Undoubtedly, one of last year’s best albums was Midlake’s The Trials of Van Occupanther. Actually, inarguably is probably a better word than undoubtedly, because while non-listeners may doubt its brilliance, they can’t argue after hearing “Roscoe” or “Young Bride” [hint- you don’t even notice the intricate vocal harmonies until the third or fourth go-round, because you are still captured by the whole ambience of the record.] All this is to preface the fact that a nearly two hour drive to see them up close—make that really up close—and personal was an absolute no-brainer. To set the scene:
Underneath some non-descript apartment complex set in the side of a gently-sloping hill is San Diego’s Casbah. Think Middle America basement strung with Xmas lights,. The ceilings are low, the floors concrete, and the posters on the wall let you know that whoever’s basement this is, he’s definitely one of the cool kids. In the corner, backed by padded naugahyde walls that look like an oversized booth in an old school restaurant, is the dimly-lit stage, littered with waiting instruments for bands who have yet to serenade the crowds.
In the midst of this was the opening band Minipop. Remember at the end of “High Fidelity” when Cusack—post Laura’s dad’s funeral but pre-Jack Black’s rendition of “Let’s Get It On”—decides to make a mixtape for Caroline from the Reader? That’s the lead singer—not actually Natasha Gregson Wagner, but pretty damn close—with a certain Edie Brickell vocal style. Purveyors of crisp pop with an edge, the San Francisco band got the crowd’s blood moving for the next two bands.
Ester Drang’s spacey, dreamy rock with an edge was complimented by a sheet to the right of the drummer, adding oddly twisted visuals—including a twitchy, monkey-like creature, swampland karate kicks and smoke trails and pixilated, flopping birds—to songs already filled with tension and drama. The band powered through a large swath of their latest record Rocinate, including a powerful rendition of “Valencia’s Dying Dream.” Vocalist Bryce Chambers’ ratty cardigan sweater lent a grungy air to the performance, which was anchored by the drumming of James McAllister, constantly leaning far over his drums, tight lipped and lidded, pounding out focused, deliberate backbeats.
When Midlake finally mounted the stage with a black papier-mâché panther head in tow, they apologized for its horrible state—liberally patched with duct tape—saying “we ran over it with the van today.” Then they launched into “We Gathered in Spring,” followed by Van Occupanther’s lead-off track “Roscoe,” which turned the crowd into a shallow sea of bobbing heads and mouthed words. Each band member—right down to drummer Mckenzie Smith—had their own microphone, and with each song the album’s vocal harmonies became more apparent.
As they made their way through most of Van Occupanther, including the sort-of title track, “Bandits” and “In This Camp,” it seemed incredulous to look up on the stage and see a collection of pretty non-descript guys—they looked like run-of-the-mill music fans who get drunk in each others back yards, smoke unfiltered cigarettes and argue about vinyl—fairly destroying the crowd with each passing song. Odd things became clear with each audience member’s mouthed “wow” to their friends, like the fact that the keyboardist grimaced with each note he hit, like someone was slowly twisting a knife into his thigh. Or that singer Tim Smith was the least animated frontman that most of the attendees had seen in a long time. And oh yeah, what was with the weird video of the band dressed as doctors all about?
As the set began to wind down, they launched into the one new track of the evening, “Children of the Ground.” A harder-edged track with a driving drumbeat and those same intricate backing vocals from each player, it had more in common with “Roscoe” than any of the other songs on the album. "Young Bride” followed, and the evening was capped off with an emotionally-dredging version of “Head Home.” It was fitting, considering that’s just what they did.
[Note to the Casbah: If the band has nowhere to go after the last song and has to mill around three feet from the stage—like they do at your venue where the only backstage exit is a door that opens onto the street—the “will there or won’t there be an encore” moment is pretty damn confusing. But maybe it was for you too.]
