Entering undetected during the middle of Owen’s set Friday night at Krannert Art Museum was no easy feat – as the large crowd filling the lobby sat hushed on the floor giving rapt attention to the man sitting alone on stage with his acoustic guitar. The silence was such that even the sound of Mike Kinsella tapping his foot to the beat of the music was clearly distinguishable along with the plucking of strings and the subtle fluctuations of his voice.
With a set list scribbled on the inside of his hand, Kinsella treated the audience to obscure cuts (such as “Top Shelf” and “Good Friends Bad Habits” from his split 7″ with City on Film) in addition to newer (or at least, unrecorded) offerings – “Ugly on the Inside,” “The Anthropology Song,” “Bag of Bones” – that followed his formula for writing sparse, incisive vignettes.
To fill time during his 45-minute set Kinsella asked the crowd several times what they wanted to talk about, a conversation that at one point led to which came first – David Duchovny’s TV show or his sex addiction – and a clever brush-off to a request for “I’m Not Seventeen” (“I don’t know that one”). With just a couple minutes to spare, Owen again asked the crowd for topics to discuss before deciding to play one last tune when a girl announced she had driven two hours to see him – and had just arrived.
After Owen, a friend convinced me to stay and watch Thao with The Get Down Stay Down instead of hustling over to the Red Herring to see Gentlemen Auction House (the argument being that the St. Louis natives will be back in town soon enough). Although I guess I’ll never know which show was better, I definitely don’t regret my decision to stick around Krannert.
With its infectious blending of smooth female vocals and a heartily strummed acoustic lead guitar, the group entertained the crowd with floor-stomping indie rock jams. Recounting the story of seeing several shirtless Delta Chi members playing on a Slip ‘n Slide (with no girls in sight) earlier in the day provided the material for humorous between song banter, but the set’s real enjoyment came from the feel-good rhythms streaming out of the amplifiers.
In stark contrast to the stripped-down stillness of Owen, Chicago’s own Dr. Manhattan had spastic energy oozing out of every corner of the Red Herring’s basement stage. In particular, it was impossible to pin down the location of keyboardist (and part-time percussionist) Andrew Morrison from one second to the next – as he divided his time among roaming around his tiny section of the platform, dragging his drum out into the crowd and standing on top of his keyboard.
The set began in surprising fashion, as Tracey Morrison and Tricia Scully, who had performed just prior with their band Tall Tale, shared the stage to perform a couple of original songs –along with TT guitarist Justin Tanaka, whose job was to run his hand across the seat of a mic’d-up chair. (Actually, I guess the pairing wouldn’t have been too unexpected if I had taken a hint from “Tracey’s Buns” off Dr. Manhattan’s debut full-length)
The raucous set was filled with songs from this 2008 Vagrant release, including “Big Chomper, Big Chomper,” “Gunpowder: A Ballet” and “Minds Like Ours.” After the chaos had concluded, Morrison (of the Andrew variety) thanked the crowd for being there and indicated how much the band loves performing. But after seeing them in person, this clearly went without saying.
And oh yeah, bassist Adam Engers sported the best moustache this side of Borat.
Next on the night’s agenda was the appearance of Titus Andronicus in the Canopy Void Room. The band’s name was certainly appropriate for the festival, as both its namesake Shakespeare play and the story of Pygmalion derive from Ovid’s Metamorphoses (who said English degrees are useless?). Also befitting of their moniker was the threat that things could get bloody during the first (and only) instance of moshing I witnessed at the festival.
As anticipated, the New Jersey group showcased the deceptively raw and unpolished sound found on this spring’s The Airing of Grievances. Playing a mixture of shoegaze, indie and punk shrouded in lo-fi aesthetics and peppered with harmonica, the concert was fast, crass and sweaty through and through.
To close out the evening, I stepped through the doors into Canopy’s main hall to watch the midnight set from Canadian rockers Black Mountain. After a few minutes, it became apparent that the band revels in its “black” image – complete with minor key tuning, classic rock guitar riffs and throbbing bass. A sonically riveting performance to be sure, but visually much less so.
Standing in place to watch the band members do the same up on stage soon became boring so I ended the night in the same fashion as I started – sitting down with music soaring overhead.
Chris Hassen: I goes to shows.
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Chris Hassen
I goes to shows.