The duo that make up Beach House - Victoria Legrand (vocals, organ) and Alex Scally (guitar, keyboards), plus the occasional percussionist - create a wide-open, dreamy sound. Legrand's husky, haunting voice whispers, leaps and crawls, like a living thing. It is the stuff of sighing scenes in indie romance movies where the end must come and you know it will. You also know that someone will die and you will cry, but you will leave feeling hopeful. Meaning: it's not so much depressing as it is kind of sad but also life-affirming. It's just dreamy! Legrand's organ adds to the surreal, gossamer quality of the music, and Scally's guitar almost acts as another voice. I was entranced, trying to figure out how he made it sing. Whatever he is doing, it's beautiful.
The Walkmen came on stage with a huge brass section - easily seven pieces. It was impressive. They started out with a bang, riling up the crowd of mostly men. I was pleasantly surprised by their energy. The drummer, Matt Barrick, was so much fun to watch. His energy was infectious and he worked so hard - with a big smile on his face - that it was like he had six arms. And Hamilton Leithauser put on a great show. He's a personable lead singer with a ton of character. He grabs the mic like it's alive, waiting to be tamed. And his throaty howl is arresting! I loved it! Finally, props to Paul Maroon, who rocked out on both a steel-stringed Gretsch and an upright piano and to Peter Bauer, who spent most of the concert concentrating over a tiny organ. This band - all men except Leithhauser's future wife, who plays trumpet - did not make me feel like I had to have a dick to appreciate it. As my dude said, "It's thinking mens' music." Or thinking people, as it were.
Overall, a terrific show at Webster Hall last night. The Antlers opened, but I unfortunately missed their set. Next time.
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