12 February, 2007

Hold on, baby, Hold Steady

The Hold Steady, they’re like a loosed soul riding the rails to Salvation, steaming through the great plains, big cities and burned-out towns along the way. Check out their music if you haven’t heard it.

And holy fucking shit, do they play a show. You should have been there, and as proof I present R, who flew in from Oregon for the day – and I mean the day, landing in the morning and back to the airport at 4 am to catch his flight out at 7. Which return flight, by the way, doesn’t merely end in the northwest corner of the US, since he’ll be promptly catching another flight down to Oklahoma. He’s a working man who knows how to travel, and he, my lady friend and I wound up hanging out after the show ‘til he had to get to his return flight, cause the Hold Steady brings people together like that. A solid guy, R – and just a fan who'd been to a couple shows before and thought what the hell, so the lead singer, Craig, gave him, R, a personal shout from the stage (consider this a second). Which we were pretty much on top of, the stage.

The venue was Paradiso's Kleine Zaal, an intimate little upstairs space in that grand old church of a rock institution. Sold out, so I’ve got to think two or three hundred people. We made our way to the front before the show, where R overheard me and the lady friend and we all got to talking. Then the show started and the lady friend and I got to dancing, danced through the whole damn show and it was awesome. The band noticed, which had more than a little to do with the fact that though the crowd warmed nicely to the band, they just don't dance much here (Calvinists are not Baptists). At one point Craig, the lead singer, says thanks for being here, I yell out thanks for coming, and the bass player, Galen, looks over and mouths thanks back. Good people. Speaking of which, the keyboard player, Franz, comes out after the show to talk with the lady and me and R, probably to flirt with the lady, but ostensibly in appreciation of our energy. Sure I sweated it: his mustache is cooler than mine and he shows some damn sharp moves up on the stage. But we’re all adults here, so we chatted. And it was good. A good guy.

How outstanding is it that Craig carries his own duct tape, and they all open their own beers? Or at least the drummer does the opening for everyone else with his kit. For everyone except Franz who drinks wine from the bottle all night long. And for all his unique vocal stylings, I had no idea how much rap movement there would be in Craig’s stage manner. He was like a cross between Phife of Tribe Called Quest and Andy Kaufman. All the crazy energy in hand signals, head movements, and boozy, woozy antics. Not to mention all the things he yelled and sang that no one will ever hear, because he didn’t do it into the mic, because he just couldn’t help himself. Tad pulled a classic 360 guitar swing early on. Nice. Have I mentioned how much he rocks? Even while resorting to general goofiness with Craig. And man, we could reach out and touch that stage and it was awesome.

The music. Opened up with Stuck Between Stations. Closed the encore with Killer Parties. They played a lot from Separation Sunday in between. First was Cattle and the Creeping Things. Dear lord did it rock. I mean sweet child of everlasting grace, that was religion. Others from that album, off the top of my head, Your Little Hoodrat Friend, Multitude of Casualties, Banging Camp. I don’t know what they didn’t play off Boys and Girls in America. But everything they played – when those guitars get churning, and the beat is driving, the keyboard comes in like the apocalypse will be harmonized and Craig’s singing and screaming like he was born in Conviction and he’s been trying to get back to the light ever since – what do you say when you hear something like that?

They razed the room to ashes and dust.

Mea culpa

It's been a while folks, but I'm back. It may be sporadic for a bit, but I wax with the sun. So stick with me, if you haven't got anything better to do.