ROAR/Gardens and Villa/Generationals @ Sail Inn, Tempe
When we arrived, ROAR were practically bleeding through every pore for 3 cross-armed people and 1 guy who knew the words. They teetered and tip-toed and squealed and banged from a stage the size of a king mattress in a dive-type bar the size of a few more king mattresses. Their, or his -- ROAR is a one man recording effort -- music seemed like a boulder made of lava they would constantly push up a hill and off a steep cliff, writhing and whinging with every impact. The quiet-->loud formula, simultaneous howling, abrupt endings seemed arranged to have a much bigger impact on the audience. 97% of the people in the place were seated or had their back turned, gently gripping drinks in plastic cups. Still, ROAR, fuck, roared on,banging out not subtle emotional pop freakouts, and the arms remained crossed, people talked, others looked on, most drank from plastic cups like there wasn't even a live band there. It could have been the unfair opening band bias, where openers are expected to be ignored because they're openers and have no real use at a show, other than warm up borrowed equipment, not even getting the attention the most rookie of fluffers get. Disgusting, but true. But, something about ROAR's LOFTY SHIT was not so lofty; it flew out with enough intensity but turned to styrofoam once it hit the air. It could be a case of Not Buying This Bullshit; was anyone wanting/needing to hear spoonfuls of Karo about girls whispered then shouted over mass-production crescendos? A lot of bands make this work, make discographies of this, and it seems a bit unfair to throw ROAR to the pterodactyl for trying, but it was also easy to feel like they weren't trying at all, banging out competent covers of influences, or trying too hard, adding too much concentrate to the water.
Once Gardens and Villa got on stage, the main floor became peppered with people, with a majority now standing or at least paying attention toward the stage direction. I'd only heard one Gardens and Villa song before the show, and was surprised at how lively, sexy, and oddly natural their live sound was. Within ten minutes the singer drops a Fleetwood Mac reference -- a couplet from "Dreams" -- and it actually fit. Sure, it stood out, like a tagged white wall, but it looked nice, so you left it. Playing 70s and 80s softest of soft pop in a slightly modern hue, most of Gardens and Villa's resume, is far from new, and it's easy to blend into the sea of thousands trying but not really being heard. On record, Gardens and Villa, at moments, blur into that sea, but live they make a strong argument for their own slight strain with a geekstrong conviction and a belief that the flute can and does add something whole and positive. They looked like about any other indie pop band, wrinkled ironic thrift store clothing, worn leather loafers, and hair too random/fucked up to not be ironic. But they looked like they honest-to-whatever LIKED that shit, like they channeled in from a place where irony doesn't exist. There they were, each with a signature dance: the keyboardist/hand percussionist with a lanky shake; the singer with quick-sweeping headshakes; the guitarist twisting down (FUNK SPIRAL) low, weaving back up; the main keyboardist grinding against the electronics, almost teasing oral. These guys, if anything, have rhythm, each movement a piston that worked together to produce a sound that likely got someone pregnant that night, like an animatronic band churning out holiday songs, but with far less creep and much more sensual thrust and swing.
It is likely no one became pregnant because of Generationals. But they weren’t playing to facilitate 3rd base maneuvers – rather, sweaty handholds. Or, to think how better you are without X. The only band with props/décor, it was still a minimal 3 letters – GEN – made of flimsy plastic, utility clamped to metal easels. It seems inconsequential to ask, but why? They’re as straightforward indie rock ideal you can imagine; there’s no mystery, no multiple sense tickling going on. It was solid, reliable pleasure in a moderate dose: a soma holiday, but not as intense. Both members (with live help from "Phantom of the Opera Drummer" and "That 70s Guy") sang, the younger plaid one bouncy and yelping and the older (looking) one reserved but forceful. They're brighter, more eager live, running over many genres/styles like green but able performers. They do a few things that work quite well, which were creme between cookies that you eat and enjoy but forget soon after. But that creme was pretty tasty, and I could taste it for the rest of that humid, pulsing night.
