By: Steve McPherson
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Love-cars: Before everyone decided to shave their heads.
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So it’s a little personal. And upon arriving criminally early at the 400 Bar I considered sitting down in front of the stage, all high school-sophomore-at-a-Phish-show style to get the best seat in the house. But, discretion being the better part of valor, I got an Old Style and read the weeklies.
The 400 filled up pretty quickly with a mix of fresh-faced youths and parents-of-the-band-looking people (which I heartily support, being both in bands and having parents.) Superdanger took the stage around 9:30 pm, decked out in ties and jackets, brandishing a combination of emo drums and retro-new wave vocals a la Stellastarr. Despite the sartorial savvy, the presentation didn’t deliver the tight, punchy impact the music demanded. Give them time, though; these guys looked a little out of place with beers in their hands, and their own voice is in there somewhere. Oh, and the bassist broke his headstock off at the end of the show smacking it on a cymbal. That sucks.
The Glad Version was up next and delivered a good if not fantastic set. In all fairness, it wasn’t entirely their fault. The songs were great and singer Adam Svec has got a fantastic voice, but the mix was poor. The snare sounded mushy, the bass was indistinct, and the guitars were too bright by half. I picked up their CD, reviewed on this site by Jesse Norell, and it’s much broader sonically than the show and is highly recommended for anybody who likes American Music Club, newer British bands like Snow Patrol, or even, say, Love-cars.
Which bring us to Love-Cars. When I first moved to Minneapolis in 1998, I was a jazz guy, fresh out of college. And Love-cars made me a rock guy again. They were the first Twin Cities band I saw (at Lee’s, with Mason Jennings (!) opening), and have remained one of my favorites since then. What makes them so compelling to me is their combination of three disparate elements: virtuosity, irony, and sentimentality. The first thing you notice is the complicated yet melodic drumming of David King, which is the obvious thing that sets the band apart from other rock bands, but that’s really only the beginning. The lyrics mix smartass quips about John Travolta’s (or Kirstie Allie’s) private jet, chain wallets, and high school yearbooks with heart-on-sleeve confessions of longing and disillusionment. The songs are deceptively complex, relying on familiar resolutions drawn out a bar longer than expected, or else hammered home so insistently that a refrain like, “Collect them all and sell them separate,” becomes a barbaric yawp.
The set opened with “This Conversation Has Only Got One Side” followed quickly by a reinvented version of “Hand Over That Rulebook” from their first disc, Chump Lessons. At this point, the critical part of me is recognizing that it’s all a little ragged around the edges from ten months off and one rehearsal, while the drooling music fan part of me is thinking how I haven’t heard this song live in five years and all that’s happened since. Next up was the first of two as-yet-unreleased songs, “Everyone Reads.” Both this and “Hopefully” need to see the light of day soon, like tomorrow, and singer James Diers assured me after the show that they’re working on getting together new recordings, battling the little things in life that get in the way of good rock and roll. Like kids---who are cute, I’m sure, but I need the rock.
Highlights from the rest of the show included “Broken Toes,” sounding a little more shambly than I remember (apparently it was unrehearsed) and “How I Get,” which everyone was clamoring for. David de Young observed that the crowd was yelling out lyrics and song requests as if they were at a national show, and they got most, although not all, of their wishes. The single high point had to be during second encore “Call Me Sometime Best Friends Forever” when Diers backed off the mic and let the rabid crowd handle the “Your yearbook is the universe expanding” that breaks the song wide open.
In a way, it’s too bad that Love-cars didn’t turn into the next big thing. Songs like “Northwest Orient,” “CMS BFF,” and “My Shoestring” are certainly radio-ready and catchy as hell, but in another way, I’m glad they get to be ours. What Love-Cars specifically introduced me to about local music was the joy of going to see a truly phenomenal band that felt like they were all your own. Like you had this great secret that you needed to share with everybody. Forget trends and scenes, though. Music is about connection: to people, to ideas, to emotions, to moments, and no show I’ve seen has made me feel more happy, sad, old, and young than this one. And what more can you really ask of a great band?
Location Info:
400 Bar
Artist Info: Love-Cars, Superdanger, The Glad Version
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