Maybe it was due to therollicking start-off by local garage poppers Jaill, who played to a sea of newfaces wanting to catch the just-signed-to-Sub-Pop-band. Jaill, with strongstage presence and chops already honed from years of playing local and nationalstages, energetically turned out loads of new material, and ended their setwith the familiar “Always Wrong” from their spring release, There’s No Sky (Oh My My). It seemed theboys from Jaill were prepping for a future of new material and new shows, butwanted to balance it out for their old fans, too.
The show lulled as California’s Greg Ashley(of Gris Gris) took to the stage with his sparse and delicate guitar solos.Ashley, a bit bleary and tipsy, was seemingly strumming to himself, hisinstrumentals more Spanish courtyard material than the blistering and mesmerizingpsychedelic rock he’s known for. Many in the crowd just weren’t eager to absorbit.
When The Dutchess andThe Duke took the stage, singer/guitarist Jesse Lortz said jokingly, “Thatmakes us feel a lot better about ourselves,” jerking his head in reference toAshley’s unsteady performance. Grinning broadly, Lortz and hisco-singer/guitarist Kimberly Morrison pulled adeptly into their version ofclassic, slightly gothic ’60s folk, turning to both their first album She’s the Dutchess, He’s the Duke (“ReservoirPark,” “Strangers”) and their latest, Sunset/Sunrise,released last fall. Guest tambourine player in tow, the duo invited theircustomary Kinks/Stones comparisons even more in concert than on record.
Lortz’s easygoing tenorpaired well with Morrison’s husky alto when she was audible. At times it seemedas though she struggled to match Lortz’s dynamics above the growing din of thecrowd, which started with Ashley’s set and continued to grow as more peoplefloated back to catch The Dutchess and The Duke. Lortz and Morrison’s sparseacoustic instrumentation and harmony-focused vocals, which emphasizedsoft-loud/loud-soft dynamics, were drowned in chatter for most of the show.
“Glad to see you’re allstill here,” Lortz said good-naturedly, sensing the crowd was more interestedin their own conversations than the music. If it hadn’t been for the threepeople onstage, one could have walked into the back room of Garibaldi’s andthought there was a party, not a show, what with the amount of audible conversation.Even during the pair’s last, sing-along tune, “Armageddon Song,” whichencouraged participation, it was clear that a good chunk of the show’s audiencewould have been better off taking a seat at the bar in the other room.Fortunately, the small crowd gathered at the front of the stage seemed to begenuinely absorbed in the show, and hopefully got to catch it more capably.
