The Format

The Format have some serious cojones; not only have they continued to tour despite lack of support from a label, but they’ve put out a new record as well. With all that work, you’d think that a band traveling as fully stocked as an Aerosmith limo bar would be pretty worn out. But they don’t, they never run out of energy. Ever. From the opening song to the second encore. Not to mention they’re an indie pop band used to hour and a half to two hour sets, not some marathon tested jam band. The entire audience felt the vibrant music down to the bones in their toes and danced like their lives depended on it, the band mimicking each step. The Format cultivated their own atmosphere inside Chicago’s Metro theatre, weaving rich currant-colored curtains and sprouting confetti spouting streamers with each following song. The music isn’t the only high quality facet of The Format’s live show, the lyrics are top shelf. Writing about everything from the snobbery of myspace (Boys with swooping hair cuts / are bringing me down / taking pictures of themselves) to the difficulty of finding a new record label (Meet me in the middle / come on let’s make up a dance / and we’ll agree to call it the compromise. / There’s no sense in complaining / it doesn’t change our minds / take me by the hand let’s compromise), they cover some unique ground with wit to spare and without whining. Verdict: The Format is good for your mind as well as your body.

Margot and the Nuclear So & So's

Bands from Indiana don’t usually get out of the Midwest; once in a while a stray hair will stand out to momentarily grab the attention of passersby, only to be cut down by an L.A. or N.Y. critic and made to blend in with the rest of the Aeropostale-shag they think we all live with. One Midwestern hair that goes by the name “Margot and the Nuclear So & So’s” is a little too kinked and resilient to be cut, however. Margot boasts an eight member roster that revels in everything from your standard rock line up (guitar, bass, drum kit) to some of the more unconventional stuff (bells, cello, trumpet, keys, and a mishmash of thrift store drums that Casey Tennis beats the absolute shit out of). But they’ve blasted out of the humdrum, the malaise, and are pretty much leaving prairie fires in the wake of their tours and raising eyebrows on both coasts. The hometown crowd at the Midwest Music Summit celebrated Margot as only a hometown crowd could, but there was a little bit of contempt in lead singer Richard Edwards’ posturing and lyrics. He turned his back on the crowd as he curled around the mic, hunching his shoulders so that it was almost tucked into the folds of his body like a mouse being squeezed by a boa constrictor. But it was the look that Richards gave the crowd, who openly loved him and screamed the lyrics back at the band, that seemed a little strange to me. He glanced at everyone like we, the plebian troglodytes of Indianapolis, didn’t deserve to be there; he looked at us like we tourists, and it kind of hurt. Don’t get me wrong, I still think Margot are pretty enjoyable to listen to and see live…I just hope they don’t forget about the haircut they started out in.

Murder by Death

Murder by Death was billed as an act on one of the better evenings of this year’s Midwest Music Summit, Indianapolis’s answer to Austin’s SXSW festival. Although Murder by Death have been around for years touring both coasts and everywhere in between, I’d never gotten the chance to actually see the Bloomington, IN quartet up close. Wait, a national alt-punk/death-country act from the soybean fields of Indiana? You’re damn right, and not only are they from Bloomington but off/on again students at IU as well…lead singer Adam Turla is even a theology major. Heavy. It would seem that that theology major helped fuel a good portion of the lyrics on “In Bocca Al Lupo,” Murder by Death’s latest release that deals with damnation and salvation, tinged with the dry, blood red dust of the old west. Each member dressed with the well-worn, antiquated look of a bartender in a John Wayne movie; they wore white button up cloth shirts, suspenders, old carpenter’s work boots, and brown canvas pants. Every member, that is, except the kick ass cello player; Sarah Balliet swung her head and thrust her shoulders in time with the band, holding her electric cello between the knees of her torn, southern-belle-époque dress. Turla sang like a whiskey soaked Johnny Cash from the second circle, crooning and wooing the audience the entire time. “This next one I wrote about a tango in hell,” Turla said before descending into a swirling up tempo-ed number. Heavy.

Broken Social Scene

The Canadian collective, made up of the majority of the Arts & Crafts label, came with more than just a physical presence. For a band that claims as many as 27 members at any given time, through the past few years BSS has risen steadily throughout the indie rock scene where some quartets have fallen apart after one album. My God could they create! So many drummers, guitarists, organ players, and singers coalescing into aural gold; BSS shimmered, soared, and demurely drew the attention of EVERYONE in range of their speaker towers…including the mob of people across the lawn pre-congregating for the festival headliner: the Red Hot Chili Peppers. When it was time for BSS’s set to come to a close they were met with tides of waving hands and audience members pleading for an encore. Their time was up though, and the concert organizers wouldn’t let them continue; the lights flashed and dimmed while every band member bowed, thanking the audience for their support and love. The crowd wanted more though, and when BSS left the stage for good everyone moved around to the side of the stage to continue applauding while those unable to continue to cheer on BSS began booing RHCP. Booing. They booed what festival promoters were calling the “biggest and best band in the world,” and I knew that RHCP couldn’t top the show Broken Social Scene had just given so we left and went home. I wanted to end the weekend on the highest note possible and there’s no way anything could be higher than that. Whoa.

The Shins

A band I’d been waiting to see for quite a long time, the Shins attracted arguably the largest crowd of the festival. They definitely disappointed the largest crowd of the festival, however, by having awful sound and playing looser than a high school garage band made of twine.

Andrew Bird

My second time seeing Andrew Bird perform, he put on another outstanding show. A grand yet bare stage, filled only by Mr. Bird and his drummer Martin Dosh, sat underneath the two men creating the ocean of gorgeous sounds. A violin, a guitar, two keyboards, a drum kit, and a whistle meshed into this cacophonous swirling wall that blew everyone’s hair back. I mean, I looked around after a song and people’s mouths were agape, just hanging wide open like raised garage doors. Unreal! Andrew Bird stomped around stage shaking like a politician under the weight of his words, one arm pointing up into the air promising, “there will be snacks, oh yes, there will be snacks.” Snacks!? The profound innocence of it all…just too much. He had the purest, strongest voice of anyone at the entire festival.