Last Night: Fruit Bats/Johnny and the Moon @ the Crocodile

It was hard to drag myself out of a crisp late August night in Seattle to a muggy rock club. Normally, I can take or leave Belltown, but it just felt like one of those perfect nights where tons of people are out but it never feels overcrowded or stifling. Sitting outside and soaking up the chill in the air, watching people dart from bar to bar, and overhearing atrocious conversations involving inappropriately named wines was a compelling way to spend an evening.

I walked into the humid Crocodile early into Johnny and the Moon's set, and immediately felt just a little off. I'm not sure if it was how dark the room was (it was like "back room at the Haunted Mansion" dark for some reason), having eaten too much dinner, the immediate voyage into Sweatylowerbackville, or the absolute lack of sleep I've had lately, but the band never clicked with me. While they have a great pedigree (singer Dante DeCaro is in Wolf Parade, and formerly played guitar for Hot Hot Heat) and some fantastic sounds (DeCaro's guitar sounded near seasick at times, and I fell in love with drummer Lindy Gerrard's use of wind chimes as a percussive element), but nothing of the band really stuck.

The longer I stared at Dante DeCaro, the more I was convinced that he was the strange lovechild of M. Ward and Mick Jones. After that thought crept into my brain, every song sounded like an M. Ward song or Clash song. Not a horrible thing on either end of the spectrum, but DeCaro's voice and presence never really leapt from the speakers and enraptured me liked I had hoped, and while the band had some shining moments/passages in their songs, nothing about the band's presence was particularly compelling or unique. Talking about a kids' show (Kid Street?), DeCaro got everyone in the audience to raise their hands above their head and clap in between songs, then told us all that we looked like idiots, breaking one of the most cardinal of Seattle show rules; don't make the audience feel any more self-conscious than they already do. You can't win 'em all.

Portland's Fruit Bats came onto the stage as politely as a band could and played a set that could never, ever be described as face-melting, brain-bending, re-definitive or "killing it". That, however, is the absolute beauty of the Fruit Bats. They may very well be the most well adjusted band in the entire universe. I'm relatively sure every Fruit Bats song is about being dizzy in love, the sun, the wind/the breeze, traveling with the windows down, or a grinning combination of all of the above. Those rare moments where the band gets the slightest bit dour feel absolutely epic; when lead Bat Eric Johnson had the band sit out while he played the ironically named "Singing Joy To The World" and sang about the older protagonist's dating of younger waitresses and his unrequited love for them, it was near heartbreaking. You wanted to find the poor guy (who I assumed was a traveling salesman of some sort) and buy him a beer and chat through some things with him. Just as the melancholy was starting to spread into the room, the Fruit Bats came back with another pop gem that cleansed us of any sort of hotel bar depression we may have started to sink into. A big hug, a pat on the back, and a couple bucks in the jukebox, and the waitress that never really loved you back is a distant memory. Everything is gonna be alright, partner.

Fruit Bats are one of those bands that are absolutely perfect for a breezy summer night; every song is as catchy as a pop song gets, is full of harmonies, hooks, and interesting textures, and the band has perfected that rollicking (but never particularly careening out of control) folk rock mix. Singer Eric Johnson has a totally impressive list of sideman gigs under his belt (Califone, Ugly Casanova, and the Shins), and has unfortunately never gotten his due as a pop craftsman. With their new LP (The Ruminant Band), Fruit Bats have stepped out of the more bedroom-y, twee-ish pop realm into a more classic American band mode. Imagine a much more economical, brighter, less-abstract version of Wilco, and that's a decent picture of the direction the Fruit Bats are heading into. Every song seems familiar and comfortable as your favorite old t-shirt, but something about the subtle details, well-layered harmonies, and masterful restraint that the band puts into each song keeps them from being boring and predictable and makes them seem classic while still being modern/relevant. In a world full of epic, dark bands who all have something wedged up their collective asses, it's refreshing to spend some time with a group of people who sincerely seem to love life and just want to make a joyful noise every night.

The band is playing free tonight (Friday 8/21 at the Mural Amphitheater) outside in the aforementioned perfect setting. If I weren't attending the Flaming Lips show, I'd absolutely be there, and have the biggest grin on my face as I watched people hoisting their kids on their shoulders beside a beer garden full of smiling faces. If you aren't going to the Lips show and you somehow decide not to go to this show, you're missing out on a definitive FREE summer moment, folks. Choice is up to you.