the temperature in webster hall was certainly not as cool as kim deal

Tickets for last night's Breeders show went on sale in February; George and I, being the huge dorks that we are, bought tickets the day they became available and have been waiting and waiting and waiting for four months to finally see Kim and Kelley and Mando and Jose and "Cheryl from Florida" rip through a catalog that makes up a good chunk of our life soundtrack (George and I seem to have went through the same obsessions, from the Breeders to Fiona Apple to Fleetwood Mac, though I suppose his Guided by Voices is my X, given his Ohioness vs. my LAness).

We almost didn't go.

After hunkering ourselves away from the heat in my now thankfully air-conditioned room, we drank beer and scarfed down dinner from the new delicious Mexican restaurant in our neighborhoood (me: flautas, him: enchiladas, shared: nachos), which immediately seemed to sap our energy. Also the prospect of standing inside a hot and sweaty Webster Hall. George said, as he was sprawled on my bed in listlessness, "If it wasn't the Breeders, I wouldn't go." We then talked about how maybe we're just getting too old for shows (me: "Luckily the people we want to see only tour every five years. Or have sitdown shows"). But it was the Breeders, so off we went.

The hottest concert of my life was roughly two years ago, when Sleater-Kinney played their last ever New York show. It was baking in New York that night, and being in Webster Hall was an oven inside that oven. My clothes were plastered onto my skin, and my sweat commingled with that of everyone in attendance, jumping up and down and screaming and paying tribute to those rock heroines saying farewell. I'd never been so hot and exhausted in my life, but it was worth it: it had all the fire and passion that a rock show is supposed to have, and I don't think I'll ever see anything like it as long as I live.

That show was on my mind as we headed to see the Breeders. Not that I thought they'd create anywhere near the frenzy that Sleater-Kinney whipped up (for sure, the emotion in knowing that was the last time I'd ever see them had something to do with it, and certainly had something to do with the performance as well, though on seven occasions I'd never seen S-K give a less-than-phenomenal performance), but that maybe the actual temperature inside Webster Hall would match.

Not quite, but close. And you could say the same thing for the Breeders themselves.

I'd seen the Breeders on their comeback tour, as they were playing shows in and around LA far before the release of 2002's Title TK. I saw them in December 2001 or so at the Glass House in Pomona, giving a rousing performance of their old tunes; the joy that night was intense, nostalgia holding up a "Welcome back" sign. It was one of the best shows I'd ever attended.

Last night was probably better. Because once again, they'd been away too long, and once again we were ready to welcome them. And they are also probably a better band than they were in December 2001; they interact and cohere in a more organic way, although when you get to play a drum part like the one in "Divine Hammer" or a bassline like "Cannonball," I bet organic comes easy.

There's something not quite right about the Breeders. They are typically indie rock in many ways (at least, how it used to sound, emphasis on rock, and not the nancyboy bedwetting that's become so prevalent over the past four years): haphazard, sloppy, alternately muscular and slight. The Deal sisters are by no stretch great singers; Kelley seems to overcompensate with a clipped, almost robotic delivery, whereas Kim, well...Kim's smoked a few too many cigarettes in her day. You can almost hear her throat dissolving in shards at times. And yet there's something intangible and unexplainable about how right Kim's voice sounds, despite her technical deficiency. She stole the spotlight in many a Pixies song, she manages to completely own songs by Hank Williams and the Beatles and the Who, and then writes songs that seem impossible for anyone else to sing but her. And in full disclosure, the name of this blog is taken from what is easily my favorite ever Deal performance, from the Amps' "Bragging Party": "You are what I need to hear, so fill the air with memorized breaths," as great a tribute to the power of a voice as I've ever heard.

The Breeders are great when you're drunk. Just about everything is better when you're drunk, but for the Breeders it makes sense. Maybe it's Dayton (hello, Bob Pollard). Kim Deal writes songs that sound like intoxication. There's the surfy siesta that turns into a jackhammering in "No Aloha." The lovely, sleepy buzz of much of their recent output, most notably "Night of Joy," but also in older tracks like "Glorious" or "Mad Lucas." The disjointed mood shifts and shouts in "Cannonball" are obviously the work of somebody on something. And then there's "Iris," whose opening guitar line + following riff conveys complete punch-drunk, woozy wobbling. One of my favorite memories is of hanging out at a friend's house one night while his parents were away, a cooler of Budweisers at our feet as we sat in the gazebo in his backyard, passing a joint around while listening to Last Splash.

And then there's their stage presence. Again: something not quite right. The Deals celebrated their 47th birthday last night, Kelley still looking like a soccer mom, Kim still looking like a truck driver. As they entered the stage, the crowd serenaded them with a "Happy Birthday" that was aborted when Kim said "Thanks" and immediately began making assorted noises on her guitar to drown out our singing. Kim does not stop smiling. And when she ceded the stage to Kelley during their cover of the Tasties' "It's The Love," she laughed uproariously as Kelley smiled, playing the guitar solo while paying intense attention to her fingers' positioning. And then our resuscitation of "Happy Birthday" at the end of the show, as Cheryl from Florida brought out a cake, all the while Kim flipping everyone off and calling them/us "motherfuckers."

From Pod to Last Splash to the Amps' Pacer (of which Kim once said, "I should've just called that a Breeders record") to Title TK to Mountain Battles, last night, every song was a hit. So much so that by the end of the first encore, I didn't realize they hadn't played one of my favorite Breeders songs, "Saints," until that opening riff came buzzing into my ears.

"Thanks for joining us on this hot motherfucking day," Kim said afterwards.

Summer is ready when you are.

Setlist:
Tipp City (the Amps)
Huffer
Bang On
Shocker in Gloomtown (Guided by Voices)
Divine Hammer
Night of Joy
No Aloha
Pacer (the Amps)
We're Gonna Rise
It's The Love (the Tasties)
Walk It Off
New Year
Cannonball
I Just Wanna Get Along
Happiness Is A Warm Gun (the Beatles)
Safari
Iris
German Studies
Empty Glasses (the Amps)

first encore:
Overglazed
Drivin' on 9 (Ed's Redeeming Qualities)
Here No More
Saints

second encore:
Fortunately Gone

Comments

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