Well, if this review is in today's Post, it's from the Tuesday show. According to the board double dippers, a review of the Wednesday show might have been even better.
Shins at the Black Cat
James Mercer's voice doesn't match his looks. You could go all the way back to Barry Gibb without finding a bearded pop singer who was as comfortable in the upper register as the gifted and talented leader of the Shins.
Mercer's words don't match his hooks, either. At the Black Cat on Tuesday, he led the quartet through a 90-minute set of tunes that mulled depression and rejection, sung over melodies that were beautiful or bouncy or both. Mercer's melding of crushing and catchy, and all those "la-la-las" and "wooo-ooohs" and the falsetto crooning, recalled the gorgeous downers Brian Wilson crafted just before jumping in the sandbox.
Mercer has gained a reputation as something of a studio wizard for recording a good chunk of the Shins discography by himself in his basement. But none of the gloom or bounce was lost in the move to the smoky nightclub. Marty Crandall's keyboard, which often was set to mimic a Farfisa organ, added a shagadelic touch, and Crandall handled most of the song introductions. But in concert, as in the studio, the Shins are clearly Mercer's band.
"I want to bury in the yard the gray remains of a friendship scarred," Mercer sang to a wayward love interest in "Kissing the Lipless," from the Shins' second and latest CD, "Chutes Too Narrow." On "A Call to Apathy," he mused: "You want to jump and dance, but you sat on your hands and lost your only chance." "New Slang," as beautiful a pop tune as indie rock has yet offered, found Mercer promising that he himself would dance "like the king of the eyesores" if only this particular romance worked out. Despite all the talk of dancing and happy sounds coming from the stage, there was next to no movement from fans in the packed club.
-- Dave McKenna
