Grizzly Bear
Thursday, Sept. 28
Spaceland
Talk about marking your territory.
On a night when the Los Angeles hipster population was evenly
divided ““ Sonic Youth and M. Ward were last Thursday’s
other big draws ““ the Brooklyn-based Grizzly Bear played to a
packed, enthusiastic house at Silverlake club Spaceland.
The two opening acts didn’t fare quite as well. Up first
was Hour of the Shipwreck, which played fractured pop that evoked
Sunny Day Real Estate and At The Drive In. The lead singer had
terrific, furry dreadlocks, while the female drummer ““ easily
the band’s most intense musician ““ sported a pixie cut.
The five-piece band was best when it exchanged the crunch for
psychedelic interludes.
The buoyant Holy Shit contradicted its unfortunate name with a
relatively tame set of reverb-soaked ’80s dream-pop. Much
like Luna’s Dean Wareham, singer Matt Fishbeck’s voice
was dry and low as he sang quietly into the mic. The band was
backed by another female drummer ““ this time an Asian in a
schoolgirl outfit.
In a further perpetuation of hipster stereotypes, before Grizzly
Bear finally took the stage, there were as many people playing pool
and drinking Red Stripe in the smoke-filled back room as there were
on the venue floor.
It was a classic example of a night in the Silverlake music
scene, where attendees are often more apt to get drunk and go
through a pack of cigarettes than make the effort to absorb a new
band.
But whether those in the audience were just there because
they’d read indie hype machine Pitchfork Media’s
laudatory review of Grizzly Bear’s album, “Yellow
House,” or because the band’s music actually managed to
persuade a few jaded concertgoers, the crowd emptied out of lung
cancer central once the quartet began its set.
The group managed to sound as huge and cavernous as on record,
with the volume of live guitars only adding a sheen of ferocity to
their more epic numbers.
Lead singer Edward Droste explored the solar system with his
lingering, searching melodies, offering wordless skyward tributes
in the opening song. When the band harmonized,
“cascading” would be the wrong word for it ““
their voices were a torrent, plunging into the mists of thundering
drums and electric guitars.
This was singing like the Mississippi is a river, and songs like
Niagara is a waterfall.
“Yellow House” is an album of subdued, quiet folk
music with moments of noisy aggression, but live, Grizzly Bear was
often a different animal.
The song “Little Brother,” dour on record, was
granted new life as a sped-up jam, while “Knife”
sounded every bit the surrealistic ghost doo-wop presented on the
album version.
As the set drew on into the wee hours, “On a Knife, On a
Spit” made for a flawless closer.
The Elliott Smith-like folk rumbler became a back-and-forth
between Droste and singer/guitarist Daniel Rossen, finally
staggering to a soft conclusion.
The highlight of the performance came in the middle of the set,
when the band’s craggy folk style was juxtaposed with a new
song that thrashed about loudly as their amps went to 11. For a few
minutes, Grizzly Bear had everything ”“ post-rock
grandeur, Beach Boys-esque songcraft and the pummeling drive of
noise. If this was any indication of the group’s direction,
its next album is going to be very, very loud.
However, the band’s encore saw it slowing things down,
playing tender acoustic versions of early material to the remaining
fans.
And it was appreciated. Grizzly Bear managed to melt the frost
that often permeates Los Angeles concerts, and one can only hope
they get as good a reception elsewhere as they make their way up
the coast and across the country. The crowd cheered warmly for the
“Yellow House” material, and after one song, a fan
yelled, “L.A. loves you!” For a band that was
“driving to Bakersfield tonight,” it was praise both
necessary and deserved.