In the heat of Friday afternoon at SXSW, standing in a long, sweaty line along Red River St. to get into an outdoor venue was not exactly high on our list of priorities, but this was Club de Ville, a longtime favorite, and, even better, the band was a hardrocking trio from Portland, The Thermals. Finally inside the gate, we were not entirely surprised to discover that the creepingly slow line wended its way into the venue and directly to the kegs of gratis beer; soon we discovered we could bypass this traffic jam and shell out $3 for a refreshing Tecate, sans queue, around back. Crowded around the stage, under the tent, was a herd of people talking loudly and sipping beer in the attitude of forced patience one adopts when one has seen one good band (American Analog Set) and is going to wait through whoever the next band is for the following set (the Hold Steady). As the Thermals took the stage, a smattering of people who’d come to see them gamely cheered their faces off. And then Hutch Harris, the lanky lead singer, hit the first chord and belted out the punchy lyrics of their first song, and heads turned and began to bob.
This was the second time I had seen the Thermals—at South by and ever. (The first time, my friend Greg raised the rock devil horns with one hand and shouted, “I am so drunk on this band!”) And I’ve got to say, I’m a bit drunk on them as well. It’s not just that they are clearly giving it their all up there, pouring everything they’ve got into every song, and it’s not just the smart, crisp lyrics and clean, thumping, footstomping harmony of guitar, bass, and drums, but some combination thereof that exudes pure joie de vivre. On their website the band wryly describes their music as “post-power-pop” (having evolved, since 2002, from “neo-grunge” to “post-pop-punk” and beyond), but there is a less pomo synonym: goddamn rock and roll. In the end, the heat was worth it—and it was contagious.
