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January 23, 2005
French Kicks at Doug Fir, Jan 20
Even though this French Kicks show received significant coverage from the major Portland media outlets (okay, the Mercury and the Willy Week, but really, what else is there?), I still managed to walk into it without ever having heard the band in my life. That's actually an experience I quite enjoy; it's like going to a movie without reading any reviews or having seen a preview, or even knowing who's starring in it. It's refreshing to have an open slate of perception, with no preconceived notions.
I was sick and my throat and face felt like they'd been run over by a truck, so I wasn't expecting to have the best of times. My date promised that the Kicks would put on a fun show that I would enjoy whether I enjoyed the music or not, but I found them to be pretty mellow, which fortunately fit the mood I was in. I guess they used to be more hardcore, post-punk, experimental, jump-around whatever, but they seem to have become more reserved, with catchy, melodic songs that are often even kind of beautiful. The lead singer--I think his name's Matt--is one sexy mofo, with this intense stare that he focused on the audience like a laser beam. He reminded me of The Band's Richard Manuel in their concert film "The Last Waltz," only way better looking and without a nasty beard and teeth. But he definitely seemed equally coked up; he kept "making love to the mike" and reaching to the crowd like he wanted to pull us into his wonderful drugged-out love zone. He also introduced the guitarist Josh Wise at least 6 times, which might have been a joke but I don't think was. He's a charismatic guy, though, and his smooth singing appealed to me, even if the songs all kind of ran together after a while. The band's best effort were actually their covers, (Fleetwood Mac and something else I liked that I can't remember) though those may also just have been the ones I recognized, and thus "got them." Punctuating everything were the scraggly drummer's cool beats, which were simultaneously off-kilter and militaristic, like a marching cadence. The Doug Fir's lighting was majestic and layered, like a sunset in a western, which combined with the hypnotically irregular percussion and buttery vocals made everything very dreamy. The more I drank the heavier my head and face felt with the sludge of illness, and the music did nothing to pull me from my top-heavy stupor, but that wasn't such a bad thing. No, not a bad thing at all.
Drinks drunk: 2 glasses of red wine, Makers on the rocks, two beers
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Posted by H & IG at January 23, 2005 1:01 AM
