sleater versus kinney

Great American Music Hall, March 4, 1999

859 O’Farrell Street

(415) 885-0750

However, as much as I would have liked to experience those jazzy torch song nights at the hall, seeing contemporary musicians there is even better. The details echo a long-gone era and the evidence of time passage and inevitable change seems to enrich the concert experience even more. While my friend and I sat in one balcony, waiting between sets on the second night of the Sleater-Kinney show, we both concurred that the people sitting in the opposite balcony struck a similarity to some Italian renaissance fresco of the Last Supper. Perhaps, it was the dim lighting, and the darkly painted balcony. The people seemed suspended in midair, far across the void from us. Their pale faces particularly stood out, because they were not only "posed" in front of a dark red background, but they wore the usual dark colors of the so-called indie rock crowd. And why do dark bars and dim but warm lighting on rows of bottles whisper romance to me? It never fails to get to me, and GMAH presents no exception. Several times during that night, I kept peering down at the first-floor bar from the balcony. I found it the most beautiful and alluring vision.

I’ve seen Mark Eitzel here frequently, so I often think of it as his "home," the old dead decadence framing his melancholy songs of unrequited love and downtrodden spirit. Red House Painter, Mark Kozelek’s clear and yearning voice rings well here too – apparently, Kozelek was banned from GMAH for a little while, because one of his shows ran too long. Any of those alternative country/slow-core bands, like Tarnation and Sunshine Club, can really evoke a certain wonderful mood here. Juxtaposing the elaborateness of the past with a sorrowful voice, acoustic guitar strum, and maybe even the subtly keening pedal steel – romance at its finest.

Where does Sleater-Kinney fit into all this romance shit? Well, they may be loud punk girls, but most of their songs revolve around that evil stuff called love. I’m not going to tell you anything about Sleater-Kinney that Greil Marcus or some CMJ hack hasn’t written already, and better. Here’s my two cents. They are tremendous musicians and team players, in how they parallel each other and swoop in and out of each other’s playing. What Sleater-Kinney does is achieve the height of punk and pop mastery within an economic fit. They are technically adept, but not slick. Successful at banishing slickness, they are not artistically rough either. They run high on emotion, but short of letting "excess" emotion to turn their music into anything epic and indulgent.

The second she opened her mouth to sing, Corin Tucker focused all the room’s energy on her, this petite firecracker in a short vintage dress. She didn’t move much, but boy, she had it, this amazing fire, all contained in her steady-as-a-rock demeanor. Carrie Brownstein, in red shirt and gray pants, charmed the crowd by jumping up and down, doing her deliberate one-revolution Townsendesque windmills from time to time, and coy coos into the microphone. She played her black and white Rickenbacker (the same one, I’m guessing, as the one on the cover of Dig Me Out), while Janet Weiss performed her super-charged and poised drumming, wearing a black sleeveless dress.

As impressed and stoked as I was with Sleater-Kinney’s interweaving Bach-as-punk, what really called out to me was Versus’ opening act. For some reason, I associate Sleater-Kinney with day, with waking up in bed, either with someone, or alone, thinking of that someone, thinking of things to do during the day. But Caroline Records’ Versus, is all about nighttime desire and romance to me, and therefore, this band really pushed an irresistible button in me, the night owl. They remind me of Yo la Tengo, and they remind my friend a little of the Pixies. I could throw in a less arty Sonic Youth there as well.

Guitarist, Richard Balayut, emerged on stage, tall, broad-shouldered, a little ungainly, and eccentric in pageboyish hair with straight-across bangs and thick framed glasses. Accompanied by James Balayut and Patrick Ramos, respectively on guitar and drums, Richard and Fontaine Toups, the bassist, launched into Versus’ searing, catchy guitar work and each taking turns to supply sweet, delicious vocals about, what else, romance and broken hearts. Their playing made me swoon and want to fall from the balcony – I imagined myself as a lush, dark green, velvet curtain swag that swept from the balcony to the floor. Or as flickering candlelight. Versus composes dark, stirring, insistently driving punk pop – very New York. I began reevaluating love and all its incumbent pain and glory. I longed to fall for someone, capable of instilling this feeling in me that Versus did. Edgy and graceful, this is music so sexy, sad, and strong, it hurts. At one point, Richard mentioned their new EP named Afterglow. Afterglow? Talk about pre-coital glow too.

Then Sleater-Kinney took over, and I shook it off and emptied my glass of gin and tonic.

Play Sleater-Kinney’s latest album, The Hot Rock when you wake up.

Invite that special someone over for the night and put on Secret Swingers or Two Cents Plus Tax by Versus.

by Jackie Sun

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