Everything Absent or Distorted
Denver’s music scene has enjoyed an explosion of hyperactivity as the slumped-
shouldered indie rock of the ’90s has given way to exuberant spectacles of song and dance. Few people would argue this is a bad thing, especially when it leads to acts like Everything Absent or Distorted.
The Denver group’s Bluebird Theater set June 1 felt like a joyous reunion, as the band’s seven members switched instruments (drums, guitar, keyboard, banjo, horns) and singing duties with aplomb. Half the band looked dressed up for a job interview at a law firm, while the other half seemed to have stumbled out an Urban Outfitters’ dressing room.
During Guided by Voices-influenced songs like “The Exit Parade,” or the house-shaking cover of Neutral Milk Hotel’s “Holland, 1945,” the members belted out their respective parts while flailing and pogoing around the stage. The display felt wonderfully unselfconscious, if a bit filtered through a few of the members’ Buddy Holly glasses. Denver needs more bands like this.|John Wenzel
The Walkmen
The sunny, folksy pop of the Walkmen is easy to fall for, what with their big throwback melodies and stylized, back-
porch guitar licks.
But that didn’t translate so much to the New York band’s Monday-night show at the Gothic, where its tuneful indie rock was more pallid than potent. A smallish crowd was there to breathe in the music, and the room’s collective lack of enthusiasm was an indicator that this band wasn’t living up to its recorded product.
Songs like “Rat” and “Louisiana” hit with some spark, but many of the selections from the new record, “A Hundred Miles Off,” failed to connect. |Ricardo Baca
The Giraffes, Eagles of Death Metal
For a day of supposed evil, 6/6/06 felt a bit anticlimactic. No awe-inspiring explosions, no random fistfights, no satanic sacrifices. Just a couple of semi-ironic indie-
metal bands playing to a sold-out crowd at the Bluebird Theater.
With desperate, ticket-seeking fans milling around the front of the venue, the air of privilege hung in the interior air. The Giraffes opened with an explosive set of ear-tickling anthems, at once bluesy, grungy and melodic. The Brooklyn-based mayhem enthusiasts are perhaps the only remaining band that’s truly dangerous onstage, jumping into the audience, pouring entire bottles of whiskey onto their fans and generally enjoying their roles as rock figureheads.
Eagles of Death Metal played next, their sunglasses-clad lead singer unable to stop telling the audience how “awesome” and full of “hot chicks” it was. The pseudo-supergroup was diminished by the absence of drummer Josh Homme, whose regular gig in Queens of the Stone Age is a big factor in the Eagles’ popularity.
The thinnest layer of irony separated the band’s fans from an impromptu NASCAR rally, and that’s certainly not good for the music. After The Giraffes, the Eagles’ straight-up classic rock facsimiles were a middling disappointment. Too bad they couldn’t take a lesson in rock from their boozy, able-bodied openers.
