I swore off live music years ago. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like the concrete litter box vibe of most rock clubs. I don’t like having to shout over jet engine-levels of noise when I want to order another Tanqueray and tonic from the bar. I don’t like waiting in line to piss. And I don’t like paying $50-100 for it, when all is said and done, between admission, drinks and parking fees or a Lyft ride.
Also, as a world class eavesdropper (seriously, I love to eavesdrop; I’m all up in everybody’s business), rock clubs are the worst places to do it. Almost every conversation you hear is just people talking about the bands they’ve seen. Or it’s some guy trying to get into some girl’s pants… by talking about the bands that he’s seen. BOR-ING.
In another life, rock clubs were the coolest places in the world to me. Today, in my delicate years, I’ve completely turned around. Now, the coolest place in the world is my couch with a book in my hands or a movie on TV.
I’m not agoraphobic, by the way. I’m just an asshole.
So when I read that Guided by Voices, my favorite band, were coming to Dallas, I was, in a fucked-up way, a tiny bit resentful. I had half a mind to even pretend like I never saw it. Forget about it. Let the date pass and then when I read people talking about the show the next day, just say “Whoops! Guess this one slipped by me” and move on.
(By my count, I’ve seen ten Guided by Voices shows since my first in 1999 anyway, so it’s not like I’d be missing out on some truly rare experience.)
But I like to be honest with myself, so I couldn’t do that. I remembered the date and I knew that. Plus I live only 1.1 miles from the club, according to my sources at Google Maps. If a tree fell on my car and a dog ate my cellphone, I could still walk.
So, I went to the show. I always knew that I would. In the past, a chance to see Guided by Voices used to make me all but bounce off the walls with joy. A few times, I even hit the road to Austin the next day to see them two nights in a row. Since then, the music hadn’t changed. I’ve changed and maybe not for the better. If so, a Guided by Voices show can only help.
And I’m glad I went because this was a serious good time. I knew that it would be, but I forgot about the value of that. I rocked out. I jumped around. I fist-pumped. I sang myself hoarse. I thought that I’d spend most of it in the back of the room, coolly taking in the music, but NOPE. I had to get in there with the crazies and the drunks and hop around as much as my little 41-year-old carcass could handle. I hurt a little the next day, but I was still high off this band’s smoke and, thus, was happy.
I’ve never seen a bad Guided by Voices show. I’ve read some people talk about Robert Pollard getting a little too drunk in Omaha or somewhere and screwing up their favorite song, but I haven’t seen that myself and I certainly didn’t see it last Tuesday in Dallas, where Pollard barely drank at all. I don’t recall him cracking open one Miller Lite for the whole set. He did take a few nips of Jose Cuervo and then passed the mostly full bottle to the audience and it was never seen again. Pollard was sturdy, on-point and ready to hit every note in “Glad Girls”. He also got in some serious high kicks. I counted three, but I read someone else say five. Maybe the other two happened while I was taking a piss break.
With a line-up that’s as good as any in the band’s long history of sudden shake-ups and complete overhauls–and a brilliant new album, Space Gun, to bring to life on stage–Guided by Voices filled Trees with as much melody as that battered space has ever seen in its nearly thirty years. Each song was an anvil delivered on angel’s wings. On record, Pollard is willing to go anywhere–hi-fi or lo-fi, quiet or loud, total pop or weird basement psychedelia; whatever works–but on stage, he leans toward a consistent vision of kick-your-ass, powerful rock. Wherever they are, or whoever is in the band, Guided by Voices are always Live at Leeds.
I’m not sure that I can even pick a highlight. A Guided by Voices show lasts about two-and-a-half hours with a setlist of at least fifty songs (most of them are short). Songs fly by in a blur.
What I can say is that I love how broad the live set gets when Pollard works with players whom he trusts to do anything. They’ll play one of Pollard’s old Boston Spaceships songs (“Earmarked for Collision”, two tons of bricks live), a few of his solo album deep cuts (“It’s a Pleasure Being You” from Moses on a Snail, “Recovering” and “I’m a Strong Lion” from From a Compound Eye) and even a killer song from one of lead guitarist Doug Gillard’s solo albums (“Parade On”, sung by Pollard live; look for Gillard’s beautiful solo work to feature on this sordid website’s Things I Will Keep series… eventually).
A huge part of what makes this present incarnation of Guided by Voices great is Doug Gillard, by the way. He and Pollard belong together. They have the same references. There’s an instant shorthand between them. You can hear it on record, but you can really see it live where Gillard comfortably serves the song, whether it’s the dog-simple punk of “Shocker in Gloomtown” or a piece of delightfully weird cartoon-prog such as “Sport Component National”.
As a guitarist, Gillard is a world-class muscleman who’d rather pick flowers than lift up a car with one hand. In other words, he doesn’t care so much about the tricks and fretboard agility as he cares about the story that he tells through those sounds, as they support a great song. And Pollard overflows with great songs and weirdly compact epics.
He and Gillard are men who have things to say, but nothing to prove. It’s a beautiful thing.
And then there’s the crowd…
Could you use a hug? Well, just get yourself to a Guided by Voices show and stand as close as you can to the stage. As the night goes on and as the band rips through a two-and-a-half-hour set and everyone gets more and more loosey-goosey, spilling their drinks and not caring and singing along, the crowd tends to bond, if only over the music. Strangers put their arms around each other’s shoulders when they see that they’re both into the same song. Occasionally, a hug breaks out.
Even an off-putting little worm like me gets hugged. My hug total for this show: Three, two of which were from complete strangers, one of whom was a fiftysomething woman who told me to “pass it on”, which I didn’t, because I’m not a hug initiator. I’m strictly a taker. It’s just how I was raised.
(Though I have to say that I think that I might attract hugs because I’m almost a midget. I’m about the size of a 13 year old. I’m not intimidating, except to kids 12 and under.)
Guided by Voices have gone through several band members and consistently play sets that are at least half-filled with new songs (with the exception of the 2010 reunion tour), but that audience love-fest feeling, that party atmosphere, has never changed.
Some people might not like that sort of thing, but I think it’s sweet and touching.
Because it’s not only the alcohol at work here. It’s also the inherent love for life in Robert Pollard’s music, even when the song is sad, even when Pollard slips into an effortlessly funny rant about some sports guy I’ve never heard of or about how much Robert Plant sucks.
It’s not a hippie thing. It’s also not a thing that Pollard tries to do (he doesn’t care what you do at the show; he’ll never implore you to “put your hands together” or “make some noise”). It’s merely what happens by pure force of nature when this band plays these songs for a crowd who wants to hear them. The optimism and humor become infectious and people turn into tapioca pudding.
And so do I. My joyful Tuesday night became a happy Wednesday. I didn’t follow the band to Austin, but I was still a big, silly goofball for at least twenty-four hours afterward.
Can’t believe that I ever doubted this. I won’t make the same mistake again.