Band Of Horses & Mt. Egypt Live!

Band Of Horses, Mt. Egypt
Schubas, Chicago
Tuesday, June 6, 2006

The only bad thing people have had to say about Sub Pop upstarts Band Of Horses is how much they sound like My Morning Jacket. It has less to do with country-ish pop bearing a shake of psychedelia, than vocalist Ben Bridwell. Holding back on the reverb just a little, his incandescent yelp is a dead ringer for Jim James’. Even then, it’s more an Antony & The Johnsons to Nina Simone analogy than a Scott Stapp-to-Eddie Vedder or Stroke Julian Casablancas-to-Lou Reed theft.

The new chink in the Horses’ armor is they are a flat-out terrible live band, or at least they were in poorest form Tuesday night. Despite endless stretches of tuning and retuning up — they’re from Seattle, so maybe they learned the anal habit from Sunny Day Real Estate — they obviously weren’t tuning to each other. Mistakes were flinchingly frequent, and they admitted knowing only about half the songs on their 10-track debut, Everything All The Time.

It’s a shame, really, because Everything is an album of charming character and disarming heft. To have it debased by clumsy execution and plainly careless preparation is reproachable. Bidwell is otherwise a spirited frontman who connected easily with the sold-out Schubas via a Wayne Coyne smile and quick-witted banter.

Unfortunately, a good portion of his banter was laced with apologies, especially when he had to cut “Our Swords” short after his temporary bass grew sharply out of tune with the song. The best renditions were to be found in the speediest numbers, “Wicked Gil” and “The Great Salt Lake,” whereas the slower entries, particularly three new ones, meandered as hastily formed showcases for Bidwell’s voice. The song everyone appeared to anticipate the most, “The Funeral,” was powerful in parts, however none of them lined up rhythmically, creating an onstage traffic jam of head and heart.

Confoundingly opposite, opener Mt. Egypt (Travis Graves with Band Of Horses’ rhythm section) were able to translate sometimes-difficult recorded work into an enthralling — if occasionally condescending and sarcastic — performance. Strapping a Fender Telecaster high on his chest, when Graves really lost himself in his songs (“Nate Song,” “Zuma Beach”) he’d do mini-windmills at his right elbow or lift his leg like a flamingo. When he came out of his trances at the ends of songs, he’d flash the “hang loose” sign and dumbly bellow, “Thank you dudes!” Nevertheless, he channelled them assuredly as if he, ya know, practiced them, something to which the headliners were decidedly foreign.

— Steve Forstneger

Category: Live Reviews, Weekly