Lucky, Crazy and Over
This Just In: The Apples In Stereo, March 1, the Record Bar. And days after that, Cold War Kids plays the Bottleneck on the 4th. A good week for critically acclaimed indie rock, right there, if that’s your thing.
If it’s not, then you might enjoy hearing about a couple of the unknown-to-the-rest-of-the-world local Kansas City bands I saw at the Record Bar last Saturday, only one of which could really be considered to fit in with most critics’ conceptions of indie rock, up with which I am pretty damned fed (that is, not including the local band I lightly alluded to, which is It’s Over).
Band 1: The Lucky Graves
My take on this band is pretty much the same as when I reviewed their first full-length last year. Actually, the release of a magnificent album by two of the Graves’ other band, Overstep (Laughter After Disaster), last year, caused me to gain more respect for this band and its (and Overstep’s) voice-to-die-for-bearing frontman Adam Stotts. I still think they would be more fun and accessible if they would simplify their song structures and not cram so many durn tempo changes and chord progressions into each song. It would be less to remember, and it would make the music catchier.
Credit: Forester
The Lucky Graves’ Adam Stotts
Crazy Talk
My friends were divided on this band. Some enjoyed the bodacious, Zakk Wyldean, Southern-infused tush rock; some did not — but of those, at least one was caught dancing unconsciously. The band is good at having fun and tearing up some guitar rawk. I think they could afford to take one more step forward into self-conscious pomp and sass, which is pretty much what they were inspired to do last Halloween. I’m not saying they should roll out costumes, but I’d like to see more charisma coming off the stage. This is music that many crowds (excepting those comprised of hicks and biker dudes) aren’t going to buy up without some sweet salesmanship.
Band 3: It’s Over
These guys are quickly becoming one of the town’s best-loved bands, and that’s because they’re so damned lovable. Talk about charisma. Elfish frontman Jamie Searle made eyes, eyelashes, smiles and nods to every lady in the crowd, including some of his friends’ moms (I suspect). The band’s boyish exuberance reminds me so much of the Monkees (who, admittedly, couldn’t play or write a song to save their life; not so with IO) that I took the liberty of rewriting the Monkees theme song for them: Hey hey we’re It’s Over/People say that we’re over/But we’re really just getting started/In fact, we’ve barely beguuuuunnnnnn. Well, it seemed funny at the time… Anyway, there’s more to come on It’s Over in the pages of the Pitch, so stay tuned.
Afterwards, rather than heading to Karma — and after, of course, scraping my windshielf for 10 minutes — I decided to go home, stopping by YJs, which is now open 24 fuckin’ hours on the weekend. The Crossroads coffee shop has a reputation as a place for dirty artkids and hippies, and maybe it is, but they play better music, make healthier food, serve better coffee and attract a more laid-back clientele than any other place in KCMO you’re likely to hit after the bars close. When I walked in from the cold, there was one other customer, a guy serving food behind the counter and a girl getting ready to mop the floor. I looked at the list of available foodstuffs and chose, from among dishes like red beans & rice and chicken wings, mac ‘n’ cheese. They didn’t have it as a standalone dish, they guy behind the counter said as he reached into the fridge and pulled out a plate loaded down with mac ‘n’ cheese plus mashed potatoes, peas and corn. “I’ll take that,” I said. As he microwaved the plate, I sat, relishing my hot coffee and inhaling its fumes as I read a handmade book some young artist girl who used to live here and now lives in DC made for YJs. It was all about doing quirky fun things by yourself and being young and really getting the most out of every nap and the like. My food came, and it was about as good as something I’d make for myself — a hodgepodge of whatever was in the pantry on a day I didn’t care and just wanted to eat. And really, that plate of mushy food, the hot coffee, the smell of disinfected mopwater, the worldbeat hip-hop on the coffeehouse stereo, and the ice falling outside — those things are the real reasons I’m still thinking about that night now, four days later.
