Fruit Bats returns to Lawrence with a show filled with whimsy and love for the Midwest
Fruit Bats performing onstage at Liberty Hall // Photo by River Louraine
The sun set over I-70 as I drove west to Lawrence. I had queued up The Landfill, the newest album from Fruit Bats, to listen to as the last bit of preparation before his show at Liberty Hall on Oct. 20. It was kind of the perfect setting for this kind of album–hearing a Midwesterner singing about his home as I was driving through the patchwork of Kansas landscape. It was an accidental poetic moment when “That Goddamn Sun” started playing and I heard, “Still think about you in the morning, and come to think of it, I think about you also in the evening time,” as the sun finally dipped away from view.
This was my first visit to Liberty Hall. While looking for parking directions, I was pleasantly surprised by how much history this building has endured over the years, and by its mix of concert venue, independent cinema, coffee shop, and video store. Those are all my favorite kinds of places all wrapped into one; how dare it be 45 minutes away from me??
I scored an excellent parking spot a few feet away from the entrance, and was in the building in a matter of seconds. I meandered my way down into the general admission area, and popped a squat on the edge of one of the tiered platforms in front of the sound tech area before the show. I’ve been to many live shows, and I know to value any time I can sit. I took a moment to inspect the hand-painted walls: a gradient of pink, purple, and blue galaxy danced up the interior, complete with two angelic beings framing the stage. The slightly wonky faces made me smile.
A few minutes before the show was set to start, an older woman who was sitting next to me poked me on the shoulder and asked if I was there by myself. I was, and I told her as such, and that I was here to review the show for a magazine. She then launched into an excited spiel about how her son loves Fruit Bats and has seen him perform about five times already, and asked if I wanted to get a quote from him. Obviously I said yes, but I guess both fortunately and unfortunately for us, the openers sidled up to their positions on time at a crisp 8pm and began their set. I didn’t actually get to talk to this woman’s son about his love for Fruit Bats, but I hope he had a good time on his sixth time seeing him.
The opener of the night was a man named Matthew Logan Vasquez, accompanied by his buddies on the bass and drums. He had the energy of a guy you would see at a basement or garage show, a local who endears you enough to return for his next performance. Less than halfway through their second song, he brought his guitar up to his mouth and started playing with his teeth. Vasquez was joking around in between songs, playfully beginning “Freebird” when requested by the audience and howling during his song aptly titled “The Wolf,” and encouraging us to do the same.
The trio was boisterous and exciting to listen to, and I immediately queued up his album, Sana Sana, for the drive back home. He explained that “sana sana” is what a Mexican grandmother calls you when you have a ‘frog butt.’ The studio versions of the songs were more understated than the live performance I witnessed, as the three men on stage almost seemed to be showing off how well each could play their instrument. I hope Vasquez returns with his friends for more live shows, and I will definitely get a ticket if they do.
After about a 45-minute set, Vasquez departed the stage and the Liberty Hall crew began setting up for Fruit Bats. Two or three small tables sat on the stage for water and picks for the band members, but they were also topped with glowing fake candelabras. Fairy lights were strung around points of the stage and inside the bass drum. I cherished the image of grown men playing indie folk music surrounded by such whimsical decor. The back of the stage brandished a drop cloth of either a river or a highway surrounded by greenery leading into the bold typography of ‘FRUIT BATS.’ I like to think it was actually a highway, because it looked almost exactly like what I saw on my drive into Lawrence.
Fruit Bats and the four members of his touring entourage arrived on stage on time at 9pm, to the cheers of everyone already a little drunk on who knows how many beers. Mr. Bats looked exactly like the kind of guy who made indie folk music; he wore an earth-toned palette of slacks and flannel, and his shoulder-length sandy-blond hair was something wondrous to behold. Every time he really got into a guitar solo, he would whip his head around and his hair would shower down into his face, requiring him to wrangle it with one hand in an attempt to get it out of his face and away from the microphone.
This performance sounded so much fuller than the version you can stream online. There’s just something about hearing all those instruments live and in person that gets me going like nothing else. My favorite of the night was “The Saddest Part of the Song.” The chorus drops all instruments as Mr. Bats sings, “Endlessly, endlessly, sleeplessly,” and the melody crashes back in on the last syllables. I can only liken it to cresting a rollercoaster, then the weightless rush of going downhill at high speed.
Fruit Bats plays for devoted and dancing fans. // Photo by River Louraine
Mr. Bats would talk to us in the audience between songs, and he pointed out that he hadn’t been to Lawrence in about 15 years. While he is touring for The Landfill, which dropped earlier this summer in June, the setlist had a wide range of songs from different albums across his career. Maybe he wanted to make up for lost time. “Dragon Ships” from his first album, Echolocation, drew cheers from the crowd, and “Gold Past Life” from 2019 got a lot of love too. Mr. Bats also introduced his drummer, Josh Adams, who is originally from Lawrence, and he got maybe the loudest applause of the night.
Fruit Bats ended the night with an encore of “You’re Too Weird” and “A Lingering Love.” From my new spot against the right wall, I don’t think a single person in the crowd wasn’t moving. A section of women at the barricade almost seemed to have choreographed dance moves. Even the stoic white guys that don’t sing along were still swaying to the beat. I always make a mental note when I see how few people are on their phones. Few people were fiddling with their screens or recording the entire performance. Everybody was so engaged and in the moment. I have to commend Vasquez and Fruit Bats for putting on such a good show that everyone in the room wanted to absorb it all.
Mr. Bats said goodbye, promising to return to Kansas in less than 15 years. I’m sure the Lawrence community will welcome him and Josh the drummer back with open arms. I know that woman’s son will, at the very least. And I might just have to make the 45-minute drive myself to see him again, too.
