Pains of Being Pure at Heart + Depreciation Guild et al - Doug Fir Lounge (MFNW 2009; Sept. 17)

When you decide to go full bore into a city-wide music festival like Music Fest Northwest, you have certain expectations. You want to see your favorites, you want to find a new love, and when it’s all said and done, you want to feel like all the sleep deprivation, ringing ears, and time spent waiting in lines led to a fulfilled and happy, music loving heart. 

With this in mind, I (being a completely primitive being at times) looked at my opening night in a finite set of terms. This had to be huge; I wanted to love the band, I needed an experience. And when I looked over the options, the choice seemed simple. What I saw was a bunch of bands I wouldn’t mind seeing and the big boss of the night, the obvious choice, GIRL TALK. But, it wasn’t simple, because someone else was already covering it, and so I stalked about my house and stewed, only later deciding to go to The Pains of Being Pure At Heart. I liked their cd, but still felt like I was going to leave disappointed. 

I was so wrong. At the end of the night, I had found my new love and my MFNW had its grand opening.

I’ll set the scene. Into the Doug Fir—or as I like to call it, the Log Cabin—I strolled, camera in tow, expectations at ground level and there in front of me, passed the indie kids hovering over the steps, in the middle of the floor was a drum set with backlit skeleton head.  Now let me tell you, if this drum set was a person telling me a story, this would be the time where I would lean in a little bit and say, “go on.” Was a mind change in order?

The first band’s response to my inner monologue came shortly, as The Mint Chicks took the stage. Two members up top and a drummer on the floor, in the middle of a crowd that was carefully eyeballing this gentleman drummer with the thick black glasses and the pompadour atop his dome. The band gave us indie pop, effect-laden vocals, nothing too dynamic, just typical head nod opener stuff and even though the lead singer leapt from the stage to join his drummer on the floor, the crowd didn’t give them much more than polite claps and mild cheers. This was understandable because the last thing you’d say about these guys is that they will blow you away. To be fair, though, they did have their moments. 

My favorite came during the closing number when the drummer snatched up his snare drum, held it aloft above his head and started to pummel it mercilessly. His eyes were trained to the stage, in an almost cocky, primal pose, banging away on the drum until he got tired of his spot and took his one-man show around the venue. It conjured up a bit of rawness for a band that was anything but. I wished the rest of their show had been like this.

The second band went by the name of Cymbals Eat Guitars, another one of those bands where I knew the name and not the tunes. Which sometimes, like in this case, is a good thing since you don’t go walking in with any preconceived notions about what this band needs to do. You just stand and wait for the sound to make its case.

The crowd had beefed up at this point and from the cheers that kept erupting, and growing louder and louder, it was obvious that a lot of people either came down to hear these four lads or were won over by the complex, sonic textures that were being presented before them. What was noticeable right off the bat was that they could skillfully manipulate sounds and dynamics, as they frequently employed the Pixies’ quiet-loud-quiet template, complete with screams direct from the gut. 

The lead singer and group’s guitarist, Joseph D’Agostino, seemed to be having a lot of fun, which he must have been as I heard him quietly remark to the keyboardist (Brian Hamilton, who was rockin’ a sling from a drunken skateboard accident in Boise) of heart palpitations. And maybe that was my takeaway: that these guys were like young indie soldiers, touring the land, full of promise. Long story shortened, you wouldn’t be disappointed if you bought a ticket.

Third up was a band called the Depreciation Guild, a band I had never heard of, and had two members pull double duty by playing with The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart later on. I was immediately intrigued. First of all, because there was an actual light show. The rest of the acts were either bathed in a) no light or b) this basic green and red combo. Not the Depreciation Guild. They set up a cloth behind their drummer so that they could project an extravaganza of color changing squares. Simple, yes. Cool, definitely; though I must warn you, I might just be easily amused.

Soundwise, their band harkened back to Cymbals Eat Guitars, in the sense that they were once again a band that was build around atmospherics and deep valleys of echo. However, instead of utilizing the mid-range vocals, tattered screams and Pixiesesque dynamics of CEG, the Depreciation Guild’s lead singer stuck to the higher end of the spectrum and instead of yelling, almost cooed in the mic, never freaking out, as if he was in a small room instead of a MFNW stage. 

The music remained super earnest throughout the whole show, giving off a Cure vibe both musically and lyrically, and while that never is a bad thing, I found myself a lot more intrigued by the lights. My musical smile came by noticing that they punctuated a lot of their songs with an 8-bit Nintendo device, adding a synthetic effect and reminding you how fun it can be to pilfer the 80’s. I wasn’t sad to see them go, but that could just be a personal taste issue, not an indictment of their prowess on stage.

By this point of the show, a good time had been had, nothing amazing, but I didn’t want to shoot myself for missing Girl Talk anymore. I thought, “Let’s just see if The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart are anything more than an album band.”

When they walked out, I immediately snickered to myself about how the maroon polo clad lead singer, Kip Berman, looked a lot like Dennis from It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia. My fingers were crossed for a ripping rendition of “Day Man.” So, I stood there, half looking in my camera frame for a good opening picture and half paying attention, relaxed, no expectations. And then it happened.

The first sounds hit my chest like a drum, shaking me awake. I was now fully alert and a bit shocked. Why had I been whining about not going to Girl Talk? What the fuck was I thinking?! This band is great.

Coming at me at a medium tempo of goodness was that sugar coated, fuzzed out, beautiful indie pop that you get when it is done right. And I was loving it. It was that feeling you get when something meshes perfectly to your mood. I immediately dove into the moment and relished every bit of it. And, lo and behold, every song was good and they kept getting better. You’d think there would be a clunker somewhere, but there wasn’t. The sound just came out in that jangly, sparkly clean sound The Pains Of Being Pure Of Heart are known for, and the crowd responded warmly, doing their happy hipster shuffle.

Watching it from the crowd and upon closing my eyes, I kind of felt like I was lost in a John Hughes movie, as the music held a certain level of 80’s teenage pop triumph to it. And who wouldn’t want to be lost there on a Thursday night? Or any night for that matter?

And I wish I could go off about how the stage was awash in the wild antics that make concert review writing easy, but The Pains Of Being Pure Of Heart show was simply about the music. Kip’s main look was a head slightly cocked, far-off gaze type of deal, as if he was looking out into the beyond. The only time you saw real movement was when the guitars would get a few fast strums so the audience could have a touch of that shoegaze sound. And the crowd—and me for that matter—didn’t need antics, or wild arm flailing, or kicked drums or any other easy eye openers. The music was enough. You mix in some friendly patter about how Portland is one of their favorite cities and a trip to Voodoo Doughnuts, and we were all smiles. 

In the end, their time with us was short and they left the stage after an hour, including doing that “encores are bullshit” trick of leaving for about 30 seconds and then walking back on. That’s fine by me. I was sad to see them go though because I could have stayed all night.

Here’s the lesson: don’t judge a book by its cover. I went into Night One looking for the easy answer to the age-old question, “How do I kick it off right?” And the answer was, “Who knows, just order something from the menu and see how it tastes.” Hear, hear! because somehow, I ended up right where I wanted to be.

DOWNLOAD: The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - This Love Is Fucking Right! (MP3) or Follow us for more The Pains of Being Pure at Heart MP3s (Twitter)

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