Sloppiness can be a virtue. Rock bands that have just the right amount of grime in their style are naturals for the live stage, especially in the right environment (i.e., good, loud sound and a fun crowd). Guided By Voices always bring it joyfully loud and messy. One gig into the first tour in years, with a "classic mid-90s line-up" that had been largely out of the GBV universe for the late decade plus, and a lack of polish was pretty much guaranteed. And while Guided by Voices had that something that makes a rock band "rock" from the start, a slow, tense start and a deterioration in front man Robert Pollard's voice directly proportionate with the amount of alcohol the band consumed made the show a bit bell-shaped in quality.
If you thought Pixies tested the patience of the audience with their Un Chien Andalou, they had nothing on GBV. After a fun, charged set by fellow Ohioans Times New Viking that seemed almost rushed and a typical break, the house music faded and an intro tape started. So instead of more house music, we were treated with 20 minutes or so of speech snippets and very boring letters to and from the President being read in a slow, exaggerated fashion, with occasional effects used to highlight coincidental usage of the band's name. Which sort of sucked.
But whatever. Once the neon sign that read "The Club Is Open" lit up, the band was about to arrive. Soon after, Guided By Voices launched into "A Salty Salute" and the band and just about everyone on hand joined in a toast, beers held high, singing said phrase in gleeful unison. Well, near-unison (remember, sloppy is good, so long as it it measured). And for the next hour plus, those on hand were treated to a great line-up of a great band play amazing rock. Robert Pollard sang with spirit, still throwing in the occasional front kick. Guitarist Mitch Mitchell kept up the chain-smoking, windmilling routine he was known for in the day, and you could measure how much bassist Greg Demos was into it by how high he'd thrust the neck of his bass in the air for emphasis. But it was guitarist/singer Tobin Sprout who showed why he's in many respect's Pollard's musical foil. Sprout and Pollard sang a few Byrds-esque harmonies (with Pollard doing his best David Crosby), and Sprout took the lead on a few numbers as well. In some ways, these were the night's highlights. Not that Pollard songs didn't have their moments, like the pretty melodies of "Gold Star for Robot Boy" or the bluesy grind of "Tractor Rape Chain." But while the brief, tuneful numbers of the Bee Thousand and Alien Lanes era Guided by Voices are fun and do sound good on stage, there's only so much you can hear before it starts to blend together or get redundant. The hardcore fans stayed with them until the end, but as the band went backstage between first and second encores, the trickle toward the exit was visible.
Maybe it was the booze? Pollard and co. eventually did red-line the slopmeter. The vaguely campy "tits and wieners" shouts from Mitchell earlier in the night ceded way to Pollard's slurred demands for female genitalia. It also could have been the steady dust that got kicked up and the incredible density of cigarette and other smoke, making breathing tough. Or for us, the wear on the back and feet of standing for four shows in eight nights. Either way, this was a show that started and ended a bit low, but the high points in the middle made it a worthwhile night. Quality capper to our run of shows.
And just a second ago, as I was typing the end of this post, the last of the eight celebratory candles just went out With that, let's call it an official end to our Eight Magical Days. Besides, in six days, we'll be neck deep in ACL. Time to refocus and recharge.
Pictures of Guided By Voices at East Side Drive-In: Sound Check Magazine
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