Still a bit breathless, I confess to having to wait a full 24 hours to begin to write this up for you. The evening was full of so much, so many highs, so few moments where I actually had a conscious self-reflective thought. I spent the bulk of it just wide-eyed and head nodding and body swaying to the incredible sounds that I had anticipated and was experiencing just as I imagined I would. Darlings, it is rare indeed to be so completely fulfilled in an evening in a club by three bands as I was this night.

I had perhaps the best idea of what Brakes would bring to the party, having just immersed myself in their latest album and scoured the internet for video footage of their live performance. And indeed, they ran the gamut of indie-folk songs to fast paced all-out punk jabs. I worked my way to the stage towards the end of their set and a kind photographer grabbed the setlist for me; they managed to squeeze a request in as well, (the 10-15 second “Cheney” which they performed twice) making it a 15 song set.

Somewhere into the second or third song I became absolutely transfixed by Thomas’ guitarwork. Yes, regular readers, you know what he was doing. Aside from the usual bits necessary to be played in order to fulfill the song’s requirements, he would, towards the end and in the small solos taken in the middle, move between the amp and front facing speaker so as to manipulate the sound. That always makes me a bit woozy. And if you’re an aficionado of this feat, you also know that some artists do it with considerable more skill than others. Thomas was a master at throwing out just the right note for just the right amount of time and letting it hang there to be looped back around in an infinite circle of sound, deteriorating with every second that it reverberated there. I ambushed him after the set and demanded an explanation, of course. He quite coyly attempted to give me one without too much innuendo, the silly man — I tried to put him at ease, but honestly, he really does just need to read this blog, now doesn’t he, darlings? I think I can handle it, don’t you? I soon sussed out that he was trying to say that he just really fucks the shit outta that guitar of his. It’s as simple as that in his mind and well, it’s as obvious as that when you see the man play it…..simply gorgeous!

I’m always curious as to the way musicians describe what they do. And in particular I’m interested in the words they have inside their heads for how they approach their instruments. So when guitarists do “that thing with the amp” that I just described, I’m just dying inside to know what word comes to them for it. Maybe I’m obsessed with this too much; maybe it’s become a sort of fixation on my part, but musicians have music and I have words, what else can I say to explain it? I don’t know. So Thomas very generously told me how he thinks of it as a sort of extension on the word “play.”  You obviously play a guitar. But when you do that to it you really “play” it, in the sense that you get everything out of it that you can. Like when you “play” someone or for Brits they say “to take the piss” or “to take the piss out of” someone. It’s a difficult notion for Americans to understand, since the word “piss” is rather more offensive to us, but in essence it is to make fun of and/or aggravate someone on purpose so as to get something from them. You might meet a friend at the bar and joke with him and work him up so that he buys you a beer, Thomas explained. In fact you’ve “played” him, you see? That’s the least offensive way that he could find to explain how the word “play” felt for what he does to his guitar when he’s working it like that. He’s certainly aggravating the hell outta it. I can easily imagine the damage insinuated by more physical, violent, sexual references. Hmmm… the mind does wander to all sorts of delicious dark corners now doesn’t it?

All in all, Brakes thoroughly confused the crowd in a delightful way. Their set was an even mix of raw, wild energy and beautiful, calm, sweet melodies. Yes, that was me squealing when they started “Porcupine or Pineapple,” sorry. “Hey Hey” was truly rock-a-licious and had the entire floor moving; that in itself is a rarity here in Chicago. The energy in the club was incredibly high for a band that honestly I would venture less than 30% of the crowd had any idea of who they were. Eamon’s between song banter was very gracious and engaging; this is clearly a seasoned band who are comfortable onstage. And even though Thomas could not persuade the drummer, Alex to perform his renown solo, just hearing about it was entertaining. They left us with a gorgeous performance of “Leaving England” in perfect shape to welcome We Were Promised Jetpacks.

Taking the stage, WWPJP launched into “Keeping Warm” with it’s extended instrumental introduction and effectively faked out the sold out, capacity crowd. What appeared to be a band tuning up was soon revealed to be a band setting the tone for a mesmerizing set. It was clear to all those around me that this was the band most people had come to see (even though I found that a little disenheartening, as I am a huge fan of both Brakes and The Twilight Sad). The crowd went nuts as soon as Adam Thompson began to sing. Every song he sang, he did not sing alone. The band was obviously and completely affected by the enthusiasm that this Chicago audience gave them for this last show on their US tour. And, for being so young, they certainly owned the stage. Do not forget that they have played together since 2003 and have toured their asses off for most of the past year and a half. Their sound is big, they play with precision and skill, and songs like “Moving Clocks Run Slow” show off Sean Smith’s expertise on bass. Adam took the crowd to the ceiling and down again with the range of tempo and volume that is found on These Four Walls. They left the stage after a few hundred thank yous, all of them heartfelt and well-received.

When I was chatting up Marc Beatty, bass player for Brakes, he told me how popular WWPJP had been on this US tour. Their CDs were selling out everywhere they went, even the backup supply that had been shipped out to them on tour was now gone. Brakes graciously offered to change the lineup to let them play second so that more people would stay to hear all three bands even. It was quite amazing. I don’t know about you, but if I’m at a gig to see a band, I try and get there for the opener. You never know; you might really be nicely surprised. And if the band I love is the supporting band, it’s only right to stick around for the headliner, eh? That’s just good etiquette, people. We needn’t have worried this night at the Empty Bottle. Chicago knew what was up, and two UK bands had only whet our appetite for more. The room was still quite full for The Twilight Sad and I and a friend inched our way dangerously closer to the stage. But even though there were only a few of us singing along, there were so many more were soaking it all in for the first time and I could see the looks on their faces. I could sense the impression this band was making on them. And in fact, James and Andy were greeted with a generous group of fans afterward.

This is where the whole night gets fuzzy and starts to spin, my dears. No, I didn’t have a drop to drink (I actually never do, just not my thing)… but their set was so fucking amazing and as it began to build the flutter inside my stomach and eventually my chest grew. You know that feeling you get when the roller coaster climbs that really big hill? Yeah, it was sort of teeth-chattering, but honestly not as loud as I expected. Cathedrals of sound, … I know I’ve said that about some band or other recently but I can’t remember who. The Twilight Sad builds those. The percussion is loud and heavy; the sawing guitar is relentless; the bass does not sit in the background and behave itself. It all builds on one another and James sings into this morass of sound and makes a melody out of it. Yes you hear My Bloody Valentine and shoegaze and maybe even some early grunge in this but The Twilight Sad have a sound all their own. Part of the reason for that is lyrically, James seems dead set on confusing the hell out of you, singing phrases clear enough to be understood and intriguing enough to remember, yet vague enough to force you to make up your own meanings. So these songs mean something to me. And by the time he started singing “Cold Days From The Birdhouse” I sort of lost it, emotionally. By the time the set neared its end I feared that James would lose it a little.

I spoke with him after the show; and I asked him if what I thought was true. Was this a gig that was a little difficult to do? Most of the latter part of their performance was taken up by dedications and shout-outs to their crew and people in attendance who had made this US tour happen. It was one song after another of someone’s favorite or a song “we’ve not played in a long while, but know he particularly likes.” And as it all drew to an end, James grew more and more introspective, if that can be said of such an introspective performer. He might well have a “brooding and melancholic mystique” to overcome, and he certainly does, but this night… this night was different. “Yeah, it was both emotional and a relief to play the last show of the tour for now” James told me. They tour so much, getting a small break and heading back home must be well.. yeah a relief. And the thing about this band in general and about this show in particular, is that James lets you in on that emotional bit. I know you’re thinking … oh there she goes again, Tart’s being gushy about the rock star, but no really… hear this out. For a guy who doesn’t like to talk much between songs, we could tell there were things needing to be said that night that got said. And songs were sung to people, and for people (so many, many songs, including ”I’m Taking The Train Home” – I so wish I had that setlist because I think they must have played for an hour and a half, it was amazing). And when James looked out over the crowd, like a hawk at times, it was a little more than intense. That’s when that flutter in my chest simply would not stop. It wasn’t some crushed out girly thing at all, just simple human emotional intensity, and it’s not every singer that can throw that out without it seeming staged or insincere. I told him as much when we spoke that night. I’ve no idea how or why I got the balls to do so. I’m usually a bundle of rocks when talking to singers, I’m much better with guitarists. But, he was so good that night and honestly, I’ve seen more than a few singers who’ve tried to do what he did so authentically. And like WWPJP, this band was in awe that we, here in Chicago would want to see them play so much, that we knew the words to their songs. They left the stage thanking us over and over. I wanted him to know that it really should be the other way around; we thanking him for peeling back his skin a bit and showing us the insides.

The end of this night was a stupendous show of noise, all four members of the Twilight Sad with backs to the audience, instruments in hand and amps turned up as loud as they could possibly go. For at least five minutes they built a fortress of sound that had people clapping their hands over their ears, looking at one another and shaking their heads in disbelief, and not even attempting to talk over it. If you’ve been reading this blog for long you know what a noise freak I am. It was heavenly. It was perfect. It was the ultimate complimentary adjective that I can write to describe anything… it was so humanly real. Those are the moments when I feel completely alive. So if anyone wonders why live  music is worth it, that’s it right there. This night was full of all of the things that a gig junkie like me needs. But don’t let me dissuade you from listening to their albums. Recorded music is only a slight second best, xoxo

buy Brakes, Touchdown …. buy We Were Promised Jetpacks, These Four Walls …. buy The Twilight Sad,  Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters …. buy The Twilight Sad,  Forget The Night Ahead

Do read Frank’s review of the show in Toronto, over at Chromewaves!
And find some awesome pics and a review of the Chicago show at Underground Bee
photo credit: Matt Karp