It was an unassuming Sunday night in September, but Brighton Music Hall showcased an evening of ghoulish bliss, and those most responsible for it all were the Southern California’s kings of beach goth, the Growlers.
At doors (I’m punctual), the black gate of Brighton swung open, and I peered over the threshold—ticket shaking violently in my hands with giddy anticipation. The line of 20-something-year-old girls clad in true hipster garb, with their equally “trendy” male counterparts of the distressed-greaser-type, moved along slowly. Finally, I was next. The door guy ushered me inside by way of 21+ wristband. I took in the whole space: the walls were washed in a crimson hue that screamed hedonistic desires. I always found a vaudeville-like quality in the Growlers: lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling in my apartment as trapeze swingers, lion tamers, and bearded ladies materialized to the sounds of their records. From the walls, came the stage, and that too seemed to be a fitting homage to such nefarious decadence. Giant fans of the orient engulfed the band’s platform. A goofish smile lit up my face as I realized that my real-life ticket to the circus had finally come up. Or, more like the Chinese Opera — in light of the band’s new record Chinese Fountain, due out September 28.
The night’s events kicked off when a duo known as the Garden took the stage. Twin brothers Wyatt and Fletcher Shears were a motley crew. Frontman Wyatt bore an ’80s, womanish blouse with equally mom-inspired faded jeans. David Byrne would have been proud, for he embodied something like the Talking Head. Drummer Fletcher had an uncanny resemblance to Madonna with his ripped lace and single dangly earring. Oddly enough, their music too shared a certain affinity with the ‘Heads. Then there were what seemed like obvious parallels to the king of surf guitar, Dick Dale. The drummer was a truly gifted musician, for not only did he play undeniably fast, but his execution blew my mind. The group in general, had a “new wave” vibe that reverberated energy throughout the venue, I looked around and audience members seemed equally as enthusiastic.
But…
Then…
This…
Happened…
All of a sudden, after a few songs in, both band members hurled their instruments down (well, Fletcher actually hoisted himself over the drum kit) and a tacky, garage band-like beat began to play. The boys began to rap. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about presenting hip-hop in new and unseen ways, but this seemed a bit outlandish and unnecessary. The debacle went on for three or so songs, and finally they went back to playing their instruments. Something they both do exceptionally well.
Afterwards, I turned and asked my friend what he thought of that strange display of …was it, anger?… that occurred during the rapping bit. He said, he thought it was interesting, and they didn’t take themselves too seriously. I said, if they didn’t take themselves too seriously why didn’t they end thew whole set with the rapping, and really commit to it. He said they were more self-aware then that. I deduced that the Garden took themselves more seriously than we both originally realized: somewhere there is a metaphor for life, here; interpret at your own risk. One thing is for sure though, the Garden rocks, more or less, when they’re sans the shouty rhymes.
In between sets I went out to smoke a cigarette alone. I was standing there, minding my own business, awkwardly dissecting the specks in the pavement while I puffed along. Out of my right ear, I heard someone talking about Atlas Sound, at which I point I felt compelled to interject with a “Atlas Sound is awesome!” It turns out it was Growlers bassist Anthony Braun Perry, dropping knowledge on some girl. He gave me a dirty look, and turned his back to me. I felt again, what it was like to be the uncool kid, trying to saddle up to the popular group’s table at lunch—only to be rejected. Oh well.
Next, our real-life bearded lady took the stage: a tatted up cross dresser, in a part Harajuku, part Geisha girl get up. Her name was Tina. Tina lip-synced to a few punk, pop, and soul songs. Tina made straight-male audience members feel really uncomfortable, and Tina at one point seduced, and for lack of more inventive term, humped the stage.
Tina was clearly responsible, in a Master of Ceremonies kind of way, for riling up the crowd, before the main event mobilized. It was effective.
Alas, mobilize it did. The Growlers finally walked on stage sometime after nine, and I was shocked to see a very clean-cut Brooks Nielsen approach the microphone. The crowd cheered, and the lights spotlighted the band in an almost transcendental kind of way.
Old and new songs were brought to the table, while couples all over the dance floor made out whilst spilling their beer everywhere. The essence of great music seemed to push the temperature up, and I found myself blanketed in a thick layer of sweat. Especially when the Growlers played one of their earlier hits, “Acid Rain.”
One really cool thing that the Growlers did was play an abnormally long set. As the lights reflected purples and pinks, the blue shirt on Nielsen’s body contrasted, him slinking across stage; nevertheless, singing in his Bob Dylan-like manner and the whole carnie atmosphere slid, cooly on.
Other notable renditions included songs such as “Someday” and “Humdrum Blues.” I was disappointed to not hear “Something Someone Jr.” played in what was a fairly long setlist. But, I was probably the only person in the audience that found something to be disappointed in, in general. The Growlers seemed to play in sync with its audience members.
Tina even re-surfaced with the occasional stage dive.
Sharing Orange County roots with the band, I grew up seeing the Growlers back home in California. I don’t know if the sense of nostalgia is something that I shared with other concert-goers, or if it was that slightly homesick notion washing over me, but one thing was clear: the group had matured. Their rambunctious morale and teetering sound I grew up knowing had developed into a robust, original sound. That sense of nostalgia was met with relief when I reflected on the long journey I had been on since the last show I saw of them back in high school, and the equally long one, I’m sure they had been on as well.
It had all turned out well for the Growlers, and in some ways as I leaned back against the bar, rum and coke in hand, I realized that these were my golden years too, and our “Gilded Pleasures.”
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