Friday, Feb. 12th 2010
Well I’ll Be - That Was Surprising.
By Susie Nazzaro
On Friday night, after wrestling my way through a lively Moe Bar, I went into Neumo’s to catch Fences (who I had heard of but never actually heard), Wildbirds & Peacedrums (completely unknown to me and, I suspect, most of the crowd that night) and St. Vincent, who is lovely and dollish and whose two records, Marry Me and Actor, figure heavily on my playlist.
After bounding my way through the bar, I caught the last two Fences songs. We should have waited at the bar longer and missed them altogether. They were musically competent, I suppose, but played very boring, run of the mill indie stuff. They lowered my expectations for the second opener, Wildbirds & Peacedrums, a Swedish duo touring with St. Vincent.
I would like to pause here for just a second to talk about discovery. Discovery is a wonderful mystical thing, and I think it is so wonderful because it permanently expands the boundaries of the things that make us happy. Adding something to the universe of things we love is awesome, and it makes hearing or tasting or reading or experiencing something new doubly joyful. I’m a pretty big fan of discovery in music, and when it happens for me, which is extremely rare, it can last for weeks, even months. Witness my poor friend Tyler who sits across from me at work and patiently endures my endless gushing about a record, often listening to my detailed musings about the same record for several weeks straight. I love discovery so much that I and my husband have embarked upon an experiment to listen to every record we own in alphabetical order just so I can rediscover those that I haven’t heard all the way through in years and hear them from a new vantage point. This is going to become a very tedious exercise when we get to my husband’s Northwest indie rock phase (mostly in the Bs) and the east coast hardcore from my moshing teenage days. But the moments of discovery make it all worth it.
With that context in mind, it’s much easier to understand my reaction to Wildbirds & Peacedrums. My feeling about this band is pretty simple: if you are in a place where you can see them live, drop everything else and do it. Immediately.
Before they got on stage, a steel drum, a mainstay of tropical music, and a drum set were set up. They came on, two Swedes: a very unassuming couple, she a small, dark-haired lady and he rather a tall kind-faced guy. I sipped my drink and looked at my watch, hoping they’d be quick about it so we could get to the good stuff. And then she opened her mouth and out came a raspy voice reminiscent of 1930s jazz femme fatale vocals, but with incredible precision and control, jagged edges, and exploding energy. A deep and insistent bass line ran through many of their songs, which, ghostly at first, seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, and which I later saw was controlled by pedals she played below the steel drum. These two were amazing, playing bare but simultaneously expansive melodies that she carried entirely with her voice, which was peppered with the tropical drum and the ever-present driving bass and rhythm. They had the entire place, and by that I mean a sold out Neumo’s full of people who just wanted to see St. Vincent, mesmerized and pounding to the beat. Holy shit, you guys. Go see this band.
I was thus elated when St. Vincent came on, and she did not disappoint. She opened with “The Strangers” and “Save Me From What I Want”, the first two tracks on Actor. I was thinking how much I missed her backing vocals and unconventional harmonies, when she looped her own voice singing the parts and instantly filled the space. She played a rather lovely cover of Nico’s “These Days” without her backing band, and then they returned to a raucous and fabulous rendition of “Marrow”, which was by far my favorite song of her set. It was the first time her stoic backing band seemed to actually dance around and enjoy themselves. The rest of the set they seemed intently focused on their craft, and craft it was; drums, sax, flute, fiddle, bass, and guitar all flowed out from behind her, making her songs sound open and whole, just like the record. If I found her stage presence at times to be contrived and a bit annoying, I easily forgave her that offence. Her encore cover of “Dig a Pony” was terrific, and I found myself wishing she’d play guitar like that more, with ample supply of bluesy bravado. Her set was everything I love about her records – her angelic soprano voice and pretty pop songs seem simple at first, but without fail each song takes a turn for the twisted and an unexpected darker melody takes shape right under your nose.
