Vivian Girls

I first heard The Vivian Girls open for M. Ward at the Apollo, and I realized after the show that I had no impression of them. It could have been that in my anticipation for the headliner my mind was wandering, unable to focus on the girl punk emanating from the stage. But seeing them again at South by, much closer up and not sitting down in a theater balcony, I was disappointed not to suddenly grasp the awesomeness that I had heard they possessed. The lyrics were well-composed and inspired, but were vocalized in a steady, yelly drone to loud, monochromatic guitar in a way that weighted the eyelids and dulled the senses. Now I am no highminded snob, and I can assure you that I appreciate how pretty girls on stage can elevate—yea verily even transcendently so—a rock and roll experience, but the V. Girls seemed a might too pleased with their own cuteness, which, one gets the sense, they have let stand in for dedication to actual rocking. I can’t quite imagine actually listening to an album of theirs, but I suspect I’d keep wondering why these people kept yelling the same things over and over. Back to the music score, ladies, but do keep the smiles.