Are there any Feminist Theory majors in the audience tonight? …
Women’s Studies? …
What about, uh, History majors with an emphasis in Soviet Studies? …
Ah, forget it. This is a song about how everyone’s an asshole.
Patrick Stickles, the disheveled frontman for New Jersey’s over-earnest punk rock group Titus Andronicus, knows how to rev up a crowd: belt out some garbled, possibly literary (?) songs and follow them up with a few meandering, slightly condescening remarks about the audience’s intelligence. Bret Michaels should take note.
I suppose academic comments are to be expected when you’re catching a show at the Gargoyle, the musky, industrial bunker-styled venue in the basement of Wash U’s student center. But when you’re dealing with a songwriter like Stickles, who screams about everything from Victorian tragedies to Netherlandish landscapes to suburban New Jersey soft-A angst, it’s pretty much a given.
I actually thought this might be an ideal setting to see Titus Andronicus — when I saw them at Pitchfork this summer the sunlight didn’t do them any favors. They play such raw, fierce, and unabashedly naked music that I thought the energy would just build and build until it eventually exploded in the cramped confines of the Gargoyle.
It didn’t.
Instead, they were met by the usual mix of apathy and impatience, coupled with way more talkative frosh than I’m used to being around. I guess I didn’t much care for them when I first heard them, either, but they’re growing on me. I love how the music is so stripped-down and sprawling at the same time — no frills or tricks, just clean guitars pushed to the red with a clear directive and purpose. And anything that passionately righteous is hard to ignore. Not to mention, their unexpected cover of the Trashmen’s “Surfin’ Bird” was totally kick-ass.
I don’t know why I’m wasting all this type on the openers when the headliners were Los Campesinos!, a.k.a. the Arcade Fire of twee. They’re really great at what they do, if that’s what you’re into. Loud, boisterous, bitter, sweet, romantic, anthemic, shambling, dancey, cheeky, and cetera.
Los Campesinos! just exude good times. The seven layers of Welsh and English accents are entirely infectious even when the lyrics dip into the puerile, and despite the unpolished feel of their records they’re a tight bunch of musicians. (The sound system, however, was not so kind — I don’t think xylophones were ever meant to be so distorted.) A lot of people started heading for the door after the Cardiff kids played their hit, “You! Me! Dancing!,” but they kept the energy going strong right up until the stand-up and sing-along “Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks” finale.
Even though Titus Andronicus and Los Campesinos! seem to be on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, I thought this was actually a good pairing. Sure, they both have plenty of loud guitars and inaudible yelling, but they’re both surgically focused on issues of identity and finding meaning in their young lives, in whatever form it may come. And for the audience of American Appareled hipsters-in-training too insecure to bob and enthusiastic geeks who wouldn’t let anything stop them from dancing, these bands were right on the mark. Plus, they both have a lot of great songs about how everyone’s kind of an asshole.
This entry was posted in Concerts. Bookmark the
permalink. Trackbacks are closed, but you can .
Titus Andronicus & Los Campesinos! @ The Gargoyle, St. Louis, 02/04/09
Patrick Stickles, the disheveled frontman for New Jersey’s over-earnest punk rock group Titus Andronicus, knows how to rev up a crowd: belt out some garbled, possibly literary (?) songs and follow them up with a few meandering, slightly condescening remarks about the audience’s intelligence. Bret Michaels should take note.
I suppose academic comments are to be expected when you’re catching a show at the Gargoyle, the musky, industrial bunker-styled venue in the basement of Wash U’s student center. But when you’re dealing with a songwriter like Stickles, who screams about everything from Victorian tragedies to Netherlandish landscapes to suburban New Jersey soft-A angst, it’s pretty much a given.
I actually thought this might be an ideal setting to see Titus Andronicus — when I saw them at Pitchfork this summer the sunlight didn’t do them any favors. They play such raw, fierce, and unabashedly naked music that I thought the energy would just build and build until it eventually exploded in the cramped confines of the Gargoyle.
It didn’t.
Instead, they were met by the usual mix of apathy and impatience, coupled with way more talkative frosh than I’m used to being around. I guess I didn’t much care for them when I first heard them, either, but they’re growing on me. I love how the music is so stripped-down and sprawling at the same time — no frills or tricks, just clean guitars pushed to the red with a clear directive and purpose. And anything that passionately righteous is hard to ignore. Not to mention, their unexpected cover of the Trashmen’s “Surfin’ Bird” was totally kick-ass.
I don’t know why I’m wasting all this type on the openers when the headliners were Los Campesinos!, a.k.a. the Arcade Fire of twee. They’re really great at what they do, if that’s what you’re into. Loud, boisterous, bitter, sweet, romantic, anthemic, shambling, dancey, cheeky, and cetera.
Los Campesinos! just exude good times. The seven layers of Welsh and English accents are entirely infectious even when the lyrics dip into the puerile, and despite the unpolished feel of their records they’re a tight bunch of musicians. (The sound system, however, was not so kind — I don’t think xylophones were ever meant to be so distorted.) A lot of people started heading for the door after the Cardiff kids played their hit, “You! Me! Dancing!,” but they kept the energy going strong right up until the stand-up and sing-along “Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks” finale.
Even though Titus Andronicus and Los Campesinos! seem to be on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, I thought this was actually a good pairing. Sure, they both have plenty of loud guitars and inaudible yelling, but they’re both surgically focused on issues of identity and finding meaning in their young lives, in whatever form it may come. And for the audience of American Appareled hipsters-in-training too insecure to bob and enthusiastic geeks who wouldn’t let anything stop them from dancing, these bands were right on the mark. Plus, they both have a lot of great songs about how everyone’s kind of an asshole.