A Night At The Palace: Death Cab For Cutie

Inebriated, they stumbled down the aisle. We heard them well before we saw them, the group of squawkers pulled by inertia and loss of inhibition from the back of the theater to the front, in a herd not unlike a cartoon fight scene, a cloud of arms and legs and elbows and feet. I remember thinking, as they sloshed past our row and doing their best to make out row designation letters, that wherever they sit, they are going to make someone miserable. Now, I have never been given a field sobriety test by the police, but I assume they might employ the widely-assumed-to-the-point-it's-probably-urban-legend nightmare of saying your alphabet backwards. And just as if they were on the side of the road blinded by a police powered flashlight, the concert-goers field sobriety test was spectacularly failed as, after realizing their error in descending row designations, they turned their tasmanian-devil-pigpen-cartoon-fight-cloud around and promptly entered our row.

Transatlanticism was my introduction to Death Cab For Cutie, and it came at the bottom of a stack of seven cds a friend handed me because he thought I might like them. After trudging through the first six cds, I was predisposed to dislike the seventh and lamenting the soon-to-be-loss of a friend. I was doing other things at this point; I was thinking about taxes, composing recipes, finding matches for lonely socks. From the opening half of the first song, The New Year, I decided it may have been a rash decision to excommunicate the poor friend.

The bill at Louisville's Palace Theater consisted of Ra Ra Riot, Cold War Kids, and Death Cab For Cutie. Ra Ra Riot had a fun 25 minute set; the instrumentation changes kept their set lively, as violin, cello, keys, guitar, bass, and drums combined for some intriguing songs. Their songs are a bit difficult to nail down; the pop melodies, perky drums, driving bass, and haunting combination of cello and violin are comparable to washing down a Tylenol PM with an energy drink. I honestly didn't know they were on the bill until I arrived, but look forward to watching their career.
I was able to catch the Cold War Kids set on WFPK's live show earlier in the day. It was the abnormal, subdued set to compliment the evening's animatedly enthusiastic set. I enjoyed both, but the band looked in true form in the evening set, possibly to emphasize that most bands aren't morning people, even if it's at noon. The large stage and sound and lights and capacity crowd bring the best out of most bands anyway. Cold War Kids are also a fun band; this four piece from California stands out for the bright tenor of the vocals, the pushing of a melody to the top of the singers range, the most decidedly west coast guitar tone (bottled right on the beach), and very solid and tasteful rhythm of drums and bass.

It was during the final band changeover that it happened.

At the conclusion of the Cold War Kids' set, it was the last chance for all restroom breaks, leg stretches, and drink procurement before Death Cab For Cutie took the stage. At various times during the first two acts, the group of people to my left were the recipients of icy-black stares of death, throat clearings, exasperated dramatic sighs, and actual verbal confrontation. The constant high volume talking, laughing, giggling and foolishness would ebb and return, frustrating those in the vicinity to distraction. In light of this, in apprehension of being unable to enjoy the headliner's set, we sat waiting for Death Cab to take the stage, when I noticed a young man four seats to my left, elbows on knees, fists on cheeks, spit into the floor. I was appalled. It was shocking. I then noticed the sharp contractions in his abdomen, the reflex and suppression in his neck, the elevation of his shoulders. Red Flags! Air Raid Siren! He promptly began to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. His friends didn't know how to handle this situation; "Alex, Alex, just go to the bathroom!" Oh, poor, poor Alex began to rise and lean left to make his way out of the row, but the alcohol was at this point wreaking havoc on his inner ear. He tipped backward. Someday, his friends will learn about trust falls, but as of now, they were still in that embarrassed shame of shock. Alex continued his backward descent and, in a Krameresque pratfall, landed squarely on the recently discharged contents of his own stomach. The row cleared, Alex and his friends dashed to avoid the proverbial cops at the underage party. The poor usher showed up with a 6 inch broom and dustbin. Some kind of cleaning happened, some kind of chemical applied, people (excluding friends of Alex) returned to their seats, leaving the less than desirable smell of a bar at 10 in the morning. Honestly, this was probably the best thing that could have happened, because they never came back. Off with the horns, on with the show.

Death Cab For Cutie takes the stage in an unassuming manner, recognizing the crowd that allows them to stand where they stand, to connect where they straddle the fence between indie band and major label artist. And somehow, they seem to do it. Listening to their latest full length album, Narrow Stairs, it's not the sound of settling by any means. I mean, an eight minute song, the first five minutes or so instrumental, about a letter written by a stalker? The album is textured but not overproduced; clever, but not pompous. What struck me about the live show was how energetic the svelte Mr. Gibbard and company are live, and the complete representation of the band's discography, and how well that mix flowed. Here's the set list:

Cath...
Your Heart Is An Empty Room
The New Year
Why You'd Want To Live Here
Crooked Teeth
My Mirror Speaks
Grapevine Fires
Title Track
Soul Meets Body
I Will Follow You Into The Dark
I Will Possess Your Heart
Little Bribes
Title and Registration
A Movie Script Ending
Long Division
The Sound of Settling
Marching Bands of Manhattan
----
Summer Skin
Company Calls
Transatlanticism

A final note: I have been in uncomfortably loud environments before, more than my share. Either my hearing has been entirely shot, which I don't think is the case, or this was one of the most comfortable and enjoyable volumes of a concert I've ever been to. All except for the insatiably rabid crowd escalating to a crescendo for the encore. That is truly one of the loudest experiences of my life. Louisville apparently loves Death Cab For Cutie.