The name Bass Drum of Death sounds fiercer than it actually is. Unless, that is, if fierceness is defined by all members’ eyes shrouded in bouncing curly locks for all but some scattered split seconds during the set. In any case, I Can’t See Your Face Drum of Death would be a more accurate band name. The important thing is that the opening band looked and sounded great, albeit not fierce. The small but tightly-woven crowd gathered round the stage half-interested, neither drunk enough to dance nor hip enough to sing along. They varied between punk-speed numbers that lasted all of fifty seconds and sexy rock ditties that sounded way too similar to The Crocodiles (purrrrr), Burnt Ones, and a scratchier Black Rebel Motorcycle Club to ignore. Yes! Let them populate the earth abundantly and multiply, for there is no risk of overdosing on cool, fuzzy, lo-fi garage rock. Ultimately BDD had me looking very un-cool at the merch booth as I salivated over a copy of their recent album, GB City and fully comprehended the impulse to whip one's hair back and forth.
Japandroids began playing in record time, mere minutes after the hair-whipping boys left the stage. I was thrilled. This has never happened. There is always at least fifteen minutes of sound-check time for the opening band. Oh… apparently this was still the rule. Damn, faked out by the sound-check like an amateur. Un-entertained standing around ensued for the next half-hour until Brian King (droid #1) announced in a chipper voice that they were ready to start. Joy. Before long he was singing, “Kiss away your gypsy fears and turn some restless nights into restless years,” and the crowd lapsed into power-friend mode. Arms were draped across shoulders, and smiles beamed not only at the band, but at each other. Things got hyper-giddy, and I concluded that the Japandroids reeked of friendship. The longer I watched the crowd hug and kiss and giggle in front of Brian and Daniel, who were in turn gushing about "the good times," (that were still happening), the more true it seemed. Japandroids had come to Portland to promote their "friendship propaganda" like a bunch of shady politicians. But I resisted their mushy agenda with one fist held defiantly upward and eyes shut to block out their vile corruption. I hadn’t picked up on this just listening to Post-Nothing, but perhaps that was their genius. Hook 'em with the two-dude set up--one on drums, the other strumming out nebulous guitar riffs and resonant shout-along lyrics. Add a few angry punk tempos and Get Up Kids-style song structures, and then blast the subliminal happiness. What a bunch of tricksters. But by the time they sang, “It’s raining in Vancouver but I don’t give a fuck ‘cause I’m with you tonight/I’m far from home tonight,” and garnered some impassioned responses from the crowd (those of us who understand the importance of coupling up during rainy season), I let my guard down. I too wanted to "Kiss away gypsy fears" and "French kiss some French girls" and welcome the boys who were "Back in town." Alright, so it takes a couple of sprightly Canadian boys to remind us that it's not only cool to rock out with your hair in your face--it's cool to unabashedly sing Brian-Adams-style about the "best days of our lives."
