Just like Saturday's Wilderness show, last night at Neumo's was a major sausage fest, this time for the 70's folk-tinged psychedelic rock of Swedish boys Dungen. Not much has changed since we saw the band last fall: they still insist on singing in their native tongue; lead singer Gustav Ejstes continues to remind us of Robert Plant (though his hair's a little shorter now); they again played a relatively brief set (only ten songs), primarily from 2004's highly-acclaimed Ta Det Lungt; the band is still prone to ending their songs with the extended hippie jam; and Ejstes remains in command of an arsenal of instruments, including acoustic and electric guitars, keyboard, organ, flute, and his near-constantly used tambourine.
Though the jamming can be a bit much at times---after all, we ain't no hippie---we were glad to see Dungen again. Gustav Ejstes is always entertaining to watch, since he shakes his tambourine with gusto and puts a lot of energy (not to mention hair-tossing) into his performance. It was also terribly endearing when he pronounced the opening one-man band Tiny Vipers as "Tiny Wipers." Swedish accents are sooooo cute and totally charming, as evidenced by the girl in the crowd who repeatedly requested that Ejstes should "marry [her]" or at least "just touch [her]." Lady, keep your pants on. Other audience members tried out their best Ballard-speak by yelling indecipherable Swedish phrases to the band. Dungen, while gracious, didn't bother to dignify the assuredly butchered Swenska with a formal response. Probably for the best. You don't want to rile up a crowd of lonely fellas.

Tuesdays are Muppet Days


Sausage fest? Are you surprised? Everyone knows girls have shitty taste in music. They're all waiting for the next Death Cab for Cutie show.
Hey Man, I certainly wasn't surprised that the show was full of dudes---just an observation. Some bands (for the most part, instrumentation-heavy ones, like Dungen and Wilderness) happen to have a lot of male fans. Seems that's just the type of stuff guys migrate towards.
And as far as I'm concerned, Ben Gibbard (and his piss-poor lyrics) can go blow himself.