My mantra for MFNW has always been this: go see bands you’ve never seen before, especially bands that don’t grace Portland with their presence much. However, sometimes a band is so good live, or in the case of the band I’m about to mention, so promising that I just can’t help but keep coming back.
Morning Teleportation is one of those bands. I first encountered them at last year’s MFNW during the Modest Mouse show, where they promptly rocked my face off with their spaced-out, psychedelic funk-rock. It was one of those shows where I walked away telling everyone about them, even after Modest Mouse turned in a blistering performance that should have been the main topic of discussion. This is why I was excited to see them again, and to see how far they’ve come.
Turns out they’ve come a long ways. What once was thrilling, yet loose, is now a fully-formed, tight sound that is absolutely riveting from start to finish. The elements are still there – the space-cadet shuffles, the classic rock riffs, the ability to drop a sizeable groove, and the psychedelic explorations – but now the house has been built. And what a house it is. On stage, the seven members of the band brought us into their world with huge smiles on their faces and a kinetic energy that leapt off their instruments and out into the crowd. This crowd was filled with fans though--fans that knew the words and even knew some of the band members from the shouts in between songs.
I have a feeling that the enthusiasm that this crowd showed for these guys is going to be replicated across the country as more and more people hear about this band. I honestly can’t believe they aren’t riding high on the indie wave right now. I mean, if you can’t get there with a great batch of highly accessible songs, strong musical chops, and Isaac Brock as your label head, then I don’t know what anyone can do for you. This may all change when their record drops and they get attached to some more big-name tours. Whatever happens, the people that go and see them are going to get their money’s worth. Unless they don’t like dancing, and enthusiasm and listening to great songs. For everyone else, this is going to be one you want to see.
Moving on.
In general, I think a good rule for bands is if you make the crowd wait too long, they are going to be upset with you for it. I know I heard the grumblings Friday night when Man Man went 40 minutes over their (apparently suggested) start time. Most of the time this would be the proverbial, shooting oneself in the foot incident that could taint an entire show for a lesser artist. Thankfully, Man Man belongs nowhere near that categorization. In fact, when they appeared on stage, they let loose a tidal wave of intensity that immediately made me wonder: why aren’t these guys being trumpeted as the live show masters that they are? Are their fans trying to keep you from coming so the venues stay small, the crowds stay die-hard and the ticket prices stay low? I’m not sure, but if they are, they have good reason for doing so.
The lead singer, Honus Honus is a madman or as I like to think of him, a spastic ringmaster to this pleasing, yet silly circus. He revved the crowd up with his exaggerated antics, his Tom Waits-ish, gut-drawn howls and that piercing stare. The band followed suit with weird faces of their own and some of the most engaging musical pieces that I’ve heard at the festival so far. A lot of people compare them to a carnival or a psychotic road show--and there is a lot of truth behind that--but behind all the “sound oddities” are really solid songs--songs that stick with you even if they bare such lyrics as “I am a zombie.”
I said once that most loyal fans belong to the bands that aren’t for everyone, the bands that make you work for it. Ween is a good example, but I’d humbly like to add Man Man to that list, because from what I saw on Friday, they have some rabid followers, too. Even in a sweltering room (felt like we were wearing all black clothes on a 120 degree day), these kids threw themselves around with an abandon that can only come from sheer joy. This wasn’t a mosh pit; this was a sea of bodies that governed itself by momentary swells and the exploitation of momentum.
Standing atop a box photographing, I got to watch this sea of precisely painted faces move as one, fists pumping, balance unlikely. In each song, they found a friend, as the synths left their heavy throb to climb aboard an otherworldly space-funk. The band egged them on usually with their yells or by thickening the sound until it felt like it was giving you one, big giant squeeze. Once, Honus Honus just took to the center of the stage and just started jangling some keys at the audience until everyone responded in kind. These were the little things that the crowd ate up and separated it from a run-of-the-mill concert.
By the time their set ended, I knew I was going to be one of those fans that bumped everything else on their schedules to go to a show. Because if there is one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that when a Mad Hatter invites you to tea, you go. You go.
