the fyrehaus

I’m only now getting around to listening to Louis XIV’s second full-length major label release, Slick Dogs and Ponies and holy fuck is it good.

I mean, I will admit it, I was disappointed by The Best Little Secrets are Kept. It was definitely an album that cherry picked “Pink,” that didn’t go anywhere particularly new. For a band so relentlessly self-produced, with such a DIY history, it really felt like they got railroaded into slick-sounding rehash of their previously released material for their first major label album.

With Slick Dogs and Ponies, though, they’re back to feeling like a righteously independent, self-determined band. Every track uses strings, sometimes in a novel way sometimes in an epic way, and songs like “Hopesick” and “Air Traffic Control” really provide the balancing pathos to the ironic pop punk that really creates the backbone of their sound. I’d go so far as to say those songs have a Death Cab feel, well, Death Cab before Transatlanticism. Better than that, though, the album has a really early-rock sound to it, perfect for driving around or dancing alone to. Perfect for summertime.

The raw sexual relentless that that they’ve previously used to such delightful ends is, thankfully, still present. Thanks for the reminder that even femme looking dudes who formed a band in France and who really rock the Victorian chic like to cockswagger!

I still kind of hate New York crowds. They have very little respect for the welfare of others. Luckily, no one was seriously injured. There was also an insane amount of equipment for these three bands. They had to offload between sets directly into the audience. So Megan would run into me so that she was not crushed by an organ or a rack of guitars or something. Von Bondie spotting: The bass player from the Fever! He only has that one sweatshirt.

Group Sounds: They’ve got this Beach Boys tinge to their music. I couldn’t discern between the songs, except that the lead singer assured us that every song was “the dancing song!” But they gave out free snap bracelets. Oddly, because the lead singer played bass, he was all the way to the far right. This did allow for the hot band member (the vaguely Christian Bale guitarist) to be in the middle. They had fantastic jackets. In fact, the whole night was rocking that Victorian-sailor (hats and goiter wraps) chic.

Louis XIV: This was a lot more metal than I expected. Kind of reminiscent of hair metal. Lots of eyeliner, huge drum sound. The lead singer had this whole Ozzy Osborne thing happening and a very fitted leather jacket which, when coupled with his feathery hair, made his head seem enormous. I was fascinated. The drummer was girl-pretty in a way that I found kind of scary. Like bad Bond girls from the early movies. (He had Grace Jones eyes.) The bassist was playing it very cool, looking very normal, while everyone else went batshit. The guitarist got on the organ for one song (”Finding Out True Love is Fake”) and ended the performance with an organ/bass chord held two minutes too long. It was weird.

Hot Hot Heat: Let it be known that HHH has the best dressed roadie in history. He was wearing pinstripes and a white tie and had a faux-hawk. He looked like he was playing a gig with his ska band later. Steve Bays makes for an odd frontman. He behaved as though his (extremely impressive) jew fro was very heavy, and often just laid his head down on the keyboard. He got the mic cord stuck around everything (the mark of a new rock star). His singing is almost parody of itself. It was rather like seeing a band you loved a long time ago, like Journey, when they have gotten a new singer and written a new album. They know that you’re only there to hear the old stuff, so when they play “Lights” everyone goes crazy. And then they play a new song and everyone goes for beer. HHH played something from “Make Up the Breakdown” exactly every other song. And everyone in that packed room had obviously worn holes in their copies of that fantastic album, because it was more like group karaoke than coming to see a show. Lots of shouting, tons of adoration, the usual smattering of obnoxious people.

The rest of the band was a sight to see. Their bassist (see again the Victorian sailor) was excellent at his job and looked like he was having fun. Also, tiny like the British and with excellent hair. Elisabeth pointed out that he and the guitarist had bangs of complementary angles, so they were pointing at each other. He came out for the encore with his jacket off and he had badass pirate tattoos. Fantastic.