The Thermals
Thermals singer/guitarist Hutch Harris seemed genuinely shocked that the Black Cat was sold out for his band's show Friday. "D.C., thank you so much!" Harris kept repeating -- almost his only chatter. "I had no [expletive] idea."
Though the Portland, Ore., natives already had the crowd's love, they tried to earn it nonetheless. Considered an indie-darling supergroup -- Harris and bassist Kathy Foster also perform as the duo Hutch and Kathy, and drummer Lorin Coleman hails from Virga -- the quartet specializes in lo-fi garage rock with a precious-punk edge. (Their latest album, "The Body, the Blood, the Machine," makes a political-religious statement a la "American Idiot" but sounds created by activists-turned- musicians instead of the other way around.)
During their hourlong set, the Thermals sped through their repertoire of high-energy, lightning-fast tracks characterized by driving rhythms, guitar feedback and Harris's manic vocals -- which are something one has to get used to. More speaking than singing, Harris delivers the group's lyrics with the squawked, arrhythmic affect of the Mountain Goats' John Darnielle (or, for the less alt-schooled, say the B-52s' Fred Schneider). His nasal high pitch is less pronounced live, however, and more pleasantly blends in with the band's boisterousness.
The brisk pace of the show also compensated for the sameness that afflicts the Thermals' catalogue. With an act this lively, the group's touring success should no longer be a surprise.
-- Tricia Olszewski
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/03/04/AR2007030401120_2.html