The Local Natives/Suckers tour is one of indie rock’s big draws right now, with sold out shows in cities from New York to Los Angeles. Both bands are riding a wave of accolades and glowing reviews. The Local Natives have been praised by scenesters and squares alike (Pitchfork loves the band; so do NPR and The New York Times). Suckers, long lionized in Brooklyn, NY, are now finding enthusiastic audiences all over the country. Tuesday night at the Mill, Iowa City was ready for the Frenchkiss Records labelmates, and the crowd came prepared to be rocked.
Suckers started strong with what is probably the best song on their eponymous EP, “It Gets Your Body Movin’.” Beginning as a slow, dirge-like anthem, the five-minute epic builds until it becomes a thicket of frenzied guitars, whistling, and drums detuned to sound like timpani. Throughout, the whole band joins in on a repeated, full-throated refrain. It was a good opening gambit, and Suckers worked the crowd into a tizzy early in their set.
Songs from forthcoming LP Wild Smile highlighted singer Quinn Walker’s Muppet-like falsetto, but drummer Brian Aiken was perhaps most fun to watch. His polyrhythmic grooves anchored the band’s sound, and he put so much into his playing that he sometimes rose involuntarily from his drum stool to a standing position. Suckers also sold the night’s best t-shirt—a close-up portrait of some evil cousin of Chewbacca, with snarling, carnivorous teeth. Wild smile indeed.
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There was a long wait in between sets. The Mill was packed to absolute capacity—a few determined souls waded through the sea of shoulders to the bar or bathroom, but most people just stayed put. Sandwiched in, I had to witness the failing friendship in front of me—a chortling meathead recounted the “birthday pranks” he had played on his friend that day while the friend smiled weakly, looking more and more like he wanted to be somewhere else.
Everything changed when the Local Natives took the stage and launched into “Camera Talk.” On 2010’s Gorilla Manor, that song’s unsteady verse gives way to an epiphanic chorus, yowled harmonies and bouncy eighth-note organ. Live, the effect was revelatory. The crowd was instantly rejuvenated, on its feet and singing along.
The Local Natives have a huge sound—but not Phil Spector huge, not overproduced-huge. It’s the sound of five individuals giving it all to their music, making as much noise as their limbs and mouths will allow. Nearly every moment of the show, at least three musicians were singing, and at full-throttle moments, they broke into gorgeous four-part harmonies. The bandmembers switched instruments throughout, or, if an arrangement gave anyone a break, he’d pick up a shaker or a tambourine, or bash on a floor tom.
“Wide Eyes” was one of the night’s highlights. Andy Hamm’s propulsive bass and Matt Frazier’s jackhammer drumming gave the song rhythmic muscle, while the guitarists layered ghostly guitar figures. On the yearning refrain—“oh, to see it with my own eyes,” the whole crowd joined in, hands in the air.
The band was obviously pleased with the crowd’s enthusiasm. “What is it, a Tuesday night?” singer Taylor Rice asked in between songs. “You guys are awesome. Feels like a Saturday night in here.”
“Shapeshifter,” with its ominous, scalar verse and chromatically undulating harmonies is an exercise in musical tension, but a crowd-pleaser nonetheless. Rice let the power of his voice drive the song, curling with vibrato and verve. While he sang, his thick, black moustache made him look something like Freddy Mercury, and he shares that singer’s energy (if not his stage flamboyance).
Though Rice seems to have the lion’s share of lead vocals, keyboardist Kelcey Ayer demonstrated an equal ability to front the band and work the crowd. On “Airplanes,” he took full control, letting his voice rise effortlessly into the killer hook: “I want you back / back / back.” The song’s bald-faced wistfulness is made more complicated by the strange manifestations of its narrator’s infatuation: “I keep those chopsticks you had from when / you taught abroad in Japan.” Creepy. Wonderful.
“Warning Sign,” a Talking Heads classic that Local Natives have reinvented, was another crowd favorite. The band closed with “Sun Hands,” a love-gone-wrong lament with sparkling guitars and a Reggaeton beat. The audience joined in on the climactic, shouted chorus, while Frazier pounded his kick drum. When the show ended, the crowd clamored for more, but there was no encore; the young band had played all the songs on Gorilla Manor, and they may have exhausted their entire live catalog.
Like many IC shows, last night’s concert had its share of angry/drunk/obnoxious people in attendance. A guy in a Mastodon t-shirt finally headlocked a student whose dancing was so intrusive that people were getting uncomfortable; order was restored. But music shouldn’t be blamed for its fans, and, if anything, Tuesday’s show proved beyond question that there is still wide-scale potential for bands who take risks. There were hipsters and frat guys and yuppies in the crowd, and they all knew the words, and were singing along together.
