On Saturday night, if anything was affirmed for me, it wasn’t the quality of Smith Westerns and Yuck as bands. There was no doubt in my mind that these bands are the real deal, one of which is currently riding a wave of positive reviews and next-big-thing-hype, and the other about to do the very same. The fact that you can see two rising and impressive bands in a 350-person club in a strip mall, next to taqueria, for ten bucks, though a cool thing, isn’t really the point, either. I see small shows all the time and didn’t need a reaffirmation that some of the most magical musical experiences happen in front of only a few eyes.
No, what I left with (full disclosure: this is probably the sum of watching the Grammy Awards as I write this and interviewing a couple other independent artists over the weekend) was a belief in the creative spirit. Yeah, that sounds bloated and hyperbolic, but hear me out.
The artistic community is a weird, fucked-up place. Yeah, Arcade Fire just made a giant leap for independent music, but at the same time it seems like the alternative/punk/independent music that used to be “against” something has no real enemies. But while it’s interesting to question motives and authenticity of bands and artists, it’s actually playing blind to the fact that most musicians aren’t Justin Bieber. Most are insecure and gracious and love it when fans like their music. Most put their heart and soul into their art, whether it turns out to be as big as Arcade Fire or if it is just starting to get some real attention, like Smith Westerns and Yuck. But how did drinking some beers, taking some photos, and rocking out for a few hours bring me to this? Let me explain.
I arrived early (lining-up-outside early) to the Detroit Bar in the not-quite beach community of Costa Mesa, in Orange County. It is completely nondescript as a town, beside the anti-mall and Detroit Bar – it is what Arcade Fire meant by “The Sprawl.” In appearance, the venue is deceptively shitty. They offer reasonable drink prices, a hip vibe, lackluster sound, and remarkably bad lighting. But, somehow, they manage to book a consistently strong docket of bands, though the complete lack of competition throughout the county may help their cause.
Therapies Son opened the show, a three-piece who caused a deep-seated concern the second I saw the drummer turn on her Macbook Pro and put headphones around her ears. But, first instincts aren’t always right, right? The Mac wasn’t for cheesy backing beats or weird ambiant noise, but rather, it turned the group’s understated live arrangement into a Beatles-esque masterwork of sounds with a choir of backing vocals, orchestral arrangements, and instrumentation that would seem to exceed their resources. They kicked fucking ass.
Not only was their female drummer a revelation, and not only did their stand-up bassist show poise and genuine talent and not only was the lead singer full of dry wit to accompany his well-rounded, bedroom project compositions that wouldn’t have been too far from home in a venue like the Hollywood Bowl, but… I forgot where I was going with this sentence. In the end, all of this added up to Therapies Son being a terrific little act with a big, big sound. Get excited.
In the crowd, the man to my left had driven up from San Diego because the Smith Westerns wouldn’t be performing further south on this tour. The group to my right had flown in from Seattle because Yuck wasn’t making it up there. Their dedication to these acts was remarkable to hear. It almost made me feel guilty that in Los Angeles, you never have to do this kind of thing: everyone comes to L.A. But as Yuck played through their set, I couldn’t help but think that it must have been worth it.
The four-piece UK-based Yuck are worthy of every bit of hype they receive. Opening with “Holing Out,” “The Wall,” and “Georgia,” the crowd gave them the gentle head-bobs they deserve, clearly saving the enthusiasm for the headliner. But whether sounding a bit like Dinosaur Jr. (“Get Away”), Sonic Youth (“Operation”), or Tennis (“Coconut Bay,” which doesn’t actually sound like Tennis, but was a funny set choice after announcing that they had received Tennis’ vinyls by mistake), Yuck always provide energy and enthusiasm. The fact that their songs are really, really good is almost a bonus.
Standing up above the rest of their performance were the two closers, “Operation” and “Rubber.” “Operation” was the one song that Max Bloom, lead guitarist, took over vocals for and proved to be more than able in that role, as it was their strongest song of the night. But Daniel Blumberg is also beyond-capable as a front person, which he proved on “Rubber,” which concluded with a noise assault and the two principles on the ground with their instruments. Message received: Yuck mean business and they can back up anything positive that is said about them.
Smith Westerns had it a little tougher. With a microphone that kept cutting out and a poor mix throughout, the weight of the evening fell on the shoulders of lead singer Cullen Omori and his charisma. Luckily, he had some to spare.
I’d be lying if I wrote about how good the Smith Westerns sounded, because the quality just wasn’t there. However, I had a damn good time watching them. Good enough not get down about their technical difficulties and to appreciate that they seemed carefree and pleasant throughout. Opening with a great combo of “Still New,” which still had the effective punch when the guitar lead hits in the chorus, and “Dreams,” the standout from their debut which proves their early material can stand up to the new stuff, Smith Westerns seemed to have the crowds approval from the get-go. And they managed to keep it all the way through “Dye The World.” By the end of the set, the band were at their best as the sound issues managed to sort themselves out as the night came to a close.
But it was in talking to Yuck’s Max Bloom outside about Therapies Son, about their reception, and about their future that I began to consider the assumptions we make about the artistic community. Being an artist must be terrifying, putting yourself out there for everyone to judge, but whether you’re Arcade Fire or Lady Antebellum or Yuck, chances are you are a relatively normal (as normal as creative types can be) person who is just as scared of failure as the rest of us. And also, these types are just as happy to hear kind words about their work as I am to hear about mine. Yeah, the creative community is a weird, fucked-up, competitive and cutthroat place. And maybe a little more kindness, a little more generosity, a little more understanding, and a little more forgiveness would get us pretty far.
But, that’s just how I’m feeling today. I’m sure I’ll hate something new tomorrow.
Smith Westerns Setlist:
Still New
Dreams
Imagine Pt. 3
Only One
Be My Girl
Tonight
End Of The Night
All Die Young
Girl In Love
My Heart
Smile
Weekend
Dye The World
