The View Over Underoath

Underoath, with Taking Back Sunday. Wednesday, March 7, at the Uptown Theater.

Review by Crystal Wiebe

Traditionally, I’ve considered myself a rock and roll proletariat, one of the people who prefers to (barely) see the band from the vantage point of the sweaty masses. Looking down at those moist, panting faces from the side balcony of the Uptown Theater last night, I realized how much nicer it is to be a VIP and regretted that a Pitch hoodie isn’t enough to gain me the same access (and complimentary beverages) every time I rock out. Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t have enjoyed the show — particularly the Underoath portion — had I, too, been relegated to the stinky, hot hell below.

credit: joshua cromley

Underaoth lords over the Uptown crowd.

The crew I was runnin’ with headed upstairs just as Armor for Sleep left the stage. The smell of a fishy dinner that permeated the band dining area we passed through on our way to the balcony reminded me that Underoath is from Florida. My BF’s big into them, so I tolerate the band’s hardcore screaming when he decides to play it around me. I figured I’d seen the best of Underoath when we saw its singing drummer, Aaron Gillespie, play with his side project the Almost recently. But when all six members of Underoath cranked up the loud last night, I was unexpectedly moved.

Officially, half of Underoath are singers, but twiggy frontman Spencer Chamberlain does the most wailing. And somehow, even when his screams are garbled, whatever pain, frustration or hope (“pull yourself together, man”) that he’s communicating comes out true. This is a rare thing in a genre full of aggressive emotion that too easily turns cliche. Sonically, Underoath’s music is about as grind heavy as it gets, except except when Gillespie chimes in from behind his drumkit with a particularly melodic chorus. Chris Dudley’s keyboard work aids in the accessibility factor, also. But even when the songs last night were chaotic, there seemed to be something unseen that the musicians — and capacity crowd — held onto.

The band, which took a moment to thank “Him” toward the end of the set, credits Jesus for its prowess. I don’t know about that, but I do know Taking Back Sunday (just who are they taking that day back from, by the way?) didn’t have a prayer of following up with the same caliber of rock. Not even during the songs I like (“Liar,” “Ghost Man On Third”) did I feel as compelled to watch TBS, although the musicianship was competent and it was kind of cool when singer Adam Lazzara broke into some Justin Timberlake.

Compared to the rawness that came before it, TBS just seemed…tame. If I’d been on the floor, I might have just walked out, like I did the first time I saw TBS in Washington, D.C., back in ’03. I can see what appeals to people about the pretty band, though, and, in fact, I myself dig the recorded music. It’s just that live, with Lazzara doing mic tricks (the worst of which is when he bends over to pick it up off the ground in slow motion), all the sweet angst feels like artifice.

Another kid watching from the crow’s nest was smart enough to bring a camera. I just had a notebook. And a worthless Pitchhoodie.