Dayglo mp3 Brazos, Phosphorescent Blue buy it here
Mirrored and Reverse mp3 White Denim, Fits buy it here

White Denim and Brazos came to Chicago’s newest indie music venue, Lincoln Hall last night. It was my first time, and like a Catholic school girl, my panties were all twisted up, legs crossed tightly in anticipation, and yet I still had no fucking clue what I was in for! Oh. My. God. Lincoln Hall is gorgeous, first of all. Sleek, tall, dark, and achingly new, it’s a beautiful box within which to hear live music. The high ceiling is well padded for optimum sound absorption; the stage is low-set and just shallow enough to give the audience a sense of intimacy and yet afford the band some space to do their thing. There’s a nice door center stage for moving gear on and off which cuts down on between-set change up times. The lighting was nice, if not perfectly timed. But really, what we all came there for was the sound. And darlings… the sound, it was amazing. The acoustics were sharp and clear for both the solo opening number by Martin Crane of Brazos, (his voice being an equal instrument to his electric guitar), and for the psychedelic, crazed jams of White Denim later on. I swear I heard the first, gasping breath of the bastard baby son of Credence Clearwater Revival and the Butthole Surfers being born when they took the stage, that’s how delicately tuned the sound system is at Lincoln Hall!

But the bands… we mustn’t forget the bands now. I came out to see Brazos, for I was a little underwhelmed by White Denim’s Fits (but more about that later). When Martin Crane took the stage I was snuggled up next to the sound booth, having forgotten my earplugs and staying as far back from the stacks as possible. The guys in the booth were taken by surprise, it appeared as if he was simply tuning up and then he eased right into “For So Long Now.” I heard one say to the other, “oh yeah, he starts out on his own, then the rest of them come on” and they scrambled to shut off the PA system and cue the lights. And “For So Long” was just beguiling, for Martin is himself a craftsman of these songs which steal away my attention to some distant place. I can’t quite figure out why, but I have the same feeling about some of the songs on Phosphorescent Blues as I do on Elbow’s latest record, The Seldom Seen Kid. It’s that capacity to draw me off to somewhere else, (though the two albums sound nothing like one another.)

The rest of the band came out for the remaining set and played most if not all of the tracks off Phosphorescent Blue. What had started out as a meager crowd, soon swelled to nearly fill the main floor and by the time they reached the final third of their hour-long set, Brazos had most of the audience nodding along. Brazos sometimes sounds like they’re about to noodle on too long but they don’t, Martin knows just when to stop. This is indie-indie, it’s maybe what a few years ago I would say Counting Crows was trying to be because it was all I had listened to at the time that I could compare it to. But now that I’ve heard more music I can put this in perspective and see it within a much wider range of other artists. Martin’s fast strumming and soaring, sliding voice calls out from Calypso and Flamenco, and even Mariachi inspired sources. But essentially, Brazos are all Austin-indie and that’s no insult in any way. Songs like “The Observer,” which I wasn’t completely sold on from the album, really came alive with its delicate percussion and eventual deep groove providing a solid backing to Martin’s insistent voice. And that bass player… wow. Go see Brazos, seriously. They played my favorite track from the album, “We Understand Each Other” and it was far too short a song. Beg them to extend it when they come to your town. They left the stage to a loudly applauding crowd; Chicago definitely would welcome this band back, and soon!

By the time White Denim came on stage, my knight in shining armor had delivered some ear plugs, (thanks twitter friend!) To say I was blown away by their opening song,  is an understatement/a lie a pathetic attempt at an explanation of my mental breakdown. Truthfully, I was breathless. “Mirrored and Reverse” must have gone on for at least 8 minutes, maybe longer. I’m not even sure they made a clean break from that into their next song, or from that into the song after that, or even until after maybe four songs. It was all a haze of whammy pedal, distortion, and thumping bass beat. When they finally did take a break to wipe the sweat from their collective brow, I looked over at my friend and we just shook our heads at each other in mutual amazement. I think I have a vague memory of mumbling the words “holy shit” to him, or to the railing, or maybe just to the space below us. I was simply gone at that point.

I had listened to Fits a few times through before the show, in fact, more than a few times, over the past month or so. And to be honest it hadn’t grabbed me. But I instantly realized that White Denim was band that you simply couldn’t appreciate in the recorded medium (well not without a really tricked out stereo and maybe only on vinyl). There simply was no way to contain the wild sounds I was hearing from James Petralli’s guitar as well as his mouth. Spread out at his feet was an array of six or seven pedals, and from my vantage point in the balcony I could watch him do this crazy dance of hitting them on and off as he played. The whammy pedal took the most abuse and it worked just like a whammy bar; press it a little and bend the sound a bit, press it more and bend it further. Another pedal on his far left did some amazing vocal distortions (as if he really needed a pedal for that!) and the others in between? Your guess is as good as mine. There was some crouching down and fiddling but really he basically rocked out, and played amazing guitar solos, and remembered to sing once in a while. It was gorgeous, and tripped out, and bluesy, and psychedelic, and inspired garage rock, and I can’t stop thinking about it now even 24 hours later. (One song in particular gave me chills and I wish I knew what it was. It’s not on last.fm, not on MySpace, not on the new album. But he sang it almost accapella to start and took it all bluesy through the end and the lyrics “she don’t say what she need” were prominently in it. If you know, tell me in the comments, thanks!) Steve Terebecki on bass filled out the sound in a stellar attempt to keep pace with the crazed ways of Petralli and drummer Josh Block. And all of it was only hinted at by the album in my experience. So, well, I guess you’re forced to go see White Denim, m’dears. It’s a bit like trying to explain what it’s like to stand on the tarmac while a jet lands nearby versus hearing a tape recording of a jet landing on the tarmac. You just really gotta be there, xoxo

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