bishop allen // crocodile cafe // 4 august 2007

Of all the amusing all-ages show configurations in town, the orange net room divider at the Crocodile is my favorite. I’m always hoping that someone has remembered to bring a beach ball so that the crowd can start a crowded and poorly coordinated game of drunks vs. minors bar volleyball, but it never happens. I’m not sure if it’s more of a fire hazard to have the people holding the alcohol caged in a place not easy to run from, since they’ll probably go up in flames faster, but I guess someone has to think of the kids.

At any rate. We followed our own advice Saturday night [mb] and arrived at the Crocodile in time for part of Page France’s set. They seemed sweet and catchy and poppy, but we had already seen the Cave Singers and Grand Archives earlier in the day, and I was going to need a beer to fortify me for another band or two. Standing around and listening to other people play music is exhausting, I tell you.

We ambled back in while Bishop Allen was setting up and Josh, who is much taller than me and could see the stage, noted that the drums were set up off to the side of the stage, rather than at the back. This was welcome news, as a drummer in the front usually means that there is some excellent drumming on the way. And that is the first thing I’d like to point out about Bishop Allen–the drummer is really, really good.

I’ve never paid any attention to Bishop Allen, so I wasn’t sure just what to expect, but what I’d heard of the opener gave a hint. The hint played out, and the band proved to be catchy and charming, sparkling all over the stage, trading shakers and maracas among band members and cracking jokes about East vs. West Berlin. Lead singer Justin Rice bears a striking resemblance to facial-hair-free Okkervil River frontman Will Scheff [jv], and he frequently traded delighted smiles with the lovely girl playing the keyboard. (Who was she? Where can I get that dress she was wearing?) {josh says: I think her name is Debbie Nowatka [friendster]. Can’t help with the dress though.}

I elbowed Josh and told him that they sounded like they should be doing the soundtrack for a teen movie, which I always say, I know, but it isn’t a bad thing. And then they hopped into “Things are What You Make of Them” [mp3] off of 2003′s Charm School, which was in the movie Saved! So I was right.

{josh adds: I’ve been listening to the Broken String at least once a day over the past week; so the show lived up to expectations. A little rougher, more immediate, and with dance moves to match the little bits of swagger on the album. The funny thing is that until Samantha mentioned it, I don’t think that I’d ever considered it radio pop — maybe because I hardly ever listen to the radio. I think it’s a testament to the band that this shiny collection comes across as inspired instead of insipid and invites regular repeat listens. See for yourself [virb]}



It would have been a lovely time at the Crocodile, had there not been a douchebag with a cockatiel pompadour standing in front of us and talking loudly to his companions. Douchebags of the world, why do you make your way to the front of the crowd only to yammer over the band and ruin the experience for the rest of the people in your vicinity? Have you no manners? And since it would be bad manners for me to point out your rudeness, what is the likelihood that I would get kicked out of the club if I amped up the rudeness a little and smacked you in the head?

Towards the end of the set the girl took the mic for a song on her own {“Butterfly Nets”}, with the boys in the band fading respectfully into the background. They left the stage to enthusiastic applause and we managed to wriggle through the crowd away from the douchebag for the encore, which included a cover. {“Have You Ever Seen the Rain?”, dedicated — of course– to Seattle.} In all, I found the live show to be proportionally synchronous with Earl Boykins’ graph of the album. Next time they come to town, they should bring along a beach ball, and we’ll have a real party on our hands.

{j: And we’ll know better than side with whichever “Berlin” is on the bar side of the fence. The grass is always greener, but as much as I enjoy a frosty beverage with my rock I’d like to think that the kids on the dry side are more likely to be there for the show than for obliviously yammering while balancing a pair of beers.}