The Kid Mountain fans were young and I saw more Johhny Cupcakes hats, help terrible haircuts and skate shoes than I care to recount. Knocking the stage with their knees, shop the girlfriend section sang every word and relentlessly eye-fucked the band throughout the set. Everyone seemed stoked to be out of their shitty dorm room, especially the band. They fanboyed hard for Majical Cloudz, not only thanking them for the invitation to open, but screaming out just how excited they were to have a chance to see the older band perform. This might have been cute if it had constituted some sort of temporary breach of composure but Kid Moutain’s patter between songs was overeager throughout the night. They aimed to be endearingly awkward but it felt campy and amateur.
To be fair, they are a relatively new group, only about two years old according to an interview they gave in August. Though local buzz has been good and they have opened for some established acts, The Deli affectionately called them a “baby band” this July.
More importantly than their age or experience, when you leave my dickish, superficial complaints aside, they were good, really good, where it counts. Their music quickly had the room dancing. It’s poppy but lo-fi; homemade in the best sense; full of energy. They radiated as they performed on stage with sloppy grins and sweaty brows. Cole, the lead singer, opened up to the crowd instead of zoning out or closing his eyes, as many musicians are wont to do, and the bassist’s energetic footwork could probably have booked its own separate gig. In the end, these guys really won me over with a heartfelt set, and I’m sure they’ll nail down their stagecraft as they perform more frequently.
Toronto based Moon King felt relaxed onstage. Lead singer Daniel Benjamin talked about completing the bands summer North American tour, playing a basement show in Boston on his last visit to town, and congratulated the crowd for coming out on a Sunday night. Though he often talked at greater length than his opener, Kid Mountain, he never seemed to be hamming for audience attention, and even remained comfortable during technical difficulties at the beginning of his set.
Daniel and sole bandmate Maddy Wilde began with some of their slower songs but still conveyed an immediacy and urgency. Stark lighting heightened Benjamin’s facial contortions as he let loose on the mic. Though they’re definitely an electronic band they bring an almost punk sensibility—simple music driven by emotions. Not to say the aesthetic is spare. Moon King puts out a pulsing wall of sound, constantly modulating, with Daniel’s tenor vocals blending into a buzz of synthesizers and guitar. Exhorted by the crowd they played an extended set to enthusiasm and applause.
Another duo takes the stage. Devon Welsh, the singer-songwriter, holds only a mic. Matt Otto stands before a keyboard and a laptop. Welsh explains that his voice has been giving him real trouble towards the end of the tour and jokes that this might be the last time he is ever able to sing. The crowd laughs but he presses on, “No I’m serious. This could be it.” He doesn’t seem to be terribly serious, but he’s definitely in pain. He warns that this show will be like a cover band playing his music—the crowd should not expect it to sound like the album. He asks for a stool so he can sit down. An audience member suggests that there is one already on stage. Welsh then proceeds to ask the sound guy to dim the lights. “No, all the way down,” he says. Now lit by the glow of the computer, and house lights from the distant bar, Welsh begins to croon.
He’s right. The performance is not so piercing or clear as the tracks on his most recent album, Imposter. Sometimes you can see him struggling to hit high notes or feel his discomfort as he works through a challenging section but it doesn’t disappoint the crowd. Even if he’s not singing at his best you can feel that he’s giving it his best.
After almost every song he stops, apologizes to the crowd and asks the room if he should keep going. Voices shout out that he’s doing fine and that they want him to continue playing. Welsh offers that if anyone honestly thinks they can sing any of his songs that they should come up and do it. There’s a pregnant pause whilst Welsh and the audience eagerly await a volunteer. Much to everyone’s disappointment, most especially, I can testify, my own, no one steps up to the plate. Welsh stands up on his stool and continues singing.
Several songs later they begin to have technical trouble. A connection from the keyboard has gone flukey. It seems like a cable is short-circuiting so Matt Otto begins to mess with it. An audience member helpfully turns on the flashlight of his cellphone. Welsh begins talking to the crowd—a little more about his voice, finishing the tour but quickly he runs out of gas. Silence fills the room. Otto is still futzing with the keyboard. Still perched on the stool, Welsh pulls the mic back up to his mouth and says, “I’m going to recite some poetry.” It seems to be his own, at least, I don’t recognize it—though that doesn’t mean much. I’m not listening closely to the words but his pace is regular and comforting. When Welsh finishes, Matt Otto excuses himself to go to the bathroom. We all wait, mostly in silence. When Otto returns to the stage the show starts again. Welsh asks that the stage lights be set so it seems the room is candlelit. During the next song, an audience member produces and lights a tall candle, walking into the crowd. The room is buzzing. It’s been a strange show; mellow, unguarded but in this way more intimate. Majical Cloudz performs another couple songs, not quite full tilt but laying it all on the table and excuse themselves a bit early.
