on. You might should do the same.

mp3: My Neighbor (Wye Oak from My Neighbor/My Creator)

100 Shows of 2010 - #39: The Constellations/J-Roddy Walston & The Business @ Rock’n’Roll Hotel, 6/18/10

Birthday week was already plenty damn fine. But then, my little sweeties, it got even finer. I must credit this outpouring of super fineness to the terrific tandem of J-Roddy Walston & The Business and The (mighty fine) Constellations. The Baltimoreans and the Atlantanians came together for what was a one-two punch of sweaty, dancey, nasty rock’n’roll, with varying degrees of funk and soul and groovability thrown in for good measure. They both did it up somethin’ fierce, and it was one heck of a good time.

MINI RECAP: The Constellations = Supercalifragilistic! J-Roddy Walston & The Business = Expialidocious! Overall score: A-.

I already knew what to expect from J-Roddy Walston & The Business, having had the pleasure of seeing them once before down in Richmond a little while back. I thought I’d missed their set, but thankfully traffic and the hunt for parking didn’t band black me. The show ran way behind schedule, which turned out to be a good thing. As soon as they stepped onstage, it was pure, ballsy rock. The band doesn’t go for nuance as much as straightforward, balls-to-the-wall rock’n’roll, and it’s part of what makes them so charming. Walston himself has a perfect, bluesy howl that’s spot on for their brand of slightly raunchy rock. The entire band gets top marks for their showmanship, with their writhing around and frequent tossing of the hair (Walston especially, with those curls of his) adding emphasis to that big, bulky sound. They’re showy (just this side of being hams), they’re loud, they’re more than a little bit bad (and ladies: they’re all pretty worth lookin’ at). In short, they’re pure rock’n’roll.

After that, the crowd was good and ready for even more musical chaos. Lucky for us, The Constellations had ventured up from their lair of funk down in Atlanta to show us how to really have a good time. “We’re just gonna roll with it and see what happens,” they opined, before working their magic. Eight folks strong, the band laid down a set of delicious little groove-heavy songs, funky and sassy as all get out. I loved them from the word go, what with the be-fro’d bassist and the two ladies shimmying all 60s girl group style as they got their tambourine and maraca action on. Their songs had a curious effect on me, making me feel good but very, very bad at the same time. They got the herd dancin’, and they too looked like they were having more fun than a barrel of monkeys. And really, any band that covers Bowie (in this case, the way appropriate “Let’s Dance”) is ahead of the game in my book. With a bongo breakdown in the middle, no less. The Constellations are up to no good, and I certainly appreciate, enjoy, and encourage their sauciness. “We take no prisoners,” said they, and that’s not just whistlin’ Dixie. They came, they saw, and they kicked out the jams good and proper.

Brothers and sisters, I’m gonna tell you a little something. A little friendly advice from me to you. You need to go see both of these bands. You really do. If you’re itchin’ to dance, they’ve got you covered. They showed yours truly one hell of a good time, and they’ll do the same for you, no doubt.

mp3: Felicia (The Constellations from Southern Gothic)

100 Shows of 2010 - #22: Sea Wolf @ Rock’n’Roll Hotel, 5/4/10

Sea Wolf’s set started late, which was rather handy considering my bedeviling time trying to find a place to park. I’m very, very, very glad parking problems didn’t cause me to miss any of the set, because it was a thing of absolute beauty.

MINI RECAP: Sea Wolf = Beamingly Beatific! Overall score: B+.

As more and more people filtered into the R’n’R, Sea Wolf’s set began. Initially, it was just Alex Brown Church and his guitar, strumming and singing his way into my heart. With a line like, “The only way that you will ever have me/is if you throw my body into the sea,” I was destined to love Sea Wolf madly. “We’re missing a guitar player,” Church announced, as the rest of the band ambled to their posts on the stage. Finally, said guitar player emerged from the throng and the full band began to play.

“The Trigger” was the second song of the set, a bouncy, lively song full of spring and sunshine. I was continually enthralled by the band’s overall sound, a foxy, come-hither sound of delicacy with blood racing quickly beneath its surface. It’s smoky and earthy and carefully, tenderly crafted. As their set went on, I found it easier and easier to fall head over heels. And hey ladies, the boys are all rather handsome. I’m just sayin’. Apart from a little feisty mic feedback here and there, the band sounded nigh on perfect. Something slightly mystical hangs over the band, infusing their sound with all sorts of blissful nuances and intricacies.

The phenomenal “Wicked Blood” sounded particularly gorgeous, toe-tappingly marvelous and flat-out fantastic. Church’s voice is just arresting, so warm and robust and strong. He’s probably got one of the best voices around, methinks. Sea Wolf pretty much killed me with their 11 bewitching songs, and if I hadn’t been so dang broke I would have bought each and every piece of merch they had for sale. They were seriously sensational, and I do so hope you’ll take the time to go see ‘em live. You absolutely will be glad you did.

mp3: Wicked Blood (Sea Wolf from White Water, White Bloom)

100 Shows of 2010 - #7: Woods/Real Estate/Surf City @ Rock’n’Roll Hotel, 3/27/10

Sure, I’ve wanted to see every single one of these shows a whole lot. But this one was really something I absolutely could not wait for. It sat there, written into my planner, for weeks, taunting me with the amount of time I still had to wait to see it. And then, one fine day, it was March 27th, and I was headed over to the Rock’n’Roll Hotel for what I knew without a doubt would be a fabulous show. And naturally, I was right.

MINI RECAP: Surf City = Biff! Real Estate = Bang! Woods = Pow! Overall score: A.

I arrived just as Surf City was starting up. Walking into a room filled with the divine sounds of some of my absolute favorite New Zealanders was a welcome thing indeed. I’m so thrilled to have finally seen them live, let me tell you (especially as this was their last US show for a while and because I’ve wanted to see them for months on end now). Their cheeky, pleasantly fuzzy, jangly noise sounded great in person, and I was so captivated I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. Their (far too) brief set was effervescent and fantastic, and judging by the content of the set their new record is gonna be killer, and entirely in keeping with the strong sound they’ve already honed. I officially love this band to bits.

Real Estate was up next, and though they were the band I knew the least about, they too proved rather enjoyable to behold. The crowd was absolutely heaving for their set, with most of the sell out crowd turning up just in time for band number 2. Once I got over the initial shock of the Real Estate singer looking and acting a whole lot like an ex-boyfriend, I was ready to enjoy their set. And there was a lot to enjoy, starting even before they strummed a note. Any band that asks for a lotta reverb from the soundboard is fabulous in my book, not to mention their in-set encouragement of rowdiness. I really dug their rich, dreamy, dappled golden sound, mixing in a little of everything to create a lovely and appealing blend of beachside-cityscape-highway folk rock. Perhaps it’s not the most likely music to incite rowdy riots (ok, for the sake of puns, perhaps a sorta quiet riot), but it was damned fine music all the same. The crowd loved them, and who am I to argue?

It must be said, Woods kinda threw me for a little bit of a loop. Right off the bat, they went all rock on me. There was more feedback, more reverb, more drone, and more sharp edges than I ever expected out of them. But I’ll let you in on a little secret, friends, it was sensational. At times I found myself wanting to cut some serious rug, and judging by the movement on the floor I wasn’t the only one with such urges. For example, “To Clean” live was such a kicky little number, still retaining that sorta rustic sound from the Songs of Shame record but with a bit more bite, just as with most of their set. That unique, slightly off-kilter, almost falsetto was offset wonderfully by the big rock sound they had up their sleeve, balancing fragility with a kind of “we will rock your face off” mentality. Their extended instrumentals were especially intense (and loud), driving and crashing and wreaking beautiful havoc on my eardrums. All of this means that Woods is even better live than I had anticipated. See them, hear them, love them. End of story.

What a night, friends. What a night. A great bill from top to bottom, and all three are bands you should give serious consideration to. I’m beginning to feel just a wee bit spoiled here, because this was yet another hell of a show.

mp3: Dickshaker’s Union (Surf City from the Surf City EP)

mp3: Beach Comber (Real Estate from Real Estate)

mp3: To Clean (Woods from Songs of Shame)

100 Shows of 2010 - #3: Bear In Heaven @ Rock’n’Roll Hotel, 3/6/10

I was oh so very excited about seeing Bear In Heaven live. On record, they are so very good. I was hoping they’d somehow manage to be even better up on the stage at the old Rock’n’Roll Hotel, and sure enough they were. While the band was magnificent, the crowd and sound left something to be desired. Can’t have everything, I guess.

MINI RECAP: Bear In Heaven = unbelievable. Overall score: A.

It was crowded at the Hotel for the show. Very, very, very crowded. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen the place so packed from wall to wall, and I’ve been to several sold out shows there. I suppose it was to be expected, given the bill (not only Bear In Heaven but Freelance Whales and Cymbals Eat Guitars as well). But hot damn. It was so crowded that I didn’t have enough personal space to whip out the ole notebook for notation purposes. Thank the lord for the notepad function on cell phones, eh? From a journalistic standpoint, and personal space standpoint, I sure do wish the show had been at the Black Cat instead.

Complaining ends there. Because, you see, Bear In Heaven was so dang good that they could have played the itty bittiest little choked-up hole in the wall and I would have been in musical bliss. I’d cautiously entertain the notion that this is a band that’s even better live than they are recorded (they probably should get moving on a live album if you ask me). There’s something raw to them live, they’ve got a little more attitude. All four of them came out with their game faces on, and were pretty intense for the duration of their ten-song set. It was a wild, madcap swirl of a set, filling eardrums with funky, big beaty, psychy, electrogasmic insanity. And oh mercy, was it loud. It was like being punched in the face with a big bastard wall of noise. And it was beautiful. Bear In Heaven was completely hypnotic, and if I had had the room to dance around like a woman possessed I would have done it.

Despite a few issues with the sound (at times it was a little too muddled, and the bass was maybe just a little too loud on a few songs), the entire set was sensational. And I’ll remember the eternal line uttered by the band midway through their set: “Moustaches Forever.” A wonderful, hilarious sentiment. I’ve had them in my head pretty much non-stop since the show, “Wholehearted Mess” in particular with that mesmerizing beat and the cheeky drum break. I think it’s safe to declare Bear In Heaven one of my new favorite live bands. Take my advice, friends, if you have the chance, make sure you go and see them live. You’ll thank me.

mp3: Wholehearted Mess (Bear in Heaven from Beast Rest Forth Mouth)

Live Review: The Black Angels @ Rock’n’Roll Hotel, July 2

As it usually does, the drive up to DC from Richmond took a little longer than expected, so as I was walking into the Rock’n’Roll Hotel, the Warlocks’ equipment was being loaded off the stage. I was a little sad not to have seen them, but at the same time I was a woman on a mission. It would appear the Black Angels have grown in popularity since last I saw them, which is great for them but bad for the late-arriving, vertically-challenged amongst us.

When the five space cadets from Austin ambled onto the stage, it seemed that as soon as they touched their instruments a wall of sound began to fill the room, and it would only get louder. To give you an idea, I didn’t wear earplugs, and my ears were still ringing at lunchtime the day after the show. Up first on the set list was the deviantly good “Manipulation,” so droning and so loud I felt like the music was this wave that seeped into every pore. Despite slight volume issues with his mic initially, singer Alex Maas absolutely shredded his vocals, adding extra passion into his vocal parts to play against guitarist Christian Bland’s slightly more controlled vocals. It didn’t take me long to rank this show as a tie for my second-best of the year, and when the lyric “You got the FBI/they ain’t on your side” came up, from second song “You On the Run,” I had my reaffirmation that what I was witnessing was very, very special. What better place to hear that line than in DC?

“The Sniper at the Gates of Heaven” was next, and though it’s always been one of my favorite Black Angels songs, tonight it was even better than the hundreds of times I’ve listened to it. The guitar was extra wicked and almost a little raunchy, and Maas’ flat delivery seemed a tad venomous. It was a spooky little piece of psych rock, played against a backdrop of some sort of projections (again, I said my time there was mostly aural, I couldn’t see much of anything) that swirled and danced across the back of the stage and over the band members. I leaned against the wall during the emphatically excellent “Mission District” and noticed it throbbing from the beautiful noise.

O, sweet fuzzy guitar, how I love you; “Black Grease” was extra fuzzy on this night, and was definitely an audience favorite. I looked at the band, and what I saw was one of the best (and, frankly, best-looking) bands I’ve seen in quite some time. The first time I saw them was no fluke, they really are goddamned amazing. “Doves” was the best I’ll probably ever hear it played, a shimmering fiery mess of time and space and sound. Before launching into the song, Maas thanked the Warlocks, and said something about them being an inspiration (at this point in the night when people weren’t singing they tended to sound like Mickey Mouse, and I couldn’t make out words very well. Always wear earplugs, kids).

“Science Killer” was unbelievably good, the bass louder and the drums pounded into the furthest reaches of oblivion. It, and the rest of the show, was an intense experience. A triumphant “Young Men Dead” was next in line, even more mesmerizing in its’ drone than on the album Passover. As was the rest of the packed room, I was completely entranced. They’re like pied pipers, leading us into the great sonic promised land. “Surf City (revisited)” followed, according to the set list, though I could have sworn I heard "Empire" instead, and they closed out the set with the extended version of the already-lengthy “Never/Ever,” delicious in its far out schizophrenia.

After a brief moment offstage doing the expected pre-encore buildup, the Black Angels came back and played a rousing rendition of “The Return,” and while Bland was “oooh ooh-ing” I realized once more how good this band has become. The final song of the evening was another from new album Directions to See a Ghost, “You in Color.” The frantic jamming was raw to the point of pain, but in the best way. And then, they were gone, leaving hundreds of happy hipsters to flood the streets of DC, ears buzzing and smiles on their faces.

In closing, I’d like to urge you to see this band whenever possible. I'm thinking of following them around the country on their tour, instead of being a Dead Head I'll be an Angel Head. They are the real deal, and I love them to pieces.