Opener Glasser came on super late and sounded like... someone. JJ? The lead singer from XX? Enya? The kind of band you'd care to see on a random Friday or Saturday night, stiff (or regular Black Cat) drink in hand, no threat of an alarm clock the following morning. Otherwise, take it or leave it.
A Hall and Oates mix filled the bridge between sets. Some know Hall & Oates unironically, but for the rest of you, we coined a new term of appreciation: Hipster Hindsight. Apply it to soul and R&B in general, actually, to explain the recent phenomena of hipsters missing the heyday. Apparently, however, BYT must've been having a plaid party elsewhere. Because the club was half empty. Or half full, if you're like us and like a little breathing room...
Then there came Gayngs: two furry hats, one shark costume, one shirtless, one devil mask, one white tux, lots of shades, and Justin Vernon. And two rotating spots on stage for bandmates taking a break to play the beer bottle.
Quantity equaled quality. These neo-blue-eyed souls sang through a setlist encompassing their entire album, and a Sade cover. The vocoder was a little loud. The crowd a little thin. The music, however, smooth as silk. I knew Bon Iver and Megafaun had surprisingly strong voices. But the rest of these guys held their own, singing in a way that felt retro, it was just so genuine. A gimmick with some real good behind it.
"1980's Soft Rock" doesn't really encompass the richness of what they do. It's Hall & Oates meets Prince, vocoded. It's Stevie Wonder meets Steve Winwood, vocoded. Isn't all good indie rock something else, vocoded? Seriously, though, the show was a blast. Pasty dudes from a cold city bring a warmth to the stage you didn't think they could, much less understand. Peep the scorecard for more info.
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