October 31, 2007
The Weakerthans at Webster Hall
The Weakerthans should be huge stars.
If it weren’t for the facts that they don’t care, and they’re too smart to get major radio airplay, they probably would be.
Regardless, they’re a great modern pop/rock band who deserve to be lauded for their general excellence.
On Tuesday, October 30, the lady and I trekked over to Webster Hall (following some great dumplings) to see them.
Opening the show was their friend, guitar tech, and side guitarist/keyboardist/vocalist Jim Bryson. He was what you could call a singer-songwriter, but more in the emotive Phil Ochs/Billy Bragg variety than the navel-gazing, “woe-is-me” Elliot Smith vein of tearjerkers. Actually, he reminded me of a hipster Otis Gibbs. He was self-effacing and funny, with a set that consisted mostly of ballads but that was high-energy. Highly recommended.
Up next was Brooklyn’s own The Last Town Chorus, who I have now not-so-affectionately dubbed Every Last Song Bores Us. Their countrified wallpaper rock sucked the energy out of the room faster than your uncle puking on the floor at your big party. And while the singer/lap steel player definitely had command of her instrument, she should probably think about talking a little less about herself and the band’s level of greatness during a live set.
I don’t mind pretentiousness, but keep it under your hat. She blathered on about how this next song was featured on Gray’s Anatomy (doing a fucking David Bowie cover, no less), how they were on NPR, and who they were going on tour with and blah-blah-blah.
All I know is their boner-crushing brand of tedium should be best left as background music for bad Missionary Position yuppie sex and kept out of the rock clubs, and ideally out of my ears.
Finally, The Weakerthans got onstage and totally destroyed the room. They played a great mix of their older catalog and their new album, and were consummate professionals. Rarely does one see a rock show where the whole crowd smiles and sings along to every song like I witnessed during their set.
They seemed to take everything in stride, from the passionate singing of the crowd to the shouted requests for songs. Their encore was the same length as their regular set (in true punk rock style), and began with a few solo songs from songwriter John K. Sampson.
And you know what? Their ticket price was only $15, a true low-dough show by New York standards. They could easily command more, but apparently prefer to keep things honest. And they definitely gave the packed crowd more than their money’s worth.
