Bad Things Happen in the Night (Wolf Parade, Bowery Ballroom)

“’Shit in my pussy?’  I’m sorry – did you just say ‘Shit in my pussy?’”  Wolf Parade singer-guitarist Dan Boeckner was addressing someone in the Bowery Ballroom crowd, Monday night.  “That’s probably the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.  Uh... Thanks for coming.”

“This city scares us,” singer-keyboardist Spencer Krug mumbled at several times during the show.

The hype wheel was making another go-around.  Little more than a month after their CMJ showcase in this same room, the Montreal band some thought to be the Arcade Fire’s heir apparent was back for a proper headlining gig.  That month has seen the release of their first full-length CD, Apologies to the Queen Mary, and a nod of approval from the official hipster tastemakers.  The CMJ gig had satisfied the curious; they could have coasted, this time around, playing favorites of the fickle.

Turns out they were here to whet appetites for their next album.

Despite the hype, I like the band quite a bit.  There’s really no not loving a band whose big, swaying anthem goes “Nobody loves you, and nobody gives a damn.”  Mary is inconsistent, and bits feel borrowed without being bettered – “Modern World” almost always makes me wish I were listening to Jonathan Richman’s old group, instead, and even though “Same Ghost Every Night” is sometimes my favorite track, I just know that first minute belongs to some other song that I can’t quite place – but the bulk of it is affected enough to endear, and genuine enough to make me cry.

That’s right.  Shut up.

The live set was a bit more timid, this time, like they had less to prove and no urge to impress.  They came out flat – but then, they did last time, too; the boys in the Parade might think about doing a couple laps before a show, if this is a recurring problem.  It seemed odd that, about halfway through their hour-long show, the best stuff we’d heard was the new stuff:  They played three new songs, and clearly enjoyed sinking their teeth into those.

(Just to perpetuate the comparison:  Arcade Fire, a year after the release of Funeral, still focuses on that CD and their self-titled EP in concert.  Wolf Parade, only a month after Mary, is lacing their set with new material.  Hmmm.)

As for the familiar stuff, songs would catch fire in fits and starts, like an old engine; it finally caught for good midway through “You Are a Runner” (which segued seamlessly into “Fancy Claps”).  “This Heart’s on Fire” was absolutely orgasmic.

Better to finish strong than peter out, I suppose, but there’s no denying something was missing from this show.  Keyboardist Hadji Bakara – who, last month, only stopped dancing whenever he needed to hover around his Theremin – seemed tied down, here.  The stage set-up, this time, plopped percussionist/guitarist/bassist/opening act Dante DeCaro in-between the two singers, which discouraged interplay.  Krug – who may have been wearing the same T-shirt he did at the CMJ show, unless all his shirts have torn armpits – was his insular self, which was fine, but Boeckner –all spit and piss last time – acted damnably gracious, thanking us for being receptive to new material, introducing (and re-introducing, and re-re-introducing) the band as nothing more than “Wolf Parade from Montreal, Canada” (which he described as a “gentle, sauced nation”).

In late October, on the proverbial dark-and-stormy night, stuck on stage in a city that scared them, this haunted New-Wave-Carny-Punk band should have knocked it out of the park.  But it’s unfair to ride a band that’s willing to take chances for not being entirely successful.  Boeckner mentioned, early in the night, that he was curtailing some sort of behavior because “the bloggers” were on him about it.  Dude, you’re fine.  Keep doing what you do, don't listen to anyone. 

Bloggers don’t know shit.

*

Talk about your seamless segues:  More from last night at:  Yeti Don't Dance, Prefixblog (w/pics), BrooklynVegan (w/pics), Central Village (w/pics), and Bumpershine.  For the record, I was thrilled the band didn't play "Grounds for Divorce," if only because a particularly obnoxious stoner next to me kept howling about it like he was trapped down a well.  "Dude, it's not gonna happen," said Krug; the joy of watching the last glimmer of hope fade from the face of the balance-impaired drink-spiller almost made my night.

*

Canadian Disco-Thrash unit Think About Life opened, sort-of; for this performance, they probably should have renamed themselves “Worst Case Scenario.”  Their lead singer couldn’t get off work for the show.  Two of their preprogrammed keyboards were stolen, and with them went most of the group’s setlist.  The one keyboard that was on stage suffered constant sound problems.  There was a lot of spirit, there –especially during their “Stay in School” rap number – and on nights like this, you pretty much have to let the band take a mulligan.

*

I apologize for the bluntly obscene way this post started off.  When I wrote it last night, my mind was fuming from the freshly-painted Delancey St. Station, my nostrils burning from the urine-soaked F-train.  The late-night skip-stop service should have provided an opportunity to clear my head, but all it did was get my feet wet.  Even my web connection was fuzzy.

And, see?  Nothing's better, this morning.  Ugh, that prose.

But as my place in Hell has already been successfully commandeered, I think I'll add this:  Rosa Parks, bless you and all, but you're still gonna have to ride in the back of the hearse.

tags: wolf parade  indie music  concert reviews  

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