Nada Surf + Shivaree + Koester

Nada Surf + Shivaree + Koester

I’m on the F train, bulleting toward the Bowery and the words Nada Surf’s drummer Ira Elliot told me in an interview last month are replaying in my head: “I really love touring, I hate stopping… Touring gets its own rhythm and I get really used to that, and I love it.” Tonight, Nada Surf are on tour, but they’re playing at home (to celebrate the release of their new record The Weight Is a Gift”). The party is at Manhattan’s Bowery Ballroom, a large, open venue with miles of standing room and a stage high enough to keep the band dry in the event of a flood. Outside, it’s raining hard, which leads me to wonder if the club’s owners were thinking ahead. I wonder if Elliot is feeling the touring rhythm, or if he’s stuck in home mode. I, for one, am glad Nada Surf is here and hoping for the charisma often inspired by hometown crowds. The train squeals to a stop, I hop off and emerge from NYC’s seedy underground. Six blocks west, Koester (the ‘o’ is silent — as was the crowd) has taken the stage. When I pass the ticket booth, they’re halfway through their set. Following my (plugged) ears, I wander the club’s labyrinth — down the stairs, through the bar, and back up the stairs — eventually passing the band’s merch table. When I innocently ask who’s on stage, a #1 fan grins and answers. “Koester. Do you want a CD?” I tell him I’m reviewing the concert, but he doesn’t hear me; he keeps talking. “I really like what they’re doing with their sound, don’t you? I really like this direction. What do you think? Want to sign the mailing list?” I tell him I have to hear the band before I can comment or commit, and he grudgingly lets me go. Finally, a staircase and a hallway later, I find the stage. With six members and a consequently busy sound, Koester play pop tunes heavily doused in Wilco. With Nada Surf’s new CD still ringing in my ears (I spent all day doing “research”), I hypothesize Koester might sound like Nada Surf if they were heard from speakers playing on the other end of a water pipe. Their hooks are sweet, their melodies are rollicking, but they have a half-twung twang — it’s as if they replaced the hard-driving backbone of Nada Surf’s impeccable rhythm section with a single slide guitar. Something muffled and half-formed resonates in the midst of their otherwise enjoyable tunes. But they’re the opener’s opener, and in that role, they fit nicely.


Shivaree

When they’re done, I fight the onset of bitter frustration. The Ballroom’s tech team are moving quickly around the stage but seem unable to get the next group set up. When they finally do, things don’t get much better. Shivaree, an obvious hometown favorite, plays tunes usually retrofitted for coffee shops and lounge bars. Unfortunately, the Bowery Ballroom is neither of these. The first four songs exemplify a disjointed, wandering smoothness that is not fit for a standing-room crowd. I want to sit. I want to rest. In lieu of that, I listen to the music but find myself unable to enjoy the meandering wit of Amrosia Parsley, Shivaree’s female vocalist. Despite her pretty voice and enchanting between-song banter, I can’t focus. I can’t care. I can’t really enjoy this technically proficient and original band. And to top it off, I can only barely hear what seem to be quite interesting lyrics. When Shivaree finishes, what I feared becomes a quick reality: the Ballroom floods. Not with rainwater, but with tall, drunk, 35 year-old men in business attire and hordes of loud, bouffant-haired, skintight-dress-wearing women (did they all come together?). While the now-obscured stage is loaded with Nada Surf’s rock-of-the-day ingredients, I find myself gaping at the strange crowd. When Nada Surf graced MTV, some 10 years ago, these “fans” were in their early 20s. What are they doing here tonight? Are they the only New Yorkers willing to spend the $20 on tickets? Is attendance at pop concerts the “thing to do” after work on Friday nights? Where are all the people like me, who fell in love with Nada Surf back in high school when they were young and impressionable and happily rediscovered them a few years later as they reemerged with new poise and resolve? Maybe my people are just shorter, lost in the jungle of Amazonian business fans. I certainly am. I’m scanning the crowd helplessly from a crumpled-on-the-floor vantage when the notes of Nada Surf’s anthem for aimlessness scratches across the speakers. With “Blizzard of ’77”, the opening track off their Let Go album, the show begins. Nada Surf play hard and fast. The tempos of the album tracks accelerate and the resonance of their reverb-drenched sound magnifies in the open hall. They are “on.” Because they’re at home, the band has invited a fourth member to the stage – their friend (and co-producer of their last two albums) Louie Lino — to add live keyboard to their usual ménage a trios. He stands stage right, while Matthew Caws, on vocals and guitar, balances him out on stage left. In the middle, Daniel Lorca swings and smokes while singing and playing bass. Behind, Eliot drums visibly on a raised platform — quite visibly, in fact, as two very large mirrors hover above his head. Like convenience store security mirrors, they allow the audience to see all the “funny business” going on over Ira’s set. The business, as usual, is beats tight as a leather corset and a pulse as heavy as a heart attack. The band races through song after song, pausing occasionally to give shout-outs to family members and friends. Their song selection is as broad and varied as a musically consistent band’s can be. They focus on the driving numbers, playing nearly all the songs from their new album which has more upbeat songs than their last (Let Go). But they also play heavily from Let Go, refusing to skip over their brooding and contemplative numbers. Though a few songs are chosen from their sophomore album, Proximity Effect, no songs from their debut “hit” album are played. No matter what they play though, it’s all done with verve, pump, and energy. Each song sounds alive, fresh and current. The fans, drunk and giddy, rumble and rock (as in, back-and-forth) during the set. No one seems to bemoan the absence of a certain early-recorded novelty song (i.e. “Popular”), no one complains about the mostly new-album set, and no one seems to notice that the band on stage is playing pop tunes with a distinctly late ’90s guitar-driven sound. Or, more likely, they notice, and love it. And “loving it” — outwardly, with body motion, with yelps and giggles — is not a usual New York thing. But the band was just that effective.