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I swore I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't make lazy, obvious comparisons between Sunset Rubdown and other Canadian acts. But I have to. While standing in a humid, packed Lee's Palace on a Thursday night, watching Spencer Krug (of Wolf Parade acclaim), Camilla Wynn Ingr, Jordan Robson-Cramer, and Mike Doerkson dutifully play their instruments, I couldn't help thinking of… Avril Lavigne?!?
It wasn't the music. It wasn't that the band's members looked like they'd fit right in on The OC (although my sister enthusiastically agreed that drummer and sometimes guitar player Jordan Robson-Cramer does bear a somewhat distracting resemblance to annoying "it" boy Adam Brody). It was that, throughout the evening, the band left me wanting to scream, "DO SOMETHING!"
I don't understand bands that dedicate all their time, money, energy, etc. to making music that they then seem dispassionate about live -- especially when the out-there indie music that they make IS full of emotion and passion. Although a lame, apathetic performance is not that shocking from a pop icon like Avril Lavigne, it is surprising from a band that trades on dramatic, heart-felt songs and innovative and interesting arrangements.
Maybe it's just me, but I can't help thinking that a band should bring something to their live shows beyond the songs and a melancholy cool. I'm not expecting any of the obvious, contrived rockstar posturing or fancy lights and pyrotechnics -- let's get real here -- just a little expression. It always drives me crazy to watch artists (I use the term loosely) like Avril Lavigne profess their undying love for live performance only to later live out those dreams by standing stock-still, save for a few fist pumps or a run back and forth from one side of the stage to another. And it REALLY drives me crazy to see a group of clearly talented people, who should NEVER be mentioned alongside someone like Avril Lavigne, standing on stage motionless. Everyone has off nights, sure, but when your music is this invigorated, you've got to learn to at least fake it, lest those "off" evenings become all the more obvious.
Watching Sunset Rubdown perform, I got the feeling that the band's very capable musicians were, for whatever reason, just going through the motions, playing to the crowd like the show was the culmination of some awful High School music-class requirement. Camilla Wynn Ingr, in particular -- despite getting some of the most interesting parts (I've always been a sucker for the eerie elements that xylophones add) -- tapped away at the keys with an utter lack of attachment.
The aforementioned Seth Cohen-esque drummer/guitarist was engaging as he kept the pounding beat going strong through the dense and emotional set. To his credit, singer Spencer Krug also put forth a nice effort, wailing and rocking his way through with welcome vigor. After mopping up sweat from his keyboard, he paused to tie a red bandana around his forehead -- "I tell myself every night that I won't sweat this time!" he proclaimed. The audience laughed. I frowned. Maybe he should pass some headbands out to his band's members and tell them that it's okay to break a sweat.
Despite my frustrations with their ambivalent stage presence, the music didn't suffer. The band's songs were lush, resounding with as much, or more, of the heightened sense of emergency that explodes on their emotionally charged album. The drama and tension inherent in the music created the highlight "I'm Sorry I Sang on Your Hands That Have Been in The Grave", a song that is sang with such yearning and hopelessness that it elevates the speciously mundane repeated line, "I don't only want to swim with you" and infuses it with depth and beauty. If only they looked the way that sounded.
The crowd favorite seemed to be the encore, "The Empty Threats of Little Lord", which drew enormous cheers as soon as Krug announced that "we don't usually do this live". It's a little Alanis Morisette for me, with all the "you snake!" denunciations of a spurned lover (who'd have thought I'd get Alanis and Avril in here??!!). But all the kids cheered this cute vengeful war cry in unison, aiming their collective anger at those that have tortured their deeply wounded and poetic souls.
It reminded me of a Stars show I saw once, when amid the atmospheric soft music and the similarly quiet stage presence of the band, someone kept yelling "MAXIMUM ROCK!" Maximum rock indeed. Is it too much to ask that the band acts like they care about what they are singing, saying, performing?
I don't think so.
— 2 August 2006
