Wolves on Parade
What's new(est) with Wolf Parade? These brothers of Brock, peers of Pitchfork and travelers on the Arcade Fire turnpike are going strong. Yet they also maintain that aura of youthful poverty and subsequent spiritual wealth that's critical to their frenetic, idealism-tinged sound. Their EP drew buzz and their debut long player, Apologies to the Queen Mary, confirmed it. The group’s got almost as many side projects as members, with Arlen's AIDS Wolf and Krug's Thunder Cloud (or is it Swan Lake?) and Sunset Rubdown. Hell, they even picked up Dante DeCaro, formerly of Hot Hot Heat. These Canadians sure know how to stick together and be prolific. Speaking of which, where's the next Arcade Fire album...
But with the new five piece and penchant for being drunk onstage, this show could have veered as easily towards pure crap as to glory. Sure enough, the beginning at the Black Cat was weak. Diagnosis: playing the songs too fast. Krug explained, "We were a three-piece all summer and had to play everything fast and tight to make up for the lack of layers. Sometimes that's just my own anal insecurity though and sometimes we take it a little too far (laughs). I'll always end up apologizing." But they had the layers! And they still sped it up! Crowd pleasers "Shine a Light" and "Grounds for Divorce" sprinted past the audience's ears and eyes, leaving a vague notion that said songs had been played. The first five seconds of "Shine a Light" made me cringe; Boecker's guitar sounded like Chuck Berry... unintentionally. Perhaps Spencer Krug also got nervous, transforming his chipper vocals on "Grounds for Divorce" into an affected English howl. What makes both of these songs arresting is the activity and tension built between each of Arlen's steady drumbeats (that's also what makes them the most danceable) and it's a shame those were missed.
Their attire was deeply arty fare. Dante's gaudy plastic glasses were reminiscent of an 80s Beastie Boy or that guy in Sixteen Candles who kept referring to people as "cat." Sound manipulator Hadji Bakara rocked a Richie Tenenbaum headband. He took it off for headbanging that was so austere it became part of his instrumental contribution. When he put it back on, he explained, "Gotta let my hair rest." Watching Hadji on the theremin is captivating, but quite disturbing if you don't realize he's playing an instrument.
They finally got over the mediocre sound hump with a double whammy of "Fancy Claps" (I think) that segued smack dab into the keyboard opening of "I'll Believe in Anything." The crowd went wild, the band sounded confident, and Krug's effusive singing and piston-like rocking over the keyboard was moving. They followed this with new material that was funkier and more ensemble-focused. The next album sounds very promising, but also pleasantly distinct from their first. Very interesting stuff to look forward to.
The relatively unremarkable album closer "This Heart's on Fire," was the best song of the night. After seeing it performed live, I can say that it is, in fact, a great song. Better yet, it showcased Wolf Parade's chops. The explosive riffatude of the drawn-out climax was awesome. They really reinvented and invigorated the song onstage -- it was one of those surprising moments that define a concert and concert-going.
As a parting shot, many props to the Dante DeCaro. He fits in well with the gang, including wearing shoddy, second-hand clothes. He has quickly made himself intrinsic to live performance of the band's previous album, and enables the group to expand its sound and genre range. I can only shudder at the previous logistics of four players on those arrangements. His playing was tight and he managed switching from guitar or bass to percussion or wind chime with grace. When his guitar strap fell off on “Dinner Bells,” the final song, he quickly adjusted by leaning the bass on his stomach and practically holding it with his fingering hand. Look for Wolf Parade next time; I’m sure they’ll be back, likely playing the 9:30 Club. Hell, I wouldn't even mind seeing them play Chuck Berry next time, just let me know what to expect.