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"Practice makes perfect, but if people aren't perfect, then why practice?" Those were just a handful of confounding words uttered by Japandroids' guitarist and vocalist Brian King during the duo's set at Great Scott on Sunday night. Call 'em paradoxes, oxymorons, conflicts of interest, contradictions - all apt terms for describing the Vancouver band's show. Thankfully, the results were less on the side of catastrophe and - as King would constantly proclaim as the inevitable goal for Japandroids - happened to be composed of a grand heap of "rocking."
Post-Nothing, the band's debut album, was an excellent explanation for the experience in Great Scott. The scrappy Canadian youths giddily bashed out tunes while fully embracing a gleeful bit of naiveté. Meanwhile, as if in direct confrontation to their personalities, the combination of the fist-pumping, straight-to-the-jugular adrenaline rush of the group's music, and a carefully-placed fan caressed King's wavy locks and the handkerchief neatly tucked into his back pocket had the feel of a monolithic arena rock show. All of these odd musical and stage combinations spilled into the crowd, which featured rhythm-deficient hipsters unsure of how to "properly" move during a rock show, baseball-cap sporting bros unsure of how to "properly" react to a fuzz-inflected indie act, and arms-crossed and dead-eyed gig goers unsure of how to "properly" have fun at a concert.
Though the mere thought and initial sight of such an event may make one feel dizzy from such odd combinations, Japandroids were able to combine DIY and EMI without a resulting WTF. Blasting through their album's eight tracks, a handful of covers, and a spare Metallica lick, Japandroids put on the kind of show that would make many other duos try and rethink their shtick.
No, there are no "brother-sister" gimmicks to grab folks attention, nor the massive baby-boomer industry head-over-heels in nostalgia for ye olde classic rock sound. Japandroids may drench their songs in a healthy dose of fuzz, but unlike Jack White, they're able to move an old aural aesthetic in new directions. Throughout the evening, the group presented a solid mix of buzz-saw guitars, dissonant downbeat drumming, shoegaze noise-glaze, teenager-at-heart-lyrics, and even a spare bit of jazz and hip-hop thrown into the mix. Though, most of the hip-hop portion came from King stomping on his guitar cable to create a sloppy beat while changing guitars.
Sure, their hip-hop was a little sloppy, but the band played a solid, energetic set even while getting steadily inebriated thanks to one happy fan more than willing to buy the guys a steady line of alcohol. To show their appreciation, the duo blasted through an hour and a half set and made an effort to make their last American show for this tour memorable. And the show certainly was memorable; between King's cathartic thrashing and various contortions, drummer and singer David Prowse's powerhouse bashing, the duo's oft-awkward stage banter, King's proclaimed hatred towards New York City as explained with a metaphor deduced from a sex act, and the band's simple enjoyment at given the chance to play, it was all quite a solid evening.
To prove their adoration for Boston, King decided to hedge forward from a slight bump in a cover of McLusky's "To Hell With Good Intentions," and into a song the duo wrote in an earlier incarnation. Though no one in the crowd knew a verse, and the possibility of the band veering off into chaos if the all-to-real-possibility of forgetting a chord or beat cropped up, it was quite a treat that the one-o-clock, thinned-out crowd showed their approval of by... well, rocking out. And properly so.
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thanks for a good read and some pictures, I had a great time at the show the other night.
I also have a request; I was the guy with the green hat in the front row, and i found myself in a couple of your pictures. i was wondering if you had any more shots that i could see. id love to get as much media from that night as i can, it's set the bar for my best concert experience to date